#i was hospitalized soon after this event and finally got on meds

[the-entity-down-the-street]

DREAD'S KNIFE PROJECT

Knife I tried to kill myself with in 2020 came in the mail

Turning it into an art project

Will update as I make progress

[zegrasdrysdale]

“who did this to you?”

with jamie drysdale

part of the 1k celly event

summary : after an encounter with an ex that leaves her with some bruising and feeling unsafe, she finds herself in Jamie's apartment, where her best friend is there for her like he always is

warning(s) : mentions of abuse / an abusive event, a past toxic relationship, oc made up for the plot

author’s note : i felt v inspired to write something for jamie so here y'all go

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She shouldn't have come out tonight. That's the only thing she can think of as she sits on the back of an ambulance. Her friend is talking to authorities while her face, wrist, and hand get checked out. Her ex-boyfriend is cuffed and being put in the back of a police car.

Her cheekbone stings and she can barely see out of her left eye. Her wrist is sore from landing on it awkwardly when she fell, and her hand hurts from being able to land one punch in self defense. She spoke to the same authorities as she was making sure her hand wasn't broken from that punch she landed.

The officer she spoke to made it clear that she wasn't in the wrong. He started everything when he came up to her and harassed her. She gave him several chances to walk away when he approached her. All she did was gently push him away from her when he got too close, and he started going off on her. That's how she ended up with a bruised face, busted up hand, and sore wrist.

It was all worth it though because she's been waiting for her asshole ex to finally go to jail for what he did to her during their relationship. She has all the pictures and proof they would need to put him away for awhile when she sends it to authorities.

For now though, she needs to go home and shower. She feels gross since her ex put his hands on her. Plus, a warm shower sounds like a dream.

Her friend comes over to her when she's done talking with the officer. The EMT looks between them as he finishes up his exam.

"I don't see a reason to go to the hospital tonight," he explains. "The cut on your cheek is superficial so it doesn't require stitches. I don't suspect any broken bones but if things feel like they're not getting any better by next week then head to an Urgent Care or the emergency room. Your neuro function is intact so I don't suspect brain injury. Ice and heat on your wrist and hand, and maybe even ice your cheek and eye to keep swelling down. Over the counter meds like Ibuprofen should be strong enough to keep pain at bey but again, if it gets too painful or things don't improve, seek medical help. Any questions?"

Both girls shake their heads. "Thank you," she tells the EMT. "Glad I'm not going to the hospital tonight."

The EMT packs up the medical kit. "I wouldn't drive until the swelling around your eye goes down," he suggests.

"I drove us here today so no worries," her friend replies. "Thanks for checking her out and keeping her out of the hospital."

He nods and the girls head to the car. She looks at her friend as they approach her car. The duo get in and heat immediately greets both of them as soon as the car is turned on. She hums at the warm air. It was too cold outside in her tiny dress and now broken heels.

She looks out the window as the police car with her ex drives off.

Her ex-boyfriend is probably not happy that he's going to jail, but he'll probably get out on bail until whatever happens next. The thought of him getting out of jail makes her stomach do somersaults. She gets very nervous going back to her apartment all by herself.

As her friend pulls out of the parking lot, she asks, "Can you drop me off at Jamie's instead of my place?"

"Yeah, sure," her friend replies. "Don't feel like going back to your own apartment?"

She shakes her head and looks out the window at the passing buildings. "I don't feel very safe going there by myself," she explains. "Security isn't exactly the best."

"I get it. I'll take you to Jamie's. I was thinking about doing that for the same reason."

The car ride gets quiet after that comment. She plays with her fingers and rubs her wrist when it gets too painful.

She thinks back to the events of the night and thinks that maybe she provoked him. She did shove him away from her so maybe it is her fault that she ended up in this position. It's always her fault anyway. It was always her fault when they were together so why would now be any different?

It wouldn't be any different.

Fifteen minutes after they leave the bar, the car pulls up to Jamie's apartment building. She thanks her friend for the ride and gets out. Shaking from the cold and the night's events, she pushes the buzzer to his apartment.

Hopefully he lets her in because it's kind of late. She has to push the button for a second time and slowly begins to lose hope that he's up.

"Who is it?" Jamie's voice suddenly comes from the intercom.

"It's me," she replies. "It's cold. Can I come up?"

The door in front of her buzzes and she lets herself into the building. She takes the elevator up to the fifth floor. She makes her way down the hallway to Jamie's apartment.

She only has to knock three times before the door swings open.

Jamie's eyes widen as he takes in her appearance. The sight of him is enough to make her lip wobble as she holds back tears. He reaches up and gently cups her face. His thumb grazes the cut on her cheek.

"Who did this to you?" he asks, voice soft. "Oh my God."

"I'm okay," she tells him. "Bruised and in a little pain but I'm okay. No broken bones, no concussion. It was Evan. I went out tonight with a friend and he was there and he-" She cuts herself off. "He got too close and I pushed him away and he attacked me."

"Come here."

He pulls her into his arms and envelopes her in a hug. She buries her face in his chest, ignoring the sharp pain that accompanies her action. Her tears begin to flow, wetting his t-shirt.

The door shuts behind her. Jamie's fingers run through her curls as he just holds her.

Neither of them speak, but his hug is enough to make her feel safer than she ever has. Since their breakup, she's been terrified that Evan was going to pull something like this. She never got a restraining order because that meant she would've had to actually file a report, and that would've only pissed him off.

Being here with Jamie though, she feels incredibly safe. His arms are her home. They've always been her home. She's always wanted them to be her home.

"Let's get you changed and into bed," Jamie says. "I'm sure you want to get into something more comfortable. Plus, you look a little cold. and my bed is nice and warm."

She pulls back and looks up at her best friend. Jamie reaches up to gently dry her cheeks, avoiding the cut and bruises on her face. She leans into his touch and Jamie doesn't move his hands. She wishes she could see out of both her eyes because all she wants to do is look at Jamie.

Feelings have always been there for him. She's had some kind of feelings for Jamie for years, but it was recently when she realized that she loved him. The only place she wanted to be was here after Evan attacked her at the bar.

Her first thought when Evan was landing punch after punch was how much she wished Jamie was there to protect her. He probably wouldn't have gone after her had Jamie been there.

"Thank you for letting me crash here," she whispers. "I know it's kind of a burden with your schedule-"

"You'll never be a burden," Jamie interrupts. "You could've shown up here at three in the morning on a game day and I'd still be up and opening the door for you. You're more important than hockey, and you always will be."

Her vision gets blurry all over again as she looks up at him. "I don't deserve you," she tells him, voice cracking in the process. Jamie tries to say something but she shakes her head. "I don't, Jamie. You've always been here for me despite your crazy life. You've always made time for me no matter where you are or what's going on in your life."

"Because you're my best friend," he explains. "And I-" Jamie cuts himself off, shaking his head. "You're more important than anything that's going on in my life."

The tears fall over and roll down her cheeks. Jamie's thumbs wipe them away. "Really?"

"Really," he softly tells her. "I would drop whatever I was doing to make sure you're okay. I mean it, okay. I'd even leave practice if you called and said you needed me somewhere, even if it meant that I got benched the next game. It kills me that I wasn't there to protect you tonight. I could've prevented this."

That's what she's wanted to hear. She's been waiting for those words to pass his lips. "I wanted you there tonight," she admits. "All I wanted after was you. Jamie, I wish you could've been there to protect me, but you're protecting me now by letting me be here."

He tucks a loose curl behind her ear. "You're welcome to stay as long as you want," he tells her. "Stay until you feel safe going back to your apartment by yourself. Hell, I'd be okay if you moved in if that would help you feel safer."

She nods and sucks on her bottom lip. "Thank you."

"That's what I'm here for," Jamie whispers. "Let's go get you changed, okay? We can talk more when you're more comfortable. I'll go grab you something to wear from my closet."

She nods for a second time and Jamie lets her go to go get her some clothes. Her eyes follow him before her feet begin to move. She follows him into his bedroom and he digs through his closet to grab something for her to sleep in. She leans against the doorframe.

Jamie tosses a t-shirt and pair of gym shorts onto the bed. "I'll let you get changed," he tells her. "Come out when you're done and I'll make you something to eat or get you a snack. Whatever you want, okay?"

"Okay," she agrees. "Thanks."

He nods and pushes past her to leave the room. She grabs his wrist as he walks by. Jamie stops in his tracks and looks at her, eyebrows raised in question.

Without an exchanged word, she pulls him toward her gently. Jamie looks down at her while her eyes scan his face. She reaches up and cups his stubbled jaw, tracing his cheekbones with her thumbs. Her heart races in her chest as she gets on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth. She lingers longer than she should before she pulls back and flattens her feet.

Seconds seem like hours as the two of them look at each other in the doorway of Jamie's bedroom. Neither of them have moved in a little bit. She doesn’t think she wants to move at this point.

Jamie makes the first move though. He returns the same cheek kiss and she closes her eyes, taking in his touch. She turns her head before he can pull back. His face is super close to hers, and he doesn’t move.

He mumbles something then crashes his lips to hers in a kiss that makes her head spin. Her fingers slide into his hair and cradle the back of his head.

She used to dream of his kisses when her feelings for him started to develop years ago. She had sweeter dreams where they would share soft kisses. There also were dreams where she would wake up and need a cold shower to calm herself down.

This is nothing like those dreams. She imagined their first kiss thousands of times, but she never imagined it would happen like this. It’s soft, yet heated. He’s being so careful not to hurt her.

That’s Jamie Drysdale.

The kiss is short, but it makes her want more. Just not tonight. It’s already been a long night.

“Get some sleep,” Jamie tells her. “I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

“Stay.”

“Not tonight. I want to make sure you’re safe first.”

“I’d be safer with you here with me,” she admits. “Don’t sleep on the couch. Stay with me. Jamie, please.”

He thinks about it for a second before he nods. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

If Jamie is going to do anything, it’s be there for her. He’s always there for her, no matter what.

And that’s what she loves most about him.

༺──────────────༻

MASTERLIST | 1K CELLY EVENT

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[rqgnarok]

a house upon the hill - nolan price

love you better now (sequel, original work)- leave a light on (prequel part 1) - this work is prequel part 2 but can be read individually!

fandom: law & order, law & order special victims unit

wc: 8,838

warnings: conversations about ptsd and ptsd episodes, aftermath of a traumatic event. canon presence of injuries, blood, violence, weapons, and hospitals. female reader

summary: after being shot and waking up in the hospital, the relief of your survival is short-lived.

ao3 / masterlist / buy me a coffee!

author's note below!

The relief of your survival is short-lived.

You’re tired and in pain, the doctors slowly wear you off the meds and your answers to how are doing? gets shorter and shorter to anyone who asks. Your grip around Nolan’s hand tightens further every time someone comes and goes, and by the time you’re leaving the hospital the bags under your eyes are prominent, your cheeks sharper than they were when you first got there. 

Nolan, the trooper, writes down and listens carefully to all the instructions given to him about your care. He packs your bags with all the things he brought from your appartment and the get-well-soon gifts given by family and friends. He doen’t notice you shifting restlessly as he struggles to manhandle the wheelchair, regarding it with distrust.

“Okay,” he says faux brightly, hands at his hips and looking between you and the wheelchair. “You ready to get out of here?”

Your smile is brittle as you nod. That should be Nolan’s first clue, how you don’t rise to the banter at the first chance of it. “Alright, come here. The nurse will kill me if I let you pop your stitches.”

Your jaw tightens but you go, holding onto Nolan and digging your fingers into his arms when you rise off the bed and your body feels like it’s being lit on fire. You curse under your breath and Nolan catches it, tries to meet your eye while you struggle to conceal how much you’re hurting.

“If you need a second–”

“I’m fine.”

“Honey, you can’t push yourself too hard,” he reminds you as if you don’t know. “This type of thing doesn’t heal overnight. We can take as long as you need.”

“I just want to go home,” you say, and it sounds so much like begging it makes you sick, makes you mad. “Just– can you just help me out here, please?”

“You just gotta–”

Your reply is biting. “I know, Nolan.”

The room is engulfed by silence. His hands tense where they’re holding you but to Nolan’s credit, he doesn’t let go, even if his mouth is now set in an upset, even line.Your guilt rises like waves but your annoyance drowns it out, and there’s no apology made as you finally sit in the wheelchair, exhaling in relief. 

Nolan doesn’t let go until you’re settled in nicely, and even then he remains close; gripping the handles of the chair and standing behind you where you can’t see him.

You’re buried under two sweatshirts and a coat, but the lack of touch leaves you cold nevertheless. 

Your almost-month long stay at the hospital has left your home rotting in neglect. Your furniture lays under a thin layer of dust and the dishes from your last dinner together are still in the dishwasher. The dirty laundry hamper is about to blow.

Nolan appears sheepish when your eyes inevitably go towards the chaos, expression unreadable. He’s got his arm around your waist and his grip is tight as you make your way through the apartment. “I was hoping for time to clean up a little before you came home, but I’ll take care of it, promise.”

“It’s fine,” you say, monotone. Nolan can’t really read into it, unsure if you mean it or not. Halfway to the bedroom, you dig your nails into his shoulder, pulling him to a stop near the couch. “This. Here. Here is fine.”

Nolan frowns disapprovingly. “You should really lay down.”

“I can lay down here,” you say, stubborn as always but through gritted teeth. “I don’t wanna go to bed, okay, just– here is fine.”

Nolan visibly disagrees but relents, his mind still stuck in the way you’d snapped at him back at the hospital. You unclench slightly when he finally stops touching you, body limp on the couch. Nolan tries not to bristle. 

It’s the first of many uncomfortable, tense interactions. You can’t move around the house on your own and stiffen whenever Nolan reaches out to support you. You’re quiet and short when you’re not, trying and failing to keep everything polite.

You drive each other crazy. Nolan works from home as much as he can and you don’t work at all. No matter how much you beg Cragen to send you some files, your day remains sans responsibilities. There are only so many reruns of Seinfeld you can stand before you’re making up a psychological profile for each of the characters just for the hell of it before you realize you’re losing your damn mind. 

“What happened?” he asks one afternoon when you don’t come out for dinner. You’re lying face down on the made bed, curtains drawn shut. When you don’t answer, don’t move, Nolan’s voice turns sharp, calling your name. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” you snap, muffled by the sheets. Your sigh takes over your entire body, pushing yourself up to glare at him. “Nothing. Fucking nothing. Cragen won’t let me back without a therapist’s okay, alright? But other than that, everything’s perfect.”

“Isn’t that standard procedure?” he asks, sitting on the bed with a bowl of pasta on his lap. Your frown deepens like he’s the one who’s keeping you locked inside the house against your will. 

“I’m fine,” you say. “Do you know how many people I’ve seen get shot in this job? I don’t see why this is necessary.”

“It doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” he says, quietly. 

“You know how department’s shrinks are,” he has never heard you speak about psychological aid with such hatred. “But Stabler used to get a pat on the back and he’d be back to work within the hour. Go figure.”

“And look how that worked out for him,” Nolan says, the wrong thing to add, he can tell, for how you settle back into bed and refuse to face him. He sighs and speaks to your back. “What else did the Captain say?”

“‘You want back on the field, come to my office with discharge papers from Dr. Masters office,” you parrot in a poor imitation of Captain Cragen. “Other than that, he’ll be sending some paperwork my way. As if that’s the fucking point.”

Nolan lets the silence stretch, unsure of how to follow up. He flinches when you turn to scream into the pillow, raw and frustrated. You say, venomous. “Motherfucker.”

He leaves your dinner on the bedside table and leaves without a word like a chastised child, feeling like he’s walking away from something bigger than your wirldwind temper. 

—

It gets better before it gets worse. There are days in which you don’t utter a single word and walk through the apartment like you’re haunting it; from bed to the living room to the kitchen, unaware or uncaring of Nolan’s presence. Others, you’re out the door as soon as you’re physically able, disappearing for hours on end, phone off to Nolan’s alarmed dismay.

He calls Liv, Cragen, Munch, anyone who knows you and has the resources to pull a nation wide man hunt until he realizes you always come back and it’s better to welcome you than drive you away by asking questions. Those conversations usually lead to one of you sleeping on the couch and your injuries are still a little too tender for Nolan to let you pass the night on that old thing. 

One night he leaves the bedroom for a glass of water and finds you standing in front of the open window in just your pajamas. The air is chilly and your skin is covered in goosebumps, but it’s the look on your face that scares Nolan the most. 

“Honey,” Nolan, bleary and confused, comes up behind you. You don’t even flinch. It wakes him up quicker than anything else ever has. Saying your name urgently, he wonders, “What are you doing? It’s freezing.”

“It’s fine,” you say, detached, not even there. You blink, staring dazedly into the night. You don’t snap out of it as he leads you back into your room. 

When he asks you about it the following morning you just stare at him, blank-faced, without a single memory of the event. 

To no one’s surprise, Dr. Masters gently refuses to sign your discharge papers after two months of leave and therapy sessions. Cragen takes one look at you and caves, albeit hesitantly, to reinstate you to a desk job as long as you follow the mandated breaks to talk about your feelings in an office that smells too much like lavender and vanilla.

You hate it. Absolutely abhor it. Dr. Masters, just like everyone else, wants you to talk about the shooting and nothing else. It doesn’t matter that your memory betrays you, keeping the event locked away in some faraway corner of your mind. According to her, refusing to acknowledge it is refusing to heal from it.

It leaves you short-fused. Home is a few curt words of polite conversation before you begin to snap, annoyed at Nolan’s placid attitude. Even the squad begins to lose their patience, you find yourself in Cragen’s office more often than not, glowering like a kid sent to the principal.

“Talk to me,” is all he says, not we’ve already been too lenient with you or shouldn’t you be over it by now? because he genuinely cares about you, which warms and enrages you all at once. 

“What,” you say, purposely dense, arms crossed defensively.

“You’re biting heads off out there like you’re a suspect for a crime,” Cragen replies, no-nonsense. “You’re not in trouble here, I just want to know what’s going on.”

“It’s not on me that no one gets shit done around here,” you lean back against the chair, tense shoulders and sweaty hands. “We wouldn’t be so slammed if you all worried about me a little less. I’m fine.”

“Right,” Cragen says, waiting you out. 

“You don’t need to walk on eggshells around me,” you continue, rough. “You can’t hurt me. I’m not gonna break, Cap.”

“Everyone keeps asking what I need– I need everyone to stop looking at me like I’m dead,” you say rushedly. You’ve started now and can’t bring yourself to stop. “I breathe a little funny and they’re on me, wanting to– to make me tea and give me casseroles that won’t fit in my fridge and ask me how I’ve been sleeping, I don’t need that shit–”

Cragen hums knowingly. Then, after a silence:

“How’s Nolan?” 

You huff. “Fine. Fine, he’s always fine. Always looking for something to do. He’s cooked more these past few months than in our entire marriage, you know?”

“He’s only trying to help–”

“I know,” you snap. Cragen only stares as you pull yourself together, filled with everloving patience. It’s why he called you in, not to reprimand or punish but to let you breathe without people accusing you of doing it wrong. 

“I know,” you say again after several exhales, closing your eyes and tilting your head towards the ceiling, avoiding his eye. “Just because he’s trying doesn’t mean it’s working.”

“Have you thought of telling him that?”

“Sure,” you snort. “‘Hey, honey, can you not ask me how my day went? I zoned out for thirty minutes at my desk and picked at my scar until I snapped myself out of it.’”

“There’s help for that, you know,” Cragen says. “I heard they call it therapy, these days.”

“Name it, I’m on it,” you reply, smiling wryly. “Physical, for anxiety, for PTSD. I should get a goddamned discount.”

The Captain doesn’t laugh. Neither had any of your therapists, for that matter. 

“I don’t want to be like this,” you continue after a moment of silence, unsure if you’re allowed, but Cragen only nods. Decades on the job have made him wise beyond his years, sometimes even to his own detriment. “You– I know what you’re all thinking–”

“I’m not sure you do.”

“–but I don’t–” your breath hitches. “If I could be over it already, I would. This isn’t any more fun for me than it is for you.”

“No one thinks badly of you for reacting to something that happened to you,” he tells you, and it’s so close to absolution you could cry right here in front of him with all your coworkers at the other side of the door. You didn’t know it was something you were seeking. 

“I can see how they look at me,” you say, quiet. “I know what they want, who they want. I just can’t give it to them.”

“What do you want?” he uses your first name and it disarms something inside of you. It’s an innocent enough question, but it reaches for your lungs and squeezes mercilessly.

“I want it to stop,” the niceties, people explaining your own PTSD to you. The racing thoughts, the breathlessness, the chest pains you haven’t been able to get rid of even if the doctor says there’s nothing wrong with you anymore. Not physically. 

You sigh and it comes out shaky. Your eyes burn. “I just want everything to stop.”

Two days later, you mistakenly say this to your therapist, who throws the question back to you with interest. “What do you mean by that? What needs to stop?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, infinitely more annoyed than when you’d been talking about this with Cragen. “Everything. Nothing. I don’t know.”

“Well, maybe you do know. And that’s what scares you, what has you lashing out over the simplest innocent things. Think about that.”

“Oh, so I’m supposed to do all of the work here? I thought you said this was a partnership.”

Dr. Masters sighs, keeping careful watch over her exasperation. She writes something down, tries again.

You leave the sessions sans any breakthroughs but with enough recommendations to implement at home in hopes of finding normalcy in your marriage once more. 

Try doing something together, the suggestion has you shifting uncomfortably in your seat. Have a movie night or breakfast together before work, host dinners with friends. Make your home yours again, is what I mean.

You try. It’s not a relaxing endeavor. God knows your work schedules suck even now that you’re both working half time, tempers gone through the shredder more than once. Still, you mention it to Liv and she suggests a double date kind of thing, and suddenly you’ve got a full dining table while a migraine inside your temples builds and builds and builds and–

“How you holdin’ up?” Brian asks casually, cutting off your racing thoughts like a record scratching. Your hands tighten around your fork and knife as you swallow down the urge to scream that washes over you at the question. 

You think about the sleepless nights and the anger that comes out of nowhere, the inexplicable lack of patience directed at Nolan despite loving him more than anything else. You wonder if Brian would understand, having been shot before. If this is a good as any place to let everything out.

The thought fades as soon as it forms.

“Working on it,” you shrug simply. “Everything hurts and therapy’s a bitch. You know what it’s like.”

Brian snorts. “Fuck yeah, I do. Last time I went down I was so restless, Liv was gonna shoot me herself.”

“Hey now,” Liv says, but she’s smiling behind her wine and has a hand on Cassidy’s knee that inches slightly higher as she teases him. “I will say, going to work sounded like a dream just to get out of the house. You’re get better, though.” 

“Hey, anything for the time off, I guess,” you say faux-brightly, a cynical twist of your lips that resembles a smile. “Next time I’ll make sure they shoot me somewhere less tedious, though.”

Brian scoffs and Liv shakes her head, but no one laughs. Nolan clears his throat after an awkward pause, obviously upset. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and leaves it gently on the table as he stands, avoiding your eye. “Excuse me.”

He walks away and closes the bedroom door gently behind him, the living room falling into uneasy silence. You pipe up with dark humor, “You think I’d get more time of if I was stabbed?”

The fight after Liv and Brian leave is a massive, unavoidable bloodbath. 

There’s relief in the heat of it all, in a fucked up way. All the pent up agression you’ve been harboring finally has an opponent, even if Nolan doesn’t know he’s bringing knives to a gunfight.

“I hate when you say things like that and you know it–”

“It was a joke, Nolan, for Christ's sake–”

“Well, it’s not funny. For none of us, Liv was there with you in the ambulance and I–”

“Oh, please, tell me how I ruined your life by almost dying,” you scoff, goading. “Please, honey, the floor is yours.”

“Stop,” he says, firm, but his voice wobbles, and his eyes fill up with tears. You hate the sight of him like this and you hate to be the one who causes it. Still, the part of you aching for chaos, for emotion, can’t help but to press at the bruise. “I’m not doing this, I’m not having this argument with you.”

“You don’t have any arguments with me!” you exclaim in disbelief. Nolan purses his mouth in discontent and look away. “You tell me how to feel, what to do, what this whole thing has been like but the second I try to have an actual conversation it’s like your eyes glaze over and you’re fucking gone–”

“You don’t know what it was like for me,” Nolan snaps, tear stained cheeks glittering against the warm light of the bedroom. He hasn’t stopped crying ever since you came home. You hear him sometimes when he locks himself in his office or in the bathroom in the middle of the night. “Getting Liv’s call, the hospital, watching you like that–”

“This didn’t happen to you, Nolan!” you scream. The world has taken a sharper edge after the shooting, and all you can do is attack it likewise. “I laid in my own blood hoping someone would notice I was gone. I wasted away in the hospital for weeks, I am living a life where not a damn thing is right!”

“I’m drowning here,” your voice breaks, losing all its volume and vehemence. “And all everyone keeps telling me is how they feel about it, how I’m supposed to be getting better. I’m not. I’m not, Nolan. For the love of God, can we make this about me for half a second?”

“You,” Nolan begins, but it gets caught up in his throat, dissolves into nothing before you can hear what it is. Nolan shakes his head, adamant. “I’m not doing this.” He gathers his things all while you desperately call his name. The door closing behind him echoes through the apartment not unlike a gunshot in your ear.

That same week, Nolan goes to therapy.

He doesn’t tell you about it, just like he hasn’t told you about the past couple of months worth of sessions. He doesn’t tell anyone, actually. It starts when a victim’s husband loses it mid trial and lounges at her killer right in front of God, the judge and a panicking Nolan. He’s sure he conceals his feelings well, yet his boss takes one look at him and stops by his office at the end of the day.

“Someone recommended him to me,” he says while Nolan traces the dark blue letters of the contact card he just handed him. “I haven’t been to him in years, but he’s good. If you don’t think he can help you then I’m sure he’ll find you someone who can.”

“I–” Nolan begins and leaves it at that. It’s such a quietly kind thing to do for him that it renders him speechless. 

“It can’t be easy,” he continues when Nolan doesn’t, endlessly patient, oddly personal. “What she went through, what you’re going through. I’m sure you’re both doing the best you can, but if you ever feel like you need more, well. It’s good to have options available.”

Everything that’s been offered the last few months; the casseroles and the rides to work, home, the hospital, a shoulder to cry on– it’s all been about you, for you. Nolan appreciates it but there’s something conditional about the whole thing, like he’s not worthy of help unless it’s somehow related to his wife. 

He loves you. By God, he loves you with everything there’s in him to the point of ruin, but this– this is for him. His boss is offering him a lifeguard he so desperately needs, and it has both everything and nothing to do with you. He gets to be selfish about this one thing, and the thrill of it drowns out the guilt he feels about leaving you in the dark. 

“Thanks,” he says, choked. Nolan clears his throat, hoping it comes out with at least some of the gratitude he’s feeling. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

The older man smiles, already at the door and saying his goodbyes. “See you tomorrow, Nolan.”

So Nolan goes to therapy. His first time on Dr. Rhymes’ couch he begins to weep before he can introduce himself. When he resurfaces from his grief, the man is offering him a box of tissues without a hint of judgement in his gaze. 

He gets now why you come back frustrated more times than not after a session. It’s like pulling teeth, no matter how badly he knows he needs it. But it helps more than he hoped it would and the nightmares about your death slowly lose some of its gore. His once rusted instincts coming back to its brilliance in court after a week’s worth of full night’s rest. 

He gets better. Starts to, anyways, but not you. In your dreams, you still bleed and bleed and bleed.

No one comes to get you. Liv misses the alleyway and chases after the perp, Nolan doesn’t call to wonder when you’re coming home, your gut pulsates with pain until there’s nothing but numbness, nothing but darkness, nothing left of you.

You wake up and don't know where you are. Your flail is purely instinctive, and despite the sharp pain that pulls at your chest you do so again, eyesight blurry, panic rising sharp and quick. Your entire body’s on fire but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter because you don’t know where you are and the perp is getting away, and Liv is still blocks away and, and, and, and–

Bleeding. You’re bleeding, bleeding out and your radio’s too far away and you can see the perp running but can’t hear his steps, there’s only your heartbeat echoing in your ears and the wet taste of death in your mouth as the world fades to black around you–

Sometimes you wake up from nightmares so quietly that Nolan doesn’t notice. Your eyes are closed and then they’re not and that’s all the movement your body can produce even if your heart is hammering against your ribcage. Other nights– nights like this one– you’re drenched in sweat and sprinting to the bathroom before your stomach returns the dinner you ate mere hours ago.

You hear Nolan fussing in the bedroom and picture him as clear as day in your mind; hair rumpled from sleep and eyes bleary, creased pajamas and worry lines on his features like he was supposed to grow into them. And he’s looking for you. Always, always looking for you.

You hate doing this to him but you hate having to go through it alone more. When you feel a cool, protective hand soothe up and down your back where your shirt sticks to your skin, you sob through your gags. 

Nolan only says let it out, honey, I’ve got you, just let it go in different variations until the panic subsides. You focus on the timber of his voice, the roughness of sleep coating his vowels and the tilt of his consonants. 

The bathroom tile is rough against your knees and your mouth tastes like acid, arms shaking with the effort of keeping you upright against the toilet seat. When you’re done, you fall back to the floor and Nolan is there next to you, ready to catch you. 

He cradles you almost like one would a baby and you nestle against his chest, exhausted. 

“I’m sorry,” you croak against his heartbeat. Nolan’s hand finds the sweaty nape of your neck and massages the tension out of it, hairs sticking to his fingers. 

His soothing reply is automatic but no less honest. “It’s alright. It’s just a dream.”

“Not for this,” you correct, panting against his cotton grey shirt and reaching to hold it in a tight, shaky fist. “I mean– yes, for this, but for before. Everything. In the hospital and for fighting, for not… For everything. I’m sorry I’m like this.”

“Don’t be,” he defends, awfully vehement for a man who’s been awake for less than 10 minutes and is sitting on his bathroom floor at 4 in the morning. It’s the most emotion he’s shown since your last fight and you could weep with the relief it brings you. “Never be. You’re in pain. I’m allowed to want to help you when you’re in pain.”

“I’m tired of being in pain.”

Nolan’s chest shudders and you unclench your fist to lay your palm against it, the beat of his heart fluttering despite his calm demeanor. He shifts his hand to brush his thumb against your cheek, calming. “I know, honey. I know.”

He doesn’t say it’s okay or it’ll get better because as much as you know Nolan hopes so, it’s not the kind of thing he can promise. You wouldn’t want him to. 

The sun rises through the horizon. Nolan holds you, holds you, and holds you. 

“It’s stupid,” you say against your hands, hours later in your emergency session with Dr. Masters, wet and high-pitched. “It’s so fucking stupid.”

You don't elaborate. She  gently goads. “What is?”

“It’s so simple,” your voice drips with disbelief, muscles coiled tight. “It’s so– it was one bullet. One second, and I’m– I can’t let it go. Why can’t I let it go?”

No answer, but you don’t need it. You’re already on a roll. “I’m okay. I’m alright, I recovered. I have my job and my husband and my life back then why am I like this? Why–”

Your voice breaks, a sign of weakness you’re done trying to hide. “Do I not want it? To get better, do I not want it enough? What am I doing wrong?”

“You have to understand, this isn’t something you did,” she sighs, leaving her notebook and pen to lean in closer. “Are you listening to me? This is something that happened to you, not because of you. Healing isn’t linear, isn’t that what you always say to the victims you encounter at work–”

You sniff, sharply wiping at your nose. “Yes, but–”

“But it’s different,” she finishes for you, leaning back against her seat. “Why? Because it’s you? Because you know better since you’re a cop? Because you’re not allowed any moment of weakness in the face of adversity?”

You’re rendered quiet, almost but not quite pouting after being called out so thoroughly. Masters continues. “You keep punishing yourself for reacting to trauma in an unpredictable way. Even that in itself is predictable. There’s no rulebook for this.”

“I know,” you say like you’ve done so many times since this whole thing started, but this is different. It’s not angry or sarcastic. It feels like a tipping point.

“This happened to you. You didn’t chose it,” your therapist says. Then, carefully, like she too is aware you’re on the cusp of something that you might be, finally, ready to hear. “But what you do with it– that is up to you.”

“You got handed this ugly, terrible thing,” she continues. “It’s yours now. And you can let it take over your life or you can take it in your hands and mold it into something you can live with.”

“That’s awful,” you say; tired, honest, terrified. Why should it be up to you? Why is it your job to fix what someone else broke? Master smiles. 

“It is. It’s all work,” you say. “At least at first. And then, piece by piece, you make a life with the fragments from before. You get new ones. It’s not gonna be the same, but it’ll be yours. But work. It’s the only way out.” 

It’s all work. 

The session hollows you from the inside out and the day at the office is a blur. You get home much, much later, weary and exhausted. The sun is already deep behind the horizon and your head is filled with statistics and suspect heights, ethnicities, possible sightings…

Your eyes hurt and Nolan is already in bed, bent over his book with his glasses perched low on his nose. A lifetime ago he would’ve joked they made him look old, and you would kiss him senseless until they went askew and tell him he looked distinguished. It’s such an old, nice memory, both distant and right there for the taking. You get a little breathless just thinking about it. 

He looks up to greet you when he hears you come in, tired but genuine. You think mold it into something you can live with and make a decision. 

“Hey,” he welcomes you. “How was work?”

“I…” whatever your apprehension is, you visibly shake it off before focusing on Nolan with a sense of determination he hasn’t seen from you in a very, very long time. “I would like you to come with me. To therapy.”

“You… would?” he hates that he sounds so surprised. He places his book on the bedside table, taking his glasses off. 

You look as uncomfortable as he feels, but aren���t backing down. You lessen the chasm between you, sitting on your side of the bed and laying your palm flat on the sheets. Realization hits Nolan like a slap to the face. 

Here you are, the strange shape that is his wife after hell and back, reaching. 

“I think… there are so many things I want to tell you,” you continue slowly, the way you do when you’ve rehearsed before speaking in court as a witness, presenting the case. “that I don’t know how. And so many things you have to say that I haven’t… wanted to hear.”

“But I’m ready,” you nod, grave. “To put in the work. Or– I want to be. And I’d– I’d like you to be with me, when I am.”

“We can go to Dr. Masters or– or I’m sure there’s some names she can draw up. Couples therapy,” you rush to say when Nolan doesn’t answer, desperate for his support. “Or– I mean, maybe you wouldn’t be comfortable with that, but I was really hoping we could–”

“Okay,” it comes out quiet. His nod, though, is resolute. “Yeah.”

You blink, a little startled and hesitatingly hopeful. “You– Yeah?”

“Yes. Okay. Yes, of course.”

“Okay,” you say, relieved, as if he’d ever say no to you. You laugh a little, deflating, running a hand through your hair. “Jesus, okay. Okay.”

A beat, two. Then you say, fragile as a baby bird, breaking the silence. “I’ve been so unfair to you.”

That finally gets him moving. He says your name, devastated. He opens up his arms, surer than he’s been in months. “Come here.”

You sigh out heavily, shakily. Standing, you move to his side of the bed and fall into his arms, work clothes and all. 

“We’re alright,” he says, fingers threading into your hair. “I love you. I’m coming with you. We’re gonna be okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize anyways, crying into his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, too,” his voice breaks and his arms tighten. There’s a kiss pressed to your hair that only makes you cry harder. “I’m so sorry, honey, for so many things. But we’re gonna be okay.”

It’s all, all work. 

…Mostly.

“The files are on my desk,” Nick nods dutifully as you rattle off instructions, making sure your hair isn’t messed up by your coat. “Fin knows my notes backwards and forwards, if he tries to convince you he doesn’t it’s because he’s lazy, and I already let Cap know–”

Nick laughs, saying your last name knowingly. “It’s okay. Everything’s set, there’s nothing you’ve forgotten. Go have fun for once, will you?”

“Yeah, let us live vicariously through you,” Rollins pipes up as she passes by, an overflowing evidence box in her arms. “I’d kill for a hot date with a hotter lawyer right now.”

“You’d bite his head off before the appetizers came in,” Amaro smirks at her cockily, and you roll your eyes when Rollins predictably rises to the challenge. Behind them, Fin stares at them like he’s regretting all the life choices that led him to work with these people. 

“You know what, Bernardo–” Rollins begins.

“Speaking of the devil,” Much pipes up loudly before Rollins starts humming the notes to the West Side Story score at Nick. You shoot him a grateful look but your attention is soon refocused on Nolan, who looks tall and sharp as he enters the precinct. “Good to see you, kiddo.”

“You too, old man. Hey, everyone,” Nolan smiles as he greets everyone else, though it turns shy when he acknowledges you, suddenly unaware of the rest of the room. “Hi, honey.”

“Hey, handsome,” you can’t help yourself, feeling young and foolish. “You look good.”

“Had to match you, didn’t I?” he gives you a once over, long and interested, and you’re so into it you can’t even hear your coworkers making fun of you. “You ready to go?”

“Born ready,” you wave everyone goodbye and then, as soon as you’re out of ear shot, you admit sheepishly, “I’m actually a little nervous. Is that weird?”

Nolan’s laugh is tender, relieved. “No,” he says, looking more relaxed by the admission with his arm poised while you loop your own around it, keeping him close. “I am, too. I haven’t felt like this since you kissed me for the first time.”

“I’m sorry, I kissed you?” you reply. “I very vividly remember being cut off mid sentence about serious crimes punishable by law because someone couldn’t help himself.”

“Our study sessions always were interesting,” Nolan agrees, grin boyish. “Ivery vividly don’t remember hearing you complain about it.”

“Only that it took you so long to do it,” you quip.

“Well,” he tells you as you go into the empty elevator and the doors close behind you, already drawing you in. “Who am I to keep you waiting now?”

Some other weekend, the day is bright and gorgeous and neither you nor Nolan are able to to stay in. You move your slow weekend routines out of the apartment for once, going out for brunch and bringing reading material that doesn't involve case files or suspects statements for once. 

You walk around the city with a wonder rarely available to you lately and hold each other close. Halfway through the afternoon Nolan disappears across the street in search of your favorite coffee cart, telling you to stay put with a loud kiss to your cheek that leaves you giddy long after he’s gone.

“Hey, sorry,” he says breathlessly when he comes back, carefully keeping both coffees from overflowing. “They had to make a fresh pot just now.”

“‘s alright,” you say after a beat, smiling at him with an unusual shape to your mouth. It makes Nolan pause. 

He asks, endearingly concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s–” you begin and then cut yourself off. You look around, calculating. You shake your head, hoping to drop it. “No. Sorry. I just thought–”

Your breaths come out short despite your best tries to keep the previous atmosphere going. Nolan places the coffees on the sidewalk and stands back up, already reaching. He tries to keep his tone even. Calm. “Honey. Is it okay if I touch you?”

“You– yeah,” you blink, almost surprised to see him. The words rush out of you with relief, like you weren’t sure you still had it in you to be verbal. “Yes, please. Please.”

“Come here,” it’s a relief to him too, both your answer and permission. He draws you in with a protective hand on your back and you shudder into the touch, breathing in and out slowly like Dr. Masters taught you. “Great, you’re doing great. I got you.”

“Sorry,” you says again after a while, back in your body. “I thought it was the street where…” you admit. You’re embarrassed, Nolan doesn’t have to see your face to know it. “For a second, I. I saw the alley and it’s– it was literally just that but I was sure…”

You don’t finish your sentence, drifting off, but Nolan knows you too well. Understanding dawns in and he holds you tighter, protective. The perfectly harmless landscape of the city suddenly shifts before his eyes and he starts to panic. He can’t get you out of here fast enough, but maybe if he tries… an Uber would probably be quicker than walking home…

“Nolan,” you cut off his racing thoughts, oddly comforted by the fact that you’re not alone in your freak out, even if Nolan has been rendered useless by his own agitation. “It’s okay. I was wrong, it’s not the street. I’m good.”

“We can go,” he offers, terribly disappointed that your day is about to be cut short but willing to do that and more for your wellbeing. This? In the grand scheme of things this is nothing. You were gonna spend today in bed anyways. “Or– is there something you need, do you want to call–”

“I want to stay,” you say, sure, cupping his face. Your touch helps him breathe, unclogs his throat and opens up his lungs. “I want to be here with you. I want to keep living my life even with… this. It doesn’t get to win.”

Nolan’s eyes burn, but his grin is too big for his face. He kisses you, long and deep and careless of who’s watching. It’s New York, its streets have seen far worse things than a man knee deep in love with his wife. “It doesn’t get to win,” he affirms, catching his breath. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

You grin, shaky, bright. “You’ve told me so once or twice.”

Hand on hand, you pass by the alley. The day is beautiful.  

One night Nolan gets out of the bathroom to find you already in bed, frowning at your book. He passes a towel through his wet hair as he asks, “Is it any good?”

You only keep frowning. “It’s– I mean, yeah, but I. I don’t know.”

“What?”

“Have I read this before?” you ask him, showing him the cover. 

Nolan squints, mouthing the words, then his expression clears. “Oh, I know. Did Munch give it to you?”

“Yeah,” you sound surprised. You hadn’t told him about John’s offhand gift, a tattered copy of a book he lent to you the other week. “ How’d you know?”

“He was reading it to you,” Nolan begins, then shrugs and seems to hesitate before he continues. “At the hospital.”

You make a face like you just tasted something sour. “Oh.”

“A part of you must’ve heard,” he continues, softer, searching your face for signs to shut the hell up. Other than the initial realization, he finds only pensiveness. “Must remember.”

“I don’t know,” you say, thinking of days so far away and so present still, sometimes laying between you in bed. “It’d be silly, wouldn’t it? That my brain chose to retain bits of a book I heard while unconscious rather than… you know.”

Nolan breathes in deeply, holds it, and lets it out. He tries feeling comfortable in the silence you’ve built as he thinks his words through. His therapist told him once that if he expected a fight to start out of a conversation then he’d start fighting before he realized what he was doing. He’s trying to be better.

“What do you remember?” he dares to ask. You tilt your head towards your lap, fingers running over the edges of the book to ground yourself in the movements. “About the hospital?”

Your smile is brittle and you don’t look at him when you say, “I didn’t even remember what had happened at first.”

“When I first woke up after– after. I still don’t, mostly,” He watches you, patient and encouraging even when you can’t meet his eye. “Like, you know what happened. I got shot and spent weeks in there, but I don’t– It’s pretty much a blur.”

You sigh deeply. “But I woke up and I was afraid anyways. Like my body caught up to the situation before my mind did and I just– I was in pain, and I needed to get out,” you retell. 

There’s barely a memory there; of Nolan’s hand in yours and the sheer relief in his voice, the smell and sounds of a hospital that are too familiar in your line of work. 

“Sometimes,” you begin, and that’s where you cut yourself off, turning to him and smiling, fixing the facade back on. Nolan rushes to stop you before you completely hide from him, cupping your face tenderly.

You meet his eye and you look afraid. Nolan can’t blame you, it hasn’t been long since he stopped physically fleeing the room whenever you even hinted at the shooting. But he stays rooted in his spot, even if just to prove you both wrong. 

“Sometimes?” he goads, braver than he feels. You look at him intensely for what feels a very long time, then begin to relax against his touch.

“Sometimes,” you say, slowly, like you’re still expecting him to make an excuse and leave you to your feelings. “Sometimes I feel like I’m still there,” you admit, lip wobbling. “Just. Lying there. Waiting for someone to find me. To realize something’s not right.”

Nolan’s throat closes off. You’re not talking about the hospital, he realizes as his stomach drops. You’re talking about the alleyway. 

“It’s what I dream about, usually,” you sniff. Talking about the nightmare is better than having it, but it makes you nauseous nevertheless. You breathe in and out, deeply, a couple of times before you find your words again. “I’m lying there and it takes forever for someone to find me. Sometimes no one ever does and I wake up thinking I haven’t left that alley.”

That’s where Nolan’s perspective comes into view. He watches you wake, though only sometimes because there are nights in which you refuse to bother him despite how adamant he’s been about waking him up when you need him. He watches you wake and draws you back from the metaphorical cliff into his arms and your bed. 

You’d never told him about the dreams. This is definitely a first.

He does his best to breathe, to keep eye contact. He meant it, the silent vow he made to himself when you came forward and asked him to go to therapy together. He’s through running away from this. If he keeps leaving you every time you feel like this, what makes him any different than the man who left you in that alley, fighting for your life?

He does his best. “I don’t know if I can help,” he admits shamefully, out loud for the first time but for the thousandth time to himself. “But I’m here.”

You shudder with a sniff. Shifting closer to him, Nolan takes your weight effortlessly, like this is what he was meant for. That, he’s never doubted. 

“We found you,” he continues, a comfort that works for him as he hopes works for you. “We brought you home. I know exactly where you are.”

You lose the fight and bury your face in his shoulder, shaking in Nolan’s arms for a long, long time. Crying, he can tell, but quietly. He doesn’t tell you to be loud about it if you want to. He’s done telling you how to live through your grief.

“I kept thinking of you,” you admit later, much later, into his shirt. Nolan closes his eyes, wrecked. “Of who would call you, or if you… If you’d have to… to come claim a body.”

You feel him tighten his grip around you. 

“You were the first thing I recognized,” you continue, quiet. You’re toying with his shirt, soothing your fingers over the soft, worn fabric. “When I woke up, amidst all that panic, there was you.”

You huff a laugh against him, breath warm. “I don’t know if I’ve thanked you for that lately. Calming me down. You’ve always been good at that.”

“I don’t feel like I’m doing much,” he admits shamefully. 

He feels the way you shake your head, unwavering in your truth. “You do everything. You’re everything.”

“Right back at you, honey,” he says, and you hold each other for a very long time. 

Halfway through getting your life back, almost nine months after the shooting that shattered your life to the ground, the team finds and collars the perp.

The same gun he used on you shows up in CODIS for another recent crime and you get a warning text from Fin less than ten minutes before he walks in with the suspect. Rollins is stone-faced by his side, both of them holding on to him despite his very obvious lack of struggle. 

He barely even looks at you before he’s glancing away, bored. You remain unrecognizable to him but his features spark a flash of awareness deep in your unconscious and you’re excuse yourself to go dry heave in a bathroom while he gets processed. 

Your thumb shakes over the screen of your phone, right on top of Nolan’s contact. You should just call him, you know it. You’ve done it before, and your husband would cross the city during rush hour and bend time to his will just to be by your side and hold you through the panic. 

You know, but you can’t. You’ve been doing so good lately, finally; after the year from hell your lives are finally getting a glimpse of normalcy, and this– this is a Setback. Capital S setback, and after everything you’ve put him through… God, you can’t keep doing this to him.

You won’t do this to him. You call your therapist instead and hate every single second of it, hate even more that it works; forty minutes on the phone with her and you exit the bathroom with bloodshot eyes but with your chin held high and hands steady. 

Amaro is the first to notice you and he catches your stare immediately, but he only nudges a tower of paperwork from his desk to yours and says, “You snooze, you lose, partner.”

“Dick,” you answer, your voice only a bit nasal. You’re so incredibly thankful for him that you could weep again right there and then. 

You sit to get back to work, perp nowhere in sight, and bite the inside of your cheek in thought before you pull your phone back out, sending some rapid-fire texts. 

Hey

I love you

You sigh and leaf through the papers, looking for where to start. Working through an equally ridiculous amount of files in his office across the city, Nolan’s eyebrows lift in curiosity at your  texts.

I love you too

Is everything alright?

The three dots signifying your reply appear and disappear over the course of a few moments. After a while, his phone chimes again. 

Rough day. Just wanted the reminder.

But I’m okay, I promise. 

I’ll tell you all about it at home tonight.

Nolan sighs out slowly, and trusts you. Because of it, he watches you grow into your own skin again. 

Your visits to Dr. Masters get less and less frequent and the damned paper finally gets signed. The nightmares, though not gone, lessen and don’t make you sick to your stomach anymore as you trace Nolan’s features in the dark to soothe yourself back into a slumber. You tell him everything, become more lenient with your resurfacing memories and in return, you hold Nolan as he talks about those days at the hospital and cries until he physically can’t anymore. 

It’s so familiar and so, so new. You’re who you’ve always been and yet Nolan finds himself staring at you sometimes, amazed at the differences– a woman reshaped entirely by trauma and victorious over it nevertheless. Victorious because of it.

When you drag him away from the kitchen sink where dirty dishes sit after dinner, he barely puts up a fight. Nolan eagerly follows you to the couch and sinks into your embrace when you tangle your fingers in his hair, shivering against your welcoming touch.

You’re making out like teenagers– like you used to when you were in college– with no specific purpose until Nolan starts to forget himself. His hands are around your waist, squeezing unconsciously while you, on top of him, swallow his sound of elation and run your tongue along his teeth, wet and dirty. 

Jesus, Nolan thinks unabashedly, and wants, wants, wants–

He nudges his leg between your thighs, pants uncomfortably tight, when you call his name. You’re pulling away suddenly, bringing him back from a daze, a hand tangled in his hair. Your fingers twitch with restraint as you look him over, pensive.

Nolan sighs, leaning his temple against yours and trying to get his breathing back into a less agitated rhythm. All he gets is a whisk of your perfume and the warmth of your skin, his efforts useless. 

“Right,” he murmurs, voice velvet quiet. He’s still trying to preserve the moment even after your new set of boundaries. “Right. I’m sorry.”

You haven’t gone that far since– Since. Nolan can’t recall the details of the last time you were together, one random night the week you were shot. He didn’t think he’d have to, but now he wishes he had committed the night to memory; your skin under his hands, the sounds you made, how you reached bliss together–

“Don’t be,” you say equally as lowly, pupils blown, gaze ardent. “I want…”

You drift off. It’s suddenly urgent, imperative that Nolan knows what you’re asking for, needs to give it to you immediately.

“What?” he murmurs back, thumbing at your bottom lip, bruised and kissed. Your breath is hot against his skin. “What, honey, what do you want? What can I do?”

“Kiss me again,” You say. Then, before he can comply– “Don’t– don’t stop. I don’t want you to stop.”

“You…” Nolan says, shaking his head to pull himself together, attention still hazy around the edges. Your name tastes so sweet when he says it. “You mean…”

“Please,” you whine, and Nolan’s body reacts to the sound all on its own, hips subtly canting up towards you. You press your mouth to his jaw, tongue barely caressing the skin. “Please, Nole, please keep touching me.”

Nolan curses, both at your words and the realization he might not last as long as he’d like if you keep saying these things to him. “Sweetheart. Oh, are you sure?”

Your breath hitches. “God, Nolan, more than anything else.”

“Come on. Come here,” Nolan insists, turning to kiss you so thoroughly he almost forgets the point he’s trying to make. “I’m gonna do this right, okay? We have a perfectly good bed in the other room–”

He scrambles up and takes your hand, taking you with him. You surrender to him and he kisses your hand, the crook of your elbow, your shoulder and neck, in a rush and yet wanting to make this last as long as possible. 

You laugh amidst your urgency, rich and lovely, cupping his face and kissing him soundly, rubbing against him. Nolan is a weak, weak man. 

“I love you,” you say while he buries himself inside you later in bed, sheets pooled around the both of you, and looking up at him like you can’t believe he’s real. Nolan’s on top of you and he’s got your fingers tangled together; your hands pinned against the sides of your face. They’re points of steadiness as the tension inside him threatens to snap with each thrust, however small. “I love you, Nole, I love you so much–”

He’s not ashamed to say he’s crying when he finally comes, and you cup his face in your hands with a wounded sound when you realize. You kiss him as you finally let yourself go and it tastes like victory. Like work; like blood, sweat and tears. It feels like being yourself, added scars and all, Nolan’s warmth a steady, sure thing against your side. 

started this over a year ago and it's finally yours!!! sorry i've been so absent, i've been having the worst writer's block of my life lol but i hope you love this as much as i do! let me know what you think and i hope you see more from me in the next months! thanks for reading <3

[mooremars]

Random Camelot facts I learned from Alan Jay Lerner's book:

Frederick Loewe's reaction to the idea of this musical: "That king was a cuckold. Who the hell cares about a cuckold?"

Loewe couldn't even get through The Once and Future King and that is so valid.

Lerner's determination for whether an audience was into Camelot was whether they laughed at "You wonder what the king is wishing tonight/he's wishing he were in Scotland fishing tonight" and I do think he was right.

The first reading was over three hours. The first show in Toronto lasted four and a half hours, ending at 12:40 AM. The second performance ended at 12. For reasons that will become clear soon, this did not really improve until they went to Boston and even then, they didn't get the show down to length until Broadway.

There was a twelve minute sequence of Lancelot's quests that lasted a single performance before getting cut.

There was also a forest animal ballet.

Alan Jay Lerner's wife (number 4 of 8) took their two year old on a "vacation" to Europe during the writing. She called two days in and said she and the son were never coming back. He had a breakdown.

He went to a psychiatrist but said he didn't have time to do any therapy because he needed to write the second act so he just asked to get prescribed something. The doctor apparently went for this, telling him to start with four of whatever these pills were and then build up to twelve a day.

This is how he wrote If Ever I Would Leave You because of course that would be the song.

During rehearsals, he was getting weaned off the meds. In the two days leading up to opening, he just forgot to take the remaining pills or eat anything reasonable. His wife and son also showed back up.

After the second performance it was discovered he had an ulcer and was bleeding internally. He was hospitalized for almost two weeks.

As he was leaving the hospital, the director was wheeled in after suffering a heart attack.

Anyway, this combination of events led to them not fixing the many many problems in the show.

Also at this point Lerner and Loewe were seemingly barely speaking to each other even though they were rewriting the show and looking for a new director.

Lerner functionally took over directing even though he'd never directed anything. Loewe hated this.

Two weeks before they opened in New York they had an almost entirely new second act.

I think this is pretty common knowledge but Before I Gaze at You Again only got lyrics two days before Broadway previews.

When the director finally got out of the hospital, they started making changes again three months after it opened on Broadway.

Loewe quit musicals after this one and I cannot blame him.

He barely touches on the movie, clearly something is going on there, but the one thing he did mention is that apparently Richard Harris was kind of a nightmare.

[hangonimevolving]

Spring 2024: It was a time of activity, it was a time of illness… but ultimately, a time of achievements.

So now, we find ourselves in early 2024. Vev’s 11th bday was more or less a non-event (at his own request) — except for us getting goofy and decorating our house with some salvaged decorations that he shamelessly stole after a work event. They were too perfect for Vev—- Pan Am theme!

(It occurs to me that I didn’t post anything about Dey’s 9th birthday, which was in December 2023. Oops, sorry Dey. Here, let me find a picture. We did celebrate it…somehow 😂)

Ok look - we DID do something. The reason I don’t remember is bc he pretty much tore into those Lego sets and was engrossed in building the entire day. Anyway.

Back to Feb 2024 and onward. The kids had a random half-day of school, and so happened that Dr. Spouse was asked by a local news affiliate to film a news segment on brain health - so I decided to take the kids down to the hospital and get a hands-on lesson on both healthcare and journalism. It was a fun and exciting little field trip!

Somewhere around this time, the kids had their respective Field Days at school. I was room parent for Vev’s room last year along with another friend, so I was heavily involved in organizing his class’ Field Day stuff - but I was on site and cheering for both kids, as was daddice for as much as he could manage.

March rolled in, and alas - minor disaster struck. Vev came down with what we thought was a cold… then he got a fever…and then, he was just very, very sick with flu-like symptoms including HIGH 104+ fevers, severe coughing and respiratory congestion, loss of appetite, and overall misery… for TWO WEEKS STRAIGHT. He missed 10 consecutive days of school and was just miserable for weeks - and we were too. Poor kiddo. I was juggling taking care of Dey, keeping him healthy and getting him off to/from school, along with nursing Vev, escorting him to (nightmarish and fury-inducing) pediatrician appointments (long story), sleeping in his room at night to help him get comfortable, overseeing round the clock meds and nebulizer treatments, and being a go-between for him, his teacher, and the school principal to keep him up to date on work. It was a LOT.

Thankfully, spring break immediately followed his two-week confinement, which gave him more time to recuperate - and even gave us a short getaway to Clearwater Beach for a few days once he was really feeling better.

Soon, it was April, then May. We were busy with lots of activities, including numerous Speech and Debate tournaments, and some medals won! I enjoyed volunteering as a judge for these tournaments. We also took a drive down to Ft. Lauderdale to see one of Vev’s drawings from Art class at school that was featured in a local art show for public school kids.

We had some other ups and downs in this time. Both cars were due for vet checkups….. always a time of hijinks and nerves (more for me than the cats). Pixel in particular had some adventures this year - due to her outstanding behavior 🤪 the vet prescribed her some gabapentin to “help her relax” during her physical exam. She was high as a kite.

An era came to an end. On May 5th, Dr. Spouse’s trusty 2014 Tesla Model S died a sudden and very peaceful (almost suspiciously peaceful) death, parked at the front of the kids’ Kumon center. Though the reality was hard to accept, we soon came to terms that we’d have to trade it in and lease a new car. So we all went to bid a final adieu to Red Flyer, aka “Lightning McQueen,” and welcome home Red Flyer 2.

Then, it was JUNE! And the end of the school year.was upon us. We were VERY proud of Dey for an awesome year at school, and of Vev for completing 5th grade, which in our community is a mini-graduation, as the kids head off to a whole new middle school in the fall!

So! This takes us to June 2024, and the end of the school year. Up next will be a synopsis of Summer 2024, which entailed some exciting travel, a bevy of summer camp adventures, and more. One final thought here - maybe it’s my paranoid mom brain, but I feel like this was a Vev-focused post, and I am concerned it looks like I don’t pay as much attention to Dey. But that couldn’t be further from the truth! Dey is everything, everywhere, all over at once - and even if one wanted to ignore him (which I don’t!) it would be impossible, bc he is a total cartoon, and keeps us laughing nonstop 😜 So I’ll make sure to bump up the Dey content in the next post!

[anderius-langston]

open posts | headcanons & answered asks | event recaps | playlist

biography under the cut

tw: mention of miscarriages & death by car accident/drunk driver

Anderius grew up knowing one thing: if he was going to be anything, he was going to have to work harder and be better than the rest. He was his parents’ only child when all the others in the family had at least four children, and he knew he couldn’t mess up - his parents wanted him so badly, he needed to make them proud. At first, it was competing with his siblings and cousins. Who had the better grades. Who was the one the aunties and uncles favored. As he got older, his attention turned to sports and academics. Soccer in the fall. Basketball in the winter. Lacrosse in the spring. He was in school clubs. He volunteered. In the summer, he worked at his father’s garage.

He went to college and focused on what he needed to become a doctor. He met a woman, they fell in love, and they built their dreams together. He was honest with her, he was going to be successful and he was going to work hard. It meant med school, long hours… it meant sacrifice. She agreed and was with him every step of the way — all the way through when he became a surgeon. They were married; he had enough money to live comfortably not just for himself and his wife — but also his parents. He had finally accomplished all he wanted.

All that was left for this idyllic dream was children. He wanted one. She wanted four. They compromised with the idea of two children. Ultimately, she could only have one after two miscarriages. They grieved but overcame — and they loved their son with all their hearts.

His wife began speaking to him about her dream - a bed and breakfast somewhere small, near the water. A place where they could be together without having to coordinate schedules. He would laugh and promise her “soon, soon.” She called him one day at work and said she had found it - her dream - in Marshall Island where they would go on vacation. “Let’s go see it” she said. “It’s for sale.” He agreed and they set up a time. At the last minute, he got called to cover a surgery. He knew she was upset but he promised — soon, they’d have her bed and breakfast. He encouraged her to go with their son and he’d meet them there later that night. She agreed.

His wife and child never made it. He found out later that their deaths had been quick. It was likely that they didn’t know what happened as the drunk driver sped through the intersection. In one horrible moment - he lost the two people he had loved the most. He thinks — what if I had been there with them? What if we had left on time? What if they took a different route… these thoughts haunt him.

He’s retired from his position in the hospital. He’s sold his homes and his cars. He’s kept only what is precious to him - what was precious to his wife and son — and he bought the bed and breakfast that his wife loved so much. He’s fixing it now, looking through her drawings and plans — all the things she had put aside for him to chase his dreams — and he’s working hard to make her dreams a reality, even though it’s too late. Now he thinks “soon … soon.” Soon, he’ll have the bed and breakfast fixed and ready to open — and then he will have to face being without her.

[kmadrigalsoto]

'It's not your fault.'

The amount of times Kimberly heard that by staff and the police was enough for it to become less convincing. The turn of events that took place at the Mayoral Ball was something that didn't surprise her and if anything, she was more upset at the fact that Benji got caught in the crossfire than herself. A part of her knew it was risky to throw such an event during times of turmoil and chaos, but she pressed for it as she wanted to promote more positivity and unity to the city. Now she felt completely stupid for even being so naive at the idea. Moreover, she felt like she'd been careless during the blackout as she made herself an easy target. All those years of learning her own culture's martial arts and yet she couldn't fend for herself. It turns out that it was a completely different feeling and outcome when you're a victim.

Evidently enough, Kimberly hadn't processed her trauma thoroughly. Not only was she completely numb, but she'd been silent ever since she'd been admitted into the hospital. Simply gesturing nods and shaking her head as she mostly dismissed those around her. Currently, her assigned nurse had been trying to get her to eat, but she refused. Watching her leave the food on her tray table, Kimberly laid still as she stared up at the ceiling and listened to the sights and sounds of the hospital. She could hear a bit of commotion outside, but she paid no mind to it as she continued to stare aimlessly and hoping that her pain meds would kick in.

Suddenly, she could feel someone take her hand which caused her to flinch slightly and retract, but as soon as her eyes darted over to Nik, she immediately relaxed and slowly accepted the gesture. How long had she been disassociated for? The thought left her mind after hearing what her best friend had to say. "Mhm." she hummed as Kimmie slowly sat up from her bed. Wincing in slight pain from the bruising, the heiress cleared her throat before reaching for her glass of water with her free hand and taking a long sip. "Well, I'm not dead." she finally said in a hoarse tone as she wasn't sure how else to respond to the heavy loaded question. "Thanks for visiting...I probably should have had them call you right away, let alone update you as my emergency contact at this point."

closed for @kmadrigalsoto

Nikhil had been absolutely making the rounds at the local police station from the moment he'd realized Kimberly was missing. He was obviously concerned about both her and Benji but with Kimberly’s family as well that not everyone in Wilmington knew about--he felt like her going missing initially could've been anything. What if the other woman's father orchestrated this as a way to teach her a lesson? He didn't know anything and he was mostly just concerned with finding his friend and bringing her back. And maybe, possibly hiring her a person bodyguard or something as well. 

He'd arrived at the hospital mere hours after they’d mentioned that the pair had been found and brought to the hospital. He'd figured if he waited a little bit longer, they could get the appropriate medical attention even though the pit in his stomach only grew at the thought of them even needing any of that. As soon as he'd argued with the nurses and doctor's in charge of her care (someone who had been a cricket fan and had only let him go when Nikhil signed a few autographs for him; he drew the line at selfies because this was not the time at all) he’d been able to get to her room.

“Kimme,” he let out a large sigh of relief as soon as he spotted her on the bed there, and within seconds he was by her side, taking her hand gently as he shook his head. “I—am so glad you’re okay. You—are okay right?” He didn’t know how much to ask and how much to just let her be but he hoped she knew she could depend on him as much as she needed to.

[sunshine-on-marz]

But what if I don’t want you dead?

BIG OL’ TRIGGER WARNING

Suicide, major character death, lots of blood (omg so much blood), screaming, crying, throwing up (no but actually),just lots of angst lmao

This is a story crafted from the canon characters of the DSMP. While this is not based on the events of the lore, it is also not at all based on the real people. Also, Dream is in this story so if that makes you uncomfortable feel free to not read, I’ll see ya next time!

“Holy shit. Holy shit! Dream!” The tears began rolling down your cheeks as you watched the man who’d helped you through just about everything fall into a pool of lava. Sapnap holds you back as you attempt to run over to the blonde. You screamed and thrashed, begging him to let you go. He simply pulled you into his chest as you punched his chest, over and over. You screamed until you slouched to the floor from exhaustion. Sapnap simply knelt down with you and cried as well. It took a few minutes for him to calm down. He lifted you up to your feet and guided you out of the cave. Once the two of you reached the mouth you where only sniffling and dry heaving. George had been waiting for the both of you. As soon as he saw the both of you, he ran up to you and hugged you. “I’m so sorry y/n, I’m so so sorry.” You stayed in his arms until he let go, you wanted to scream, scream at George that it was all his fault, but you knew it wasn’t. He was just doing what he had to. Dream knew what was going to happen when he spoke up to Schlatt, and this was simply repercussions. “Y/n?” The voice you heard wasn’t George, or Sapnap, but Karl. He spoke again. “Hey y/n? Are you awake?” You sat up slowly. “Good morning sunshine” you nodded your head to Karl’s sad smile. “G’mornin doctor.” He sat down next to your cot. “You passed out, Sap brought you in and told me what happened, I’m so sorry kid” you smiled in acknowledgement and fell back onto the pillow behind you. “I’m guessing you don’t have any meds that can bring him back, huh?” Karl shakes his head. “Sadly not.” You sighed “I assumed” you began to swing your feet off of the cot. But as you stood up Karl placed his hand on yours. “Y/n, last time he was here it was after a nether incident. His boot laces got a bit scorched and I uhm, I still have the laces, if you want them.” You looked at him for a moment before responding, “yes please”. He got the laces out of a drawer. You took one and wrapped it around your wrist like a bracelet. You placed the other in your pocket. You then left the hospital and walked to Dream’s old house. You opened the door and walked to the guest room that had slowly morphed into your second bedroom. You grabbed a book and began to write your final good bye. As you finished your signature you heard the front door fly open and both George and Sapnap scream your name. You tried to hide the letter but George opened the before you could. “Y/N!” He flung himself onto you in a hug before seeing the paper. You tried to sway it away but George grabbed it and started reading. He teared up just as Sapnap walked in. While Sap took in the scene infront of him George finished reading the letter. Then the paper was handed to Sapnap and George wrapped his arms around your torso. “Y/N, please, I can’t lose you to. You’re all I have left of him, please, please we love you so much” you started crying to. Sapnap just leaned back and slid down the wall with tears streaming down his face silently. He then looked to you and George and walked over to the both of you. Sapnap lightly unwrapped George around you and lifted you up like he would when you where younger. You wrapped your legs around him and put your nose into his shoulder. He started quietly humming and swaying the both of you to his song. Not long after George wrapped his arms around both you and Sap. The three of you where just…there. It felt safe though. Your little family may have shrunken but it was still unbreakable.

————

Oooooo lawd. I’m so sorry y’all- I was in an angst mood-

Tags: @remithefroglady @kit-is-a-weeb @the-radio-system-writes @emoandglam @lyssys @ayat0s-hydr0-v1s10n @honeybee4701 @zooone @chumkles @modelbus @minorinnit

[when-wolves-howl]

If I Bleed

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: You finally reunite with your old team mates and learn a little more about what's been happening while you were gone.

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Chapter 3 is here! Please go back and read Chapter 1 and 2 to understand this story.

I got a little carried away so it's pretty long. I wanted to establish some relationships before we really get into the chaos. Should mention that his takes place ten years after Age of Ultron, so the events of Winter Solider, Civil War have happened but the accords didn't go through and Infinity War and Endgame will not happen because I refuse to cry at my own writing. Also I am no medical expert so any 'medical' talk is completely made up. I tried to make it sound as convincing as possible. Natasha doesn't make an appearance in this chapter but she'll show up very soon. Enjoy reading!

*you do not have permission to repost or translate my material to claim as yours*

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Waking up to Vibranium power dampening cuffs around your wrists and secured to the rails of a hospital bed, an IV attached to your arm and bandage covering your chest, only instilled your gut instincts not to trust anyone. Fighting against the restraints was useless, but the frantic beating of your heart alerted the monitor connected to your chest and the pounding of your head was only increasing. It was making you panic even more by not knowing where you were. With not being able to move your arms, you lay your head back down to the pillow behind your head and focus on slowing your heart beat down. It’s something she taught you when you saw the signs of a panic attack.

Surveying your surroundings, you know that you're definitely in a hospital of some type. The antiseptic smell is so intense that its almost making you gag. Plus the white walls and marble floor were a dead giveaway. On the other side of the room is a door with a small window. You figured hell would be a lot more red. Turning your head up to the corner of the ceiling you see a camera pointing directly at you with a small red light flashing. Someone is definitely watching you, meaning this isn’t a regular hospital. You stick your middle finger up at it.

For the couple of minutes that you were awake, you almost forgot about the circumstances that put you in these restraints in the first place, or who put you here. It’s funny that the person who's fault it is that you're here has red hair, just like the devil. It’s hard to even process any other coherent thoughts relating to your circumstances with the pounding ache at the base of your skull. Trying to ignore the pain, you focus your hearing to gauge a better understanding of your whereabouts and what is on the other side of the door but any effort to do that is halted when the door beeps on the other side and a figure walks through the door with a rucksack on their shoulder and you meet their eyes immediately.

“Welcome back, soldier. Took you long enough to get back to us” they say with a small grin. You rolls your eyes in annoyance and with a slight grin of your own but it quickly falters when you try to move.

“Can you take these off me, please?” you ask, nodding to the cuffs. Your visitor raises an eyebrow and you can tell they're skeptical of your intentions once you're released but you have no where to go right now. Your old home probably isn't your home anymore. You may as well stay to try and get some answers. “I’m not going to hurt you, Maria.”

“That’s not what I'm worried about. Just don’t run please.” You nod in response. Maria takes a set of keys from her back pocket and moves to the side of the bed to release your wrists. You rub at the red marks gently and look back up to your mentor.

“Where am I?” you ask, not bothering to keep the irksome tone out of your voice.

“Washington D.C in a secure S.H.I.E.L.D med bay. You’ve been out for about twelve hours’ Maria answers, looking you directly in the eyes. You can hear her heartbeat. It’s beating steadily, so you hope she's not lying. As if she's read your thoughts, she keeps talking. “I’m not lying, Y/N. Neither was Natasha.” You wince at her name and you know Maria saw so she avoids saying that name again. “You really have been dead for nearly three years. The explosion, finding your remains, even the positive ID on your dentals records. It all pointed to you being dead and I know you want answers but I don’t have any, no one does. We were hoping you could shed some light on what happened?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Do you really think I know what’s going on here? If I did, I wouldn't be laying in this bed right now. I wouldn't have two holes burnt into my chest” you retort, your voice beginning to rise. Maria doesn't cower at your rise in tone. She’s not afraid of you so she lets you continue, knowing that you need this “Do you really think I would keep my whereabouts from all this time a secret? Especially from you or her? Waking up three years later and finding out that everyone thought that i was dead, that it seems like I've lost everything in my life. My job, my life, my girlfriend. It’s all gone and I can fucking remember why! Also, where the fuck is Fury? If you can't give me answers, I know he can! I want my own fucking answers!” you scream at the top of your lungs. Maria just stares at you with a blank expression and you respond with a scowl, taking deep breaths to recover from your outburst.

“First of all, Fury isn’t the director of S.H.I.E..L.D anymore, I am. When you called using your old Agent number, somehow it redirected to him and he contacted me. But Fury was forced out not long after you died” she explains.

“What happened?” you ask, curiously. The theres only a handful of agencies that are capable of twisting his arm and making him leave. And apparently the man that seemed to have an eye as good as Heimdall, couldn't see everything that came his way.

“I can’t tell you that. It’s classified and you no longer have clearance and before you ask, yes I know where he is and no I won't tell you because he asked me not to tell anyone” Maria responds, raising her hands in a defensive manner at seeing you furrow your brow in annoyance. You release a loud groan and throw your head against the pillow. “What I can tell you is that Bruce ran a CT scan and your neuropathic indicators showed no signs of manipulation, ever. Meaning that you were never brainwashed or under anyones control.” She brings her hand to yours and gently squeezes it. You sigh loudly but squeeze her hand in return indicating that you've understood what she's said.

If you weren't under any brainwashing or other mind manipulation techniques, one question answered of the millions that you have, then what were you doing for three years? Where were you? Who were you with? Who were you? Maria can’t answer them or can’t without you having clearance. You need to find anyone that can. For now, you want to leave this bed and find the bunch idiots you call your family. You love Maria like a sister but she belongs at S.H.I.E.L.D and you belong at the compound. You hope you do.

Ripping the IV out of your arm and lowering the bar of your bed, you swing your legs to the side. Before you can stand up Maria pushes on your chest to stop you from standing and you hiss in pain when she touches the burn marks.

“Don’t be a baby. You’ve been through worse and you heal quickly” she lightly scolds. You mumbled under your breath that it still hurts and you see that Maria is the one to roll her eyes now. “Like I said earlier, you don’t have clearance so I can’t share many details with you without being prosecuted, but what I can tell you is that Everett Ross, who is now the Director of International Security, is in my office waiting for me to return. I told him I had to step out for bit to monitor your situation. I know he wants to debrief you to the fullest extent and you and I both know that could take days, maybe even weeks.” Everett Ross’ hate towards you was only an extension of his hate towards Steve and Bucky, who, along with yourself, evaded his capture during Bucky’s manhunt in Bucharest. After the Sokovia Accords fell through, Ross must have bought his promotion, instead of earning it.

“But I don’t know anything ” you defend quickly.

“I know that but do you think he cares? He’s now a Director for the CIA for god sake. If he wants answers, he’ll get them. I don't know the full extent of his investigation but I think he suspects that Hydra is involved somehow and if he thinks that, it's safe to assume that he thinks you're a double agent and never truly defected to S.H.I.E.L.D ten years ago." Maria concludes. You shake your head at the ridiculousness of that what she says. You'd gained a new life after Sokovia. You found your family and the love of your life. You wouldn't give that up for anything. Not voluntarily.

"If he really thinks that I'm a double agent, he going to be really pissed that you let me go" you say worriedly. You don't want Maria to get into trouble.

"I know it's not true, Y/N, I know your heart. So I’ll buy you some time to slip out. I won’t say that you ran, just that you wanted to see your family and that you’ll cooperate in a couple of days time. I've disabled the laser grid in the air vents so you can sneak out that way” You smile at how easily she can slip in and out of spy mode. She’s truly a professional. Moving to your feet, she hands you the bag she brought in and you squeeze her hand in appreciation. As you put your hand the door handle, you spin around at her voice. “They know you're alive. I contacted Steve as soon as I got word and the whole team has been briefed. They missed you. We all did. It’s really good to have you back Y/N” Maria says genuinely. You smile sadly at her kind words but remain silent at you open the door and walk though it. You immediately look up and see the ventilation system Maria was talking around. It’s an easy feat with your strength to lift yourself up.

As you army crawl through the vents, it hits you that you’re returning to a place that you haven’t lived in, in three years. To a family who thought you were dead. To your team mates who you haven’t fought alongside in a long time even though to you, it was a few days ago. Reaching the end of the vent, you open the bag Maria gave you and find your old shield uniform and combats boots. You disappointedly find no gun but a small switchblade. Better than nothing. With great difficulty, you manage to slip off the hospital gown and put your uniform on. Kicking at the vent, you slip out and fall a couple of stories until you land hard on your feet. With a deep breath, you set off into a run and towards whatever is left of your life before.

......

After dropping the off the car you ‘borrowed’ a mile away, you were now in upstate New York and standing outside the automatic doors of the compound. You figured it was a good idea enter through the front doors instead of breaking in. F.R.I.D.A.Y would surely alert every one of an intruder and you would rather not have your ass blown to away by Tony’s repulsors. Unable to enter the compound without an access card, you take the switchblade from your pocket and removed the access panel. With the rearrangement of some wires, the light on the panel turns green and the door opens. F.R.I.D.A.Y definitely needs an update. Stepping through the door, you quickly make your way into the elevator and press the button to the floor above.

Instead of the sickening dread that you had felt in your stomach earlier, you find that it’s been replaced with a sense of anxiousness. These people haven’t seen you in so long. You wonder if they're the same people you involuntarily left behind. The elevator doors ding and you step out into the entrance to the common room. You see Pietro, Bruce, Steve, Thor, Tony, Vision and Clint sitting at the table talking quietly to each other. You notice the absence of one Avenger immediately. You decide not listen in on their conversations since you promised you wouldn't when they realised you had enhanced hearing. Your footsteps interrupt them and they all turn their heads and look in your direction. You stand there, feeling like a child about to show their new toy for show and tell. Shoving your hands in your pockets, you decide its better if you speak first.

“Hi guys” you greet meekly. Everyone remains silent. You look around the table at notice the expressions of everyone. Shock etched upon everyones face. Maria did say they knew you were coming but it seems they can’t believe their eyes. Before you can get another word out, a flash of blue flashes before your eyes and you are suddenly engulfed in a tight embrace by Pietro. You instantly wrap your arms around him and try to understand his mumblings into your shirt. You call his name multiple times but he just continues with his incoherent sentences until you force him away from you by his shoulders and keep a firm grip on them. Looking at his features, you take note of everything. His sunken eyes, silver messy hair. He looks exhausted, like he hasn't slept in a long time. You grin at him otherwise, happy to see one of your best friends.

“You look like shit, Maximoff” you tease, with an amused expression.

“And you’re the best thing I've seen in a long time” he responds in Sokovian, his voice deep and honest. You understand him immediately, since he and Wanda taught you the language during your time with Hydra. Speaking of, where the hell is your other best friend? “Where the hell have you been?” He takes in your own features and notice they mirror his.

“That’s why I'm here. I have no idea where I've been or what the hell is going on, Piet. Maria said no one has answers but there has to be someone who knows something. Someone always does” you answer, trying to not sound frustrated again at your lack of knowledge of what’s happened to you. Pietro hugs you tight again and whispers that he missed you and you return his words.

“Okay speedy boy, let them breathe,” Pietro pulls away and stands at your side with his hand on your shoulder as you notice Tony walking towards you with a smile. Even though a sarcastic rich asshole, Tony was the man who passed on some of his learnings from MIT to you, even if you barely understood what he was saying half the time. When you eventually understood what he was taking about, you found the knowledge useful in the field and have been grateful ever since. He brings you into his arms. ‘Welcome home, kid. Don't ever disable F.R.I.D.A.Y again” He kisses your temple. You smile at his pet name that he always calls you. Maybe they haven’t changed. Tony also moves off the side and behind him are Steve and Bucky. Steve eyes you curiously, always on alert for any sign of an attack. You send him a wink and his stern eyes soften at your playfulness. Bucky notices the look between you and Steve and pouts, to which you notice. Rolling your eyes at both of them, you spread out both of yours arm and the two super soldier practically leave dust in their wake as they make their way over to you. You emit an “oof” at their contact but it quickly turns into laughter when they both throw you over your shoulders and start spinning you around.

“Put me down, you pair of popsicles!”

“We’re still stronger than you, rookie” Bucky says through his laughter. Steve agrees along with his best friend. The two of them took you under their wing and helped you use your strength for other things other than destruction and chaos. The two men finally release you to your feet and you register the three other people in the room.

You nod at the first. Vision. He nods back. You appreciated his status as a sentient being and his impressive skills on the field but you never formed any type of relationship besides professional. You were okay with this and he seemed to be as well. The next person in your line of sight is Bruce. He stands timidly by the table and sends you a small smile. You always tried to be civil with Bruce but he left her heartbroken and feeling unwanted. The only upside to him breaking her hurt was that she fell in love with you. Not anymore, you guess. Maybe you can find a way to be his friend this time. Nonetheless, you walk up to him and shake his hand and return his smile. Noticing the last Avenger present hasn't moved from his chair or even looked in your direction, you shake you head at her best friend and decide not to acknowledge him. There's nothing you really want to say to him anyway.

Turning your back on the archer, you face the people you do care about and ask about them about the only other green eyed Avenger that you know. You’re excited to see her.

“Where’s Wanda? Is she is out getting things for dinner? Man, I can’t wait to have her paprikash.” you say excitedly but you notice that no one else seems to match your enthusiasm. Everyone seems to avoid your eyes and you look to her brother who only has rage burning within his. “What’s going on? Where is she?” The silence continues and you can feel your own rage starting to consume you. She better not be hurt. Steve sighs loudly and walks towards you, putting his hands on your shoulders. His lips form into a straight line and you can see the gears turning in his head. He’s choosing his words carefully. You frown in confusion and look around to everyone. they’re still avoiding your eyes.

“She’s in The Raft, Y/N” Steve finally answers as calmly as he can. It takes you a moment to register his words and when you do it feels like your soul has been sucked out of your body. What fuck is going on with everyone? Three years missing, she's gone and Wanda’s in an underwater prison? Again? The only thing you can see right now is red and it isn’t Wanda’s magic. Shoving past Steve and towards one of the men who was supposed to look after her. You push him hard against the wall he was standing by. Knowing that you're unable to hurt him, you take your closed fist punch the wall beside his head.

“What the fuck happened!? you scream in Vision’s face. He doesn't flinch at your words and opens his mouth to speak. As he goes top open his mouth, you raise your fist and decide ,’fuck it’ and aim for his face. Before you can connect, Steve grabs your wrist and rips you backwards.

“That’s enough!” Steve thunderous voice echoes throughout the compound and you turn your head to the solider. He lets go of your wrist when he sees you tear rimmed eyes. He knows that you're hurting in every way possible. You can’t lose one of your best friends. Your eyes flicker to Pietro and he’s trying to keep his tears back as well. Steve looks around the room to all of his team mates for support but they won’t even look him in the eye either. “Please sit down. There’s a lot to explain.” You take a seat at the table and everyone follows along with you. Pietro sits next to you and takes your hand in his and squeezes but you yank it away. You’re too furious to be consoled right now.

“After you died, Wanda took off. She left a note saying she was going to find and destroy every Hydra base that she could find. She wanted revenge for you, Y/N. Specifically the person who set off the bomb. No one knew where she went until she started popping up on the world news feed, over a year later. A red haired woman was seen fleeing from multiple crimes scenes all over the world in places we suspected to be Hydra bases, even though we thought they had just disappeared. We knew it was Wanda and eventually we caught up with her.”

Steve takes a breath and his look of disappointment annoys you. He’s the Captain, the leader of this team and now Wanda’s in prison. You stand up quickly and it sends your chair flying backwards and everyones flinches. As you lean on both of your fists on the table and your head hangs low, you wait for the rest of the story. Bucky decides to speak up.

“We found her in Berlin.” Your head immediately shoots up at his words and you implore him to continue with your serious glare. He goes to speak again but Tony holds his hand out to stop him and stands up from his seat. You internally groan because you know this is going to be a long speech.

“A lot has happened while you've been gone, kid. Since the Accords didn't go ahead, we've been unofficially monitored very carefully by the U.N. incase any of us screw up. They're just looking to put us behind bars. Everything was fine until Wanda went rogue. Since then, we've been working in conjunction with the CIA. Wanda was the sacrificial lamb to show that they were serious” Tony explains.

“That explains why Everett Ross was at S.H.I.E.L.D waiting for me. Maria think he think I'm a double agent for Hydra” Tony nods his head at your words. “On who’s authority does the CIA have to baby sit us?”

“The President” Vision answers. You turn your head to him, noticing that he finally decided to speak up. You roll your eyes at his existence.

“So they’ve basically gone ahead with the Accords without actually going ahead with them?” you summarise. Everyone nods. “Tell me about Berlin.” You look back at Bucky and you can tell he's nervous because you go against your word and listen to his rapid heartbeat.

“We got word from Berlin authorities that there had been an explosion and that Hydra soldiers had been spotted in the area. Unfortunately, there were some casualties. Some civilians were caught in the crossfire. By the time we arrived on the scene, Wanda was sitting in the rubble completely broken. Ross and his men weren't far behind and they arrested her and charged her with the murders. She was sent to The Raft straight away.” Bucky concludes. You try to keep yourself calm at the influx of new information but you can feel yourself slipping. You lift your head and decide to speak.

“How long has she been in there?” You look directly at Pietro when you ask him in Sokovian. He looks down at his lap and you can see a lone tear roll down his cheek.

“ A year,” he whispers. You couldn't control yourself if you tried. Raising your fists above your ahead, you slam them harshly against the table and it shatters upon impact, letting out a loud scream. Everyone moves back the instant the table is broken but don’t seem surprised by your outburst. They remember that your emotions can get the best of you. Remembering the techniques you were taught, you steady your breathing and leave behind the mess you made, along with your former team mates. You ignore the calls of your name as you mindlessly walk fast down the halls of the compound. You can’t even register the memories your brain wants you to as you make your way through the place that used to be your home. You guess it still is in way. Your feet unconsciously bring you to a door. Wanda’s bedroom. Before the grab the handle, you stop and take in the moment of where you actually are. Turning your head over your shoulder, you see the door that used to be your room. The room that you shared with her. You can't think about the painful memories that live in that room. Not right now. You will the tears away as hard as you can.

As you enter Wanda’s room, you expect it to be dusty and dark but you walk into a room that looks like it’s being lived in. You guess that its probably Pietro who has taken up residence in his sisters room. Wanda would do the same while Pietro was away on missions. Looking around the room, you take in all of its contents. Trinkets, candles, books, jewellery, perfume and photos adorn the desk. A particular photo grabs your attention on the night stand and when you pick it up, you're flooded with the memory of the night it was taken. It was the one year anniversary of when you and the twins had joined the team. Tony had thrown a private party for the three of you and in the photo all of the Avengers stand together with beers in hands, arms around each others necks. Your arm around her waist. A simpler time. You try to smile but instead a choked sob falls from your lips. When you return the photo its place, your hand falls to the handle of the nightstand drawer. You assume its still in there. Holding your breath, you open it and assume correctly and see the red velvet box sitting there.

You can’t look at it for too long. It haunts you. Being here in this room, the compound, being around everyone again, you're haunted by the things you can remember and all the things you can’t. You can’t seem to swallow the lump in your throat so you slam the drawer shut and stumble to the middle of the room to try and ground yourself. Falling to your knees, a deep and painful cry erupts from you and all you can do is allow it. Everything is just too much. Right now, you're not strong enough to keep any of your enhanced senses at bay, so you screw your eyes shut and let yourself feel everything at once.

The beating of hearts and pumping of blood of everyone in the dining room, every conversation talking place, the sickening smell of each of their cologne but the beautiful aroma of Wanda’s perfume and candles, the humming of the electricity powering the building, the whines and whistles of F.R.I.D.A.Y coming back on line. For a moment, you think you can smell a sweet lavender scent coming from your old bedroom and it makes you convulse even harder to the point where you have to cover your ears and hope that everything will stop.

After you register the sound of the door slamming shut, everything is silenced. You open your eyes to see Clint leaning against the closed door.

“Did you forget that the rooms are sound proof?” he asks.

Chapter 4

-------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @wolferine @lil-gamer @httpjupiterbby @traveler-at-heart @5-puthyyy @holiday-house-of-m @traveler-at-heart @poptartpoppyy @blackxwidowsxwife @snowdrop1026 @afuckingshituniverse @sherlockstrangewolf @the-camilucha @lorsstar1st @maximoffwitch @8bitscarlet @thefoxandthepenguine @inlovewithfaberry @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @nr-enthusiast @kermy48 @whhyyynott @username23345 @lufluf-fanfic-blog @snowtrova @wildnightuniverse @therunawaykind @8bitscarlet @lainjupi @d14n4ol @natblackwidow2

[kellykidd]

I’m Ready - Kelly Severide x fem!Reader

Summary: When reader gets attacked by her ex-husband, she decides to the next step with Kelly.

Read on Ao3

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: Physical Abuse, victim!reader, comfort, angsty with a happy ending, mentions of blood, injuries, hospitals

Tagging: @sylviebrettisaswiftie (Click here to join my taglist)

Blood. Dripping down your arms and face. He had just left after attacking you, again. Your ex-husband, Brice, was upset after you left him for the firefighter who saved you five years ago. He wanted to get back at you, but no woman would take him. Coming out of your haze after the attack, you saw Sylvie and Gabby rushing into your office, jump bag in hand.

“Hey, hey, are you with me?” Gabby asked you, shining the pen light in your eyes.

You couldn’t answer, you were so filled with shame.

“Let’s hook her up to the monitor, control the bleeding and let’s get her transported,” Sylvie replied.

“Kelly,” You managed to mutter.

“He’s on his way. Chief Boden is bringing him,” Sylvie told you.

Her words seemed to calm you down as Sylvie and her partner worked on your wounds. Your boyfriend rushed into your office. He grabbed your hand and sat beside you.

“Hey, how is she?” Kelly asked Gabby.

“Bleeding pretty heavily when we got here, it seems to be under control,” she replied, taking your BP one more time.

“Dawson, let’s move her.”

“I’m coming with you,” Kelly argued.

“Help us get her up,” Gabby told him.

They put you in the stairchair and brought you down to the awaiting ambulance out front. Kelly held your hand the entire time, something Brice would’ve never even thought about doing back when you were married.

Your paramedics transferred you from your stairchair to the gurney. Gabby hopped in the drivers seat and Sylvie hopped in the back with you and Kelly.

“He hit-. Brice-,” you sputtered.

“I know, I know,” Kelly assured you, “he won’t be bothering you anymore.”

“We’re here,” Gabby called from the front.

Gabby and Sylvie unloaded you and took you into the ED at Med.

“Kelly, you can let her go. We got her,” Sylvie told your boyfriend.

Kelly continued holding your hand as you were brought in.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered in your ear.

You looked across the ED and saw Brice in the bay across from you.

“Kelly,” you winced, pointing in Brice’s direction.

Kelly let go of your hand on the gurney and they wheeled you into the trauma bay.

You could see Kelly going towards Brice’s gurney.

“Hey, don’t you go messing with her again. And if I see you even thinking about her, I will hunt you down and kick your ass, injuries be dammed,” Kelly yelled.

The only reason you could hear the threat was because your man yelled it. You were sure even the coma patients could hear him. Kelly started walking back to your trauma room and sat down beside you.

A nurse came up beside you and patted your hand.

“Hi, I’m April. We are going to get your stitched up and we’ll get you on your way,” the nurse beside you assured.

“Ok. Could you check on my friend? Kelly Severide? Firefighter, he was the one yelling earlier?” You asked.

“Yes, Kelly and I go way back.”

A doctor came by and stitched up your wounds. Just when she was finishing up, you heard a loud beeping sound. It was coming from Brice’s bay. Doctors and nurses started rushing over to help him.

Tears started to fill your eyes.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Kelly asked, stroking your hair.

“Nothing, nothing,” you wiped the tears away from your eyes.

Kelly left your side for a moment and you could see him talking to that nurse, April, from before. You heard the Doctors and Nurses leaving Brice’s bay. You could see his head covered by a sheet.

Kelly walked back in the room later, followed by a man in a grey coat.

“I’m Doctor Charles,” the man told you.

Kelly walked over and planted a kiss on your forehead. The one that reminded you of breakfasts in bed and lazy Sunday afternoons.

“I’m going to head out, pick some stuff up for you from our apartment and I’ll be back,” Kelly told you.

You nodded and watched as he left your room.

“I’m the Head of Psychiatry here,” Doctor Charles continued, “your boyfriend, the lieutenant, told me that you’ve had a pretty difficult day. He was wondering if we could talk.”

You sat there, still, playing with your hair. Twisting it around your finger, the one thing that calms you in a time of stress.

“Could you maybe tell me about Brice?” he asked.

You wiped the tears streaming down your face.

“Brice is-, well, was, my ex-husband. We were together 3 years and had even gotten married when I met Kelly. There was a connection with Kelly that I just didn’t feel with Brice,” you told him.

“What happened when you left Brice?”

“Kelly and I started dating as soon as my divorce was final. The night after Kelly and I had our first date was the first time he attacked me. He punched and kicked and slapped me. He said he would stop if I came back to him.”

“Why didn’t you go back to him?”

“I didn’t love him. I love Kelly and I would do anything to be with him.”

Doctor Charles left your room. You were just sitting there, basking in the events of earlier. The fact that you had let him do it again haunted you. In your mind, it was all our fault. You should know not to tell him where you are.

Doctor Charles came back into your room and sat down beside you.

“I have some news for you,” he told you.

You just sat there silently, looking at the remains of your pantsuit in a bag on the floor.

“Your ex-husband, Brice, has passed away in our ED tonight,” he continued.

You started to cry.

Kelly came into your room. He sat beside you on your bed and wrapped you in a hug.

“Brice died,” you whimpered.

Kelly rubbed your back. As the tears dropped down your face, he whispered “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Your team of doctors and nurses admitted you to the ward. Your boyfriend, of course, followed you up.

“Do you want me to sleep here tonight?” Kelly asked, tucking in your blankets.

“It’s up to you,” you replied, half asleep yourself.

Kelly pulled up the chair to beside your bed. He sat down and tilted his head back to sleep.

“Hey Kelly?” you asked.

“Yeah?” He replied.

“I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“For us to get married.”

Kelly’s head popped up to look at you.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

Kelly pulled a box out of his pocket. He popped it open and it was an engagement ring.

“You’ve been carrying it around all this time?” you asked.

“Of course, I knew it’d work out,” he replied.

You and Kelly kissed, Kelly putting the ring on your finger afterwards.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

—

After being out of the hospital for a few weeks and stuck at home, you desperately wanted to go out. You were off the painkillers now so you talked Kelly into taking you out to Molly’s.

“Are you sure?” Kelly asked, as you were getting ready to head to Molly’s.

“Yes. I got my jersey on and I’m gonna go watch the Blackhawks game at Molly’s and have a drink,” you replied.

Arriving at Molly’s was like coming home. It was were you and Kelly went for your first date, where Kelly originally proposed and where you watched your favourite hockey team win the cup.

You opened the door and were greeted by the loud cheering and applause by the family of Firehouse 51.

“What’s all this for?” You asked, surprised.

“We’ll, it’s part your engagement party and part getting this loose cannon tied down,” Herrmann laughed, patting Kelly on the shoulder.

“Beers on me,” Kelly called, “because I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

[sevendeadlymorons]

How would the brothers and undatables react to MC getting appendicitis? (Bonus points if the symptoms start shortly after eating Solomon’s cooking, so they don’t immediately realize how serious it is until the next day when everyone else is recovered but MC has only gotten worse)

Alright I’ve done my research on this, I think I can do it well and if not… enjoy the HC’s of the brothers taking care of a sick MC 🤣

Brothers + Dateables Reaction to MC Getting Appendicitis

WARNING: Mentions of Vomit

—————————————

Lucifer

You’d mentioned you had stomach pains after you ate Solomon’s food beforehand so he didn’t think much of your pain since they were all in a lot of pain after eating it too

But after your symptoms didn’t stop and you continued to have dizzy spells and bad nausea, he knew something was wrong

He knew a few human illnesses so he checked you over, examining your stomach only to hear you cry out in pain when your appendix area was touched

Immediately knew what was wrong and went out to get you medication, deciding against going to the hospital and instead treating you with some of his special treating potions

Took care of you while you were ill, getting you whatever you needed and making sure you were comfortable

You got lots of affection from his soft side during this time and Solomon got a nasty scolding

Mammon

He already knew about your stomach pains since he was having them pretty bad too

But after a few days, yours didn’t stop, you continuously threw up and clutched your stomach and even he knew something was wrong

Went to Lucifer for help, clinging to you like you were on deaths door as you keeled over in pain

While you were recovering, he was the sole person who took care of you, feeding you your meds and making sure not to touch your stomach. He knew not to now as last time he did, you almost cried out in pain and he’s honestly traumatised

To say he was cuddly would be an understatement, he held your hand constantly and rarely slept just in case you woke up in agony

Was very overprotective even after you recovered, especially around food that Solomon made

Leviathan

When you came into his room and told him you had a stomach ache after eating Solomon’s food, he couldn’t stay serious as he was real thankful it wasn’t him who ate it

But after a while and you were still curled up on his floor, writhing in pain, he began to panic and ran to your side so fast

He did his research and proceeded to prod a few areas of your stomach until he hits your appendix and you cry out and he immediately knew that this could be more serious than a stomach ache

After taking you to the hospital to get medication, he took care of you in his room all by himself. He didn’t care about the events he was missing on his games as long as you would be ok

Gave you gentle little hugs throughout the day and reminded you to take your meds; attempting to calm you down when the pain got too intense

Scolds you to be more careful next time because he doesn’t wanna lose you and definitely goes to have a word with Solomon after

Satan

He understood how you felt when you told him you had stomach pains as his was pretty bad too

But after observing you and the pain just didn’t stop and you started to throw up and cry out in pain when you do so much as breathe, he got very worried

He researched what could be wrong and then took you to the hospital for you to be examined, taking home your meds so he could take care of you

He supported you during your time of illness, making sure you were comfy in his bed and that you felt as little pain as possible since he hated seeing you in pain so much

He helped you take your medicine and even brought you to the toilet if you felt pretty nauseous, cuddling and shushing you afterwards to comfort you while reading you a book

He absolutely will never let you near any of Solomon’s food again and now has a habit of poking your appendix to make sure you were still ok

Asmodeus

He heard off Satan that Solomon came round with his cooking so wasn’t too surprised when you came in to his room clutching your stomach and telling him about the pain

He didn’t think much of it until a few hours later and you begin to gag and fall to your knees in agony, rushing to your side to check you were alright and then guiding you to the bathroom

Decides to confide in Lucifer about your issues and the two of them take you to the hospital to help and pick up some medication

He coddles you while you get better, taking full care of you so you can recover and get back to normal

Though he’s not too keen of the smell of your vomit, he takes you wherever you need and cleans you up completely, giving you lots of hugs and affection to cheer you up

So glad after you finish recovering and he can get back to his normal routine, but not after telling off Solomon for making you poorly

Beelzebub

He’s not gonna lie, he has stomach pains too so the two of you just look after each other for the day

But when your pains didn’t go away, and you couldn’t eat without feeling immense pain and sickness, he got majorly worried for you

Went to Lucifer for help and decided to take you to the hospital, his hand holding yours the entire way there to comfort you whilst he grabbed your medication

Proceeded to take good care of you while you were sick by helping you take your meds and bringing up food when your appetite finally came back

Gave you lots of hugs, making sure not to touch your stomach and making sure you were comfortable and in no pain while in his embrace

So happy when you begin to recover fully, immediately wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tight and obviously dragging you far away from Solomon’s food offers

Belphegor

You woke him up to tell him your stomach hurt and he wasn’t too surprised since Beel came in earlier to tell him the same thing

He decided cuddling would help and held you to his chest, gradually drifting off with you in his arms, his hands placed on your stomach to attempt to soothe the pain

He was awoken by your cries of pain, his arms wrapped around your appendix area tightly. He let go and checked you over frantically, inspecting the area that hurt until he slowly figured out what was wrong

Took you to the hospital to examine you further and grabbed some meds to fix you

Spent the next few days looking after you in the attic, feeding you medicine and pieces of food throughout the day and holding you gently in his arms

Wouldn’t let you leave until he could successfully wrap his arms around your stomach without you whining in pain and thoroughly scolded Solomon the next day

Diavolo

He heard about the incident with Solomon’s cooking and decided to come over and take care of you since the brothers were slightly busy and needed some assistance

He made sure not to touch you in places that may hurt and followed the rules provided by Lucifer in order to properly take care of you

He completely just coddled you the entire week and treated you like royalty, taking you to the bathroom when you needed it and held your hand softly

Gave you medicine when you needed it and made sure you were comfy, hugs were given when asked for too

Brought over some of Barbatos’ best cakes to cheer you up and so you could forget about the horrors of Solomon’s food

Ended up forcing Solomon to take a baking lesson with Barbatos

Barbatos

He ended up changing his entire schedule so he could take care of you when he found out you were ill

He did extra research on how to help or soothe any pain you may be feeling and even brought heating pads with him that he gently placed on your stomach

Gave you medicine when you needed it and never let you forget it, also taking you to the bathroom or on walks to stretch your legs when you asked him to

When you felt up to it, he fed you some of his best cakes and shared some hot tea with you, holding you calmly in his arms

He wasn’t much for revealing his soft side but he didn’t hesitate to show how much he cared for you during the week he looked after you by giving you lots of affirmation and cheek caresses

No doubt gave Solomon a telling off and a few lessons on how to cook correctly

Solomon

When you told him about your stomach pains after eating his food, he honestly felt quite guilty and promised he’d make it up to you somehow

But after a few hours and you were still in agony, he got particularly worried and decide to examine you slightly, moving his hands over your stomach until he reached your appendix and you breathed out a pained yelp

Decided to treat you himself since he had a pretty good idea on what was wrong and immediately got to making potions to soothe your pain and treat your condition

While you were recovering, he helped keep your mood high by giving you words of affirmation and making sure you were comfortable in bed. He also found out making you laugh hurt you quite a bit so he tried to refrain from that

Held you in his arms for a while, apologising for the trouble he’s caused you

Never really offered you food after that unless it was cleared as edible by Beelzebub

Simeon + Luke

The two of them came over to look after you because Luke was practically freaking out as soon as he heard you were sick and was desperate to help you get better, no matter what it took

Simeon brought some of his best sandwiches from his cafe to make up for the awful sandwiches Solomon gave you earlier

Luke made sure you took your medicine after being put in charge of that duty from Simeon

Simeon reassured you that you’d be ok in his care throughout the week and caressed your cheek and arms multiple times a day

When Luke wasn’t in the room, he’d climb into bed with you and cuddle up to your side, resting your head on his shoulder and comforting you the best he could

The two of them took you on walks in the nearby garden when you asked them to and supported you if you felt you needed to throw up, thought Luke didn’t want to watch you while that happened

Luke was practically yelling at Solomon for making you ill, Simeon holding him back when Solomon ended up making jokes about how much of a chihuahua he was being

[thestarrynightslover]

You and Me

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Word count: 2,649

Warnings: Angsttt, slight swearing, mentions of harassment and violence (all show-like, tho).

Summary: Jay and (y/n) were trying to navigate their secret workplace romance when an unexpected event agitates their feelings about it.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the One Chicago shows, or its characters, also not associated with it in any way or know anyone involved with it.

A/N: No, I am not very sure of what exactly this is, sorry! I think it turned out kinda messy but, being honest, I just really wanted to write their interactions within that kind of angst! 

Anyways, I hope this isn’t too bad and I am very sorry about dropping this kind of imagine instead of something good enough to help us heal from the finales.  

(y/n) = (your name) (y/l/n) = (your last name) (y/n/n) = (your nickname)

| masterlist |

It had been about 20 minutes since you finally convinced Kevin that you were okay and that he should go home when you heard someone knock on the door. You knew it was him. It had to be him. You needed it to be him. So you quickly moved to open, after checking the peephole. As soon as there was a hint of an opening, you felt Jay’s arms around you, his breath on your neck, and his voice cracking with concern.

"Oh my God, baby, I was so worried about you!" He sounded absolutely desperate, his arms enveloping you in just the way your own despair required him to.

"I know, I know... I just... I-" You tried to let out but couldn't continue because you'd started sobbing. Around Jay, it was inevitable for you to put your walls down. And, almost as soon as your tears started to fall, your boyfriend brought you even closer; holding you tightly by the waist with one arm, the other stroking your hair.

"Shh, it's gonna be okay, princess. You're okay now." He told you, but the truth was he wanted to cry as well. Not only had those past days been pure agony for him — a lonely agony —, but, also, because, even with you like that, you both knew that Jay wouldn't be able to keep a promise to stay the night if he got a call from work. Because no one knew that he needed to stay by your side. That you needed him there. Because no one knew how much all of that was hurting him, too. Because no one knew anything.

"I'm just- I just came so- so close this time, you know?" You tried to let him in on how you were feeling, pulling away a little so you could see his face better.

"I know." He replied, letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "And it all happened so suddenly, I felt so stupid, powerless..." Jay confessed, as he remembered the operation that’d gotten you abducted, leaving the entire team with no clue on how it happened. 

But, for your boyfriend, it was pretty clear, though: the two of you were covering one side of the building and, afraid you might get upset with him for hovering, he didn’t have your back the way he should have. It was his fault that it all happened to you.

"Jay... That wasn't your fault, okay?” You stated firmly, as if you knew exactly what he was thinking. “None of us could've guessed that it would turn into something that, um, bad..." You said, not being able to stop the shiver that ran through your body, which made Jay go back to holding you close.

"Still, I should have done a better job at protecting you-" He started to mutter quietly in your hair, but you stopped him with a disapproving look.

"Stop, okay? Just stop! I'm a cop too, I have been a cop for about the same time that you have and I never needed or had a boyfriend protecting me in some special manner on the job!" He just stared at you, shock and hurt in his eyes.

"I know that, okay? I do know that." He told you quickly, as his hands went up from your sides, in a sign of surrender. "And I'm sorry if it came across as if I thought any differently. I'm sorry, baby. It's just that-" He paused for a moment, looking so hurt while sighing deeply, "It was really hard to not know what was going on with you, even after you went to the hospital... I mean they called Kevin to go stay with you in the hospital!" Another sigh, this time, an annoyed one. "And, seeing that, I guess that I just- I just wished that none of it had happened?"

"Jay..."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be saying this right now. I'm making this about me, when it's actually about you, geez." He reprehended himself while pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No, no! It's okay. Because this is about you, too. And I'm glad you're telling me how you feel." Hearing that, he just looked at you and wondered about how on Earth he had managed to snatch someone like you. "First things first: what happened to me wasn't your fault. I don’t say this often but: as great a partner as Kevin is, I love working by your side. And, I do it without any fear or concern because I know you'll have my back. One hundred percent." You assured him while giving his hand a gentle squeeze, "now, the second thing: you do know that they only called Kevin because he is my partner, right?"

"I, uh, I do know that," yet another sigh.

"Okay, Jay. I love you and I really need you right now. But, if you don't stop sighing and just say what you wanna say already, I will kick you out of here." At that, he couldn't help but to let out a soft chuckle. God, you loved his smile.

"I don't wanna upset you with this. Especially now. But, I guess, I just would have liked to be the one they called." Seeing the instant frown you made, he clarified: "Not as your partner. As your boyfriend."

You had to admit that, even though you knew going public with your relationship was something Jay thought a lot about, you weren't expecting him to say that at all. Not at that moment, at least. And, being the not-so-calm person you were, the conversation quickly took a turn.

"What the hell? I just got back from the worst moment of my life and you wanna use that- pry on that to pressure me into going public?" God, that was harsh. You knew as soon as the words left your mouth. You regretted it as soon as the words left your mouth. But you didn't dare to open it again, as you watched his face go from hurt to annoyance and then a hint of anger.

"You're kidding, right?" You didn't answer. "Please, tell me you're kidding?"

"Babe, I'm-"

"You're what? You're sorry? Because, man, that shit you just said? That hurt!" He stood there in silence for a moment before continuing: "do you have any idea of what these past days were like for me? You think I'm bringing this up now just because I wanna shout to everyone that you're my girlfriend? Claim you as mine or whatever bullshit reason you think I have for wanting to go public?” You still couldn’t say anything, so he went on, “well, it's not any of that. I'm talking about this because you were missing for two entire fucking days that felt like forever to me, but I couldn't tell anyone how I'd die if anything happened to you because, hey! I was respecting your wishes! I felt guilty about the operation and thought that the least I could do was keep my pain all to myself. Which is kinda funny because you're always telling me not to bottle up my emotions!" By then you were crying, just because you were too mad at yourself for making him feel like that, and he paused but only to take a breath: "But, you know that all of that wasn't even what hurt the most? The worst part was when I got a text from Burgess on the chat group saying that they'd found you and had taken you to Med, but that we could continue doing our surveillance on one of the offenders because Kev was already on the way there!" He shouted this time, which made you wince a little — even though he looked more hurt than angry, really. Running his hands through his hair, Jay completed: "and, now, that I'm finally able to be with you- to- to know for myself that you're okay! You suggest that I was-" He couldn't even finish the sentence, which showed even more just how distraught he truly was. "I guess I just- I just can't believe that you don't see that all I wanna do is be here. With you. Taking care of you. Which is all I wish I could’ve done at the hospital, too…"

"I know, Jay." You whispered with a weak voice. Unsure that he'd heard you, you tried it a bit louder: "I know, Jay. And, trust me, I am so sorry for what I said! I don't- I just… I just wish it didn't have to be this complicated…" You knew what that sounded like. And, God, you were terrified about it. How could not you find anything good enough to say?

"Maybe I shouldn't be saying this… Maybe I shouldn't be trying anymore…” Because it sure looks like you gave it up, he wanted to add, "but I- I need to at least ask. Why does it have to be so complicated?"

"Jay, babe-"

"No! Don't do that! Don't try and stall me with that soft tone! I just wanna know why!"

"You know why, Jay!"

"I don't! I really don't! Or have you forgotten that all you did so far was give me half-ass excuses about privacy and being shy?"

"Okay! You wanna know why?" You half-asked, half-barked at him, "it's because I am scared of what will happen! That's why! Throughout all of my career, I've had to prove myself, then I got this sort of arranged job at Intelligence which not only threw all of my hard work to hell but, also, never lets me rest because it never really feels like I'm a part of that so-called family you guys have! And Voight? Every single day I still feel like he's testing me! Giving me the silliest assignments and being overly mad whenever I get the lead on a case! But, somehow — as messed up as it may sound —, I don't wanna lose that job! I don't wanna risk going back to the unit I came from, where I was constantly harassed and intimidated!" You blurted it all out, only stopping to take a breath while Jay simply stood there looking completely shocked. "And you, Jay, as great as you are — and you're literally the best thing that's ever happened to me —, you can very easily put all of that at risk." Now it was your turn to sigh. You could only hope that you sounded as defeated as you felt: having to give up the guy who was probably the love of your life just to not go from one toxic work environment back to an even more toxic one. Your mouth tasted sour after that realization, which just made you remember how sweet Jay's always was.

"You never told me any of that." He muttered quietly, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"I know and I'm sorry. I just… Thought it would get better. Eventually."

"You know I could have helped, right?" He stated sadly, then adding with a shred of hope: "You know… Maybe I still can?"

"Jay… Let's just not make this harder. Please."

"Just hear me out for a second: you are a part of our family." At that you just scoffed and looked the other way, making him pull your chin to connect your eyes again. "You are. I said I was going crazy with you missing but they all were too, including Voight."

"Yeah, right."

"It's true! Why would I lie to you about this? He looked truly haunted and, if I'm being honest, I think he just hoped he wouldn't get too close to you, to keep his head on straight in case something like this ever happened." He gulped harshly before continuing, "in case something worse happened. I think he simply can't handle losing anyone else, (y/n/n)."

"Y- you really think that?" You asked him and, you'd be lying if you said that you didn't get just a little hopeful.

"I do, darling," he told you in a soft tone. "And I'm not making excuses for him here or anything, okay? I'm just tryna tell you that we can deal with Voight. We can deal with rumors. I swear I will fucking kill anyone who dares to even touch your name on that stupid department!"

"Jay!" You started to reprehend again, even though you knew that he was just trying to lighten the mood. "That is exactly the kind of stuff you can't even think about doing after we go public!" You told him while spatting his arm.

"Ouch! Wait a second, did you really just say after we go public?" The way his eyes twinkled at that moment was enough to get you to agree with anything he wanted, really.

"But, hey! Don't get all exci-" You couldn't finish your sentence as he had already swept you off your feet and started kissing you all over. It hurt a little, due to your bruises, but it's not like you actually gave a damn about it.

"Don't get excited? Lady, I'm already over the moon!" He told you with the biggest smile you’d ever seen.

“Oh, God. You look so damn cute right now!! I can’t believe that I-” You cut yourself off because your voice started to crack while a big amount of sorrowful tears rolled down your cheeks. Seeing you like that, once more, made Jay start panicking a little, scared that maybe you were backing down on your relationship again.

“Baby? What’s wrong? Talk to me, please, (y/n/n).” Hearing the confusion in his plead sort of brought you back to say:

“I- I just can’t believe that I said the things I said to you! I hurt you! I hurt you in the kind of way I was scared you were you gonna get hurt when it seemed like I was gonna-”

“Don’t you dare complete that sentence, okay?!?” He half-asked, half-begged you, letting on so much heartbreak, “first of all: nothing could have ever hurt me in the way you being gone did. No matter how hard you might have tried, you just wouldn’t be able to get there, girl.” He said more casually, shrugging his shoulders in a way that made you crack a small smile. “And, second: I don’t want you thinking about me, in any way, when you're out there in the field. You just can't, love."

"I know, but at that moment, I-"

"Look, princess, you need to promise me that you will try your best to never do that again, okay? Because if you do, if the people we chase see any weaknesses they'll take advantage of it. And, then... But I know it's hard. You're the first thing on my mind whenever something goes south too, but I just- I love you too much to face the idea of losing you! So you need to promise me that you will keep your head one hundred percent focused on whatever is at hand, please, babe!" He begged you with such urgency in his voice that new tears started rolling down your already marked face.

"Oh, Jay... I love you, too, okay? More than anything in the world! But you know that, when we're in that kinda moment, our minds sometimes just wonder..." Seeing his concerned expression, you decided to add: "However, if you promise me you'll try your best to focus on your work, in the same way, I'll promise it too." At that, he gave you a cheeky smile.

"Deal. Now let's get you in bed cause it's been a long couple of days, detective." He said, picking you up one more time and carrying you to your bedroom.

"Oh my God! Jay, put me down!!" You squealed out, though you didn't really want him to put you down, ever.

[thebookreader12345]

Transference

Pairing: Blake Gallo x reader

Summary: Y/N and Blake have only been dating for a few months, and when someone Y/N saved begins to constantly flirt with her, Blake begins to get a little jealous

Requested: Yes, by anonymous

Warnings: mentions of an allergic reaction and a slightly heavy makeout session

Word Count: 1,398 Words

“Blake,” I breathe out as he cornered me against the front of the washing machine, his lips dancing across my neck.

“Hmm,” Blake hummed against my skin, a sensation that sent shivers down my spine.

“What if someone sees us? This is the laundry room. It’s not exactly the most concealed place,” I point out.

“Everyone knows we’re together, so I don’t see the problem,” Blake said and untucked my shirt from my pants to run his hands up and down the skin on my sides.

“I know, but I’d prefer to do these things in private, like at your place after shift,” I suggest. Just then, the alarm bell rang throughout the firehouse, and the dispatcher came over the speakers.

“Ambulance 61, person down at 625 South Wood Street,” the dispatcher announced.

Blake groaned. “Oh come on!”

“We will finish this later,” I tell him and peck his lips before running towards the apparatus floor. I met up with Sylvie near the ambulance as I was tucking in my shirt, and together we climbed into our assigned seats. Sylvie always took the driver’s seat, and I always took the seat next to her.

“So uh, what was all that?” Sylvie asked.

“What was all what?” I question.

“Your shirt was untucked,” Sylvie noted. “What happened there?”

“N-nothing,” I stutter, my face turning a deep shade of red. “I was just using the bathroom.”

“Uh-huh,” Sylvie murmured. While everyone knew that Blake and I were together, I didn’t like talking about our relationship to our friends and co-workers. I liked keeping everything between the two of us. That included PDA and whatever else the two of us decided to do in private. So, I was not going to mention the little event that had happened minutes prior. In a few minutes, we pulled up to the correct address and grabbed our things from the back of the ambo. Upon entering the house, I heard no noise at all.

“Hello? Anyone here?” I shout into the house.

“Over here!” a man called out. Sylvie and I followed the voice into the dining room in the back of the house where there were two men, both of whom were on the floor. The one who talked to us looked fine. His friend, on the other hand, did not. His face was swelling up, and his breath was coming out in wheezes.

“Sir, my name is Sylvie. This is Y/N. What’s your name? What happened?” Sylvie quizzed as the two of us bent down.

“M-my name’s Andre. I-I don’t k-know what happened,” Andre stammered out. “Noah asked if I wanted to come over for dinner so we could watch the football game together, and after taking a few bites of food, this happened.” I glanced up at the table to see what Noah had eaten, and once I saw that it was shellfish, an idea popped into my head.

“Andre, has Noah ever eaten shellfish before today?” I ask.

Andre shook his head. “Neither of us have. We wanted to finally try it.”

“Well, shellfish is the most common allergy in the world, but very few people actually know they have it,” I inform Andre and grab the epinephrine from my bag. Seconds after injecting the epi into Noah’s arm, the swelling on his face started to go down, and it became easier for him to breathe.

“Oh my god. Noah! Don’t ever scare me like that again!” Andre lectured his friend.

Noah chuckled weakly. “Sorry.”

“We’re going to take him to Chicago Med just so that the doctors can examine him and make sure everything is okay. You’re free to follow us if you’d like,” Sylvie told Andre. After dropping Noah off at the hospital, Sylvie and I made our way back to Firehouse 51, and I thought I would never see either Noah or Andre again. Little did I know I’d be wrong.

......................................

Next shift had been pretty relaxing so far. We hadn’t had any calls, so everyone was just lounging around in either the break room or on the apparatus floor. I was hanging out with Blake by Truck 81, and as we were talking, a familiar face walked into the firehouse.

“Noah, hey,” I greet the man and make my way over to him.

“It’s Y/N, right?” Noah questioned.

I nodded. “That’s me. How are you?”

“I’m good,” Noah replied. “The doctors confirmed my allergy of shellfish, so now I know to never touch it again. They also told me that if you hadn’t gotten to me when you did, I might’ve died. I guess I just wanted to come say thank you.” Noah then produced a beautiful bouquet of lilies from behind his back and handed them to me. “Here. These are for you.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” I tell him and take the flowers from his hand, inhaling the pleasant aroma that emitted from the lilies.

“I know, but I wanted to,” Noah confessed. “It’s the least I can do for you saving me. I uh, I actually have to go, but I hope I see you around sometime.” And with that, Noah turned around and left the firehouse. I smiled as I made my way back to Blake, my gaze still trained on the flowers in my hand.

“Who was that?” Blake asked and glanced between the flowers and the exit.

“Just some guy Sylvie and I saved last call,” I respond.

“He brought you flowers,” Blake pointed out.

“Like I said, we saved his life,” I reiterate. Blake frowned, and I sighed, taking a step towards him to place my hand on his shoulder. “He’s nobody special, Blake. I’ve still only got eyes for you.” That made my boyfriend perk up a little bit. “I’m gonna go put these in the break room. I’ll be right back.” For the second time, I believed that I would never see Noah again. But like before, I would be wrong.”

Time-skip to Next Week

Seeing Noah again was kind of weird. I mean, I had former patients stop by to thank me, but usually once they say their thank yous, I never see them again. For Noah to come back, I was getting the sense that something was up.

“Hey, Noah. What are you doing here?” I question.

“I came to see you,” Noah answered.

“Oh. What for?” I quiz.

“I feel like we’ve had a connection ever since we first met, and I can’t stop thinking about you. So I came down to see if you wanted to go on a date with me,” Noah proposed. I sighed, finally understanding what was happening here. I had heard about this a lot since I worked in a firehouse, and I guess it was finally my turn to deal with it.

“Noah, there’s this idea called transference. It basically means that someone falls for the person that saved them. I think you’ve gone over what happened to you so many times, and you’ve attached yourself to me because I’m someone who made you feel safe. But you don’t have actual feelings for me. What you’re feeling, it’ll go away sometime soon. And I actually have a boyfriend,” I add and rock back and forth on the balls of my feet.

“Oh,” Noah murmured. “I feel so embarrassed now.”

“Don’t be,” I counter. “Multiple people have been in your shoes.”

“Well, I guess I should go. Thank you though, for everything,” Noah told me before leaving the firehouse. As soon as he left, I was joined by Blake.

“What’d he want?” Blake asked me.

“He asked me out on a date,” I reply.

“He did what? What’d you say?” Blake questioned.

“I told him no, obviously. I have you, remember? He had the classic transference thing. You know, where someone falls for the person who saved them,” I explain. “Now, after this crazy week, all I want to do is make out with my amazing boyfriend, and I believe the laundry room is empty right now.”

“I thought you didn’t like kissing in there because someone could see us,” Blake exclaimed.

“Right, but I’m feeling a little risky today,” I claim. “So, you in?”

Blake smiled. “I’m so in.”

“Then lets go,” I say and grab onto his hand to drag him to the laundry room, where my crazy week would only get better.

__________________________________

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarlettsoldier @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13​ @anotherfan07

[domschestofbones]

Aural. 1/5 short stories based on the five senses (cosmic horror)

“Lonely Day is the best ¾ metal song of all time. Tell me I’m wrong. System is undefeated, you can’t find a single bad song in their entire run. Go on, tell me one, bro.” The greasy punk squealed, eyes twitchin’.

Can’t I ever get a break from these fuckin’ people? Some sweaty guy gets an eye on what I'm lookin’ at and just feels the undying need to interject. It’s like a law of nature. God forbid I pick up a Metallica record around a dude with a ponytail and a Led Zeppelin shirt. I try to just enjoy things that make me happy, man. Metal, hip hop, electronic music, country, pop, whatever. All art has merit, and will make someone, at some point, happy. I see people nitpicking creativity all the time, especially if it’s something someone else enjoys. Music purists should be banned from record stores. Issue is that they already own all of ‘em.

 It’s cool, though. Bitchin’ to myself about others bitchin’ to me about shit I like but they don’t is so dumb that only a human could do it. If my JBLs are loud enough though, I can’t hear ‘em. 

My mom bought me a shirt from Walmart or something when I was a kid that said “If it’s too loud, you’re too old”. I thought it was pretty badass when I was younger. It had a rough sketched stick figure on it cranking up an oversized red volume knob under the text. It honestly rings true, in a different context. It’s nice to just pay attention to things you understand.

Crossing the sidewalk makes me think of Abbey Road. Rubber Soul is my favorite, for sure. “What Goes On” is some instant headnod with how those drums drive. Aren’t people who hate the Beatles just so much fun to talk to? Fuck those guys right off, man. Zappa out here yapping day in and out like a goddamn chihuahua. 

From behind me someone yelled “Ay Don!”

I turned around,”What’s u—”

The world goes blank.

I woke up in the hospital without a memory of any incident. Feels like I got hit by a car or something, though. My ears are ringing like feedback from an amp. I can see my mom arguing with a guy much shorter than her, he’s wearing scrubs. Fuck, my ears hurt. This rigning sucks, man. I hope they can give me some meds for it. I hope this shit goes away soon, it makes me want to dig a pencil in my ear. 

Part 2

I should be leaving the Hospital today, fuckin’ finally. Feeling yourself getting weaker, muscles shrinking, face losing weight, it’s torture. I’m not a gym rat, but I appreciate my health and ability to do a shitty kickflip. Can’t wait to go do that again, I should be getting out today.

While the nurses were wrapping up the last of the discharge paperwork, they let me put my headphones in. I didn’t bother telling them my ears were ringing, I didn’t want to stay here any longer, it smells terrible. Plus, it gradually went away after the first day and a half or so. I wasn’t actually too banged up. Just got a concussion, a broken rib and some ear ringin’ that I kept to myself.

The kid who hit me was a young girl in driver’s ed. She looked like she had seen her parents slaughtered in front of her or something, her eyes were wide when she looked at me. I can’t really get it out of my head how upset she seemed when she saw me in the bed here. The instructor later told me that she was still under 10 hours of driving time and that she was on the spectrum for autism. Emotionally taxing events like these hit her really hard and she would sometimes spiral into herself. I told him to tell her that I didn't wanna press charges, and to relay to her that I'm fine and that I hope she’s fine. I waved to her and smiled when she came to see me, and she just cried more. Hope she’s getting along better now, poor kid. 

I kinda feel like listening to a podcast, but I’ve actually had this song stuck in my head since I woke up. That annoying dude in the record store had me thinking about System of a Down. Is it another rule of the universe that a self titled album will live throughout time in crystallized mint? Track one is Suite-Pee. I get goosebumps thinking about the breakdown one minute in. I need to see these guys before I die. 

What a fuckin’ track. Quick picking and some slides in the tuning of C G C F A D start poking at my eardrums, I close my eyes and a smile tears along my skin. I swear the beginning measures of this song could form the mountains, rivers and stars of my own Shangri La. I would live so well in that world. A place where positivity and aggression dance together in a grip so intense that the air flexes around them. Destruction is disgusting and beautiful. The expanse of life is terrifying and soulful. It comes into focus under my shut eyelids. Fuckin’ A.

The introductory riffs switch to the drop of the chords and bombing of the drums and my head explodes. My ears scream like they’re bleeding and I wail louder than I thought I ever could. I’m dizzy, nauseous and my face is melting. I puke all over myself, my ears start ringing in the highest pitch I’ve ever heard in my life. Like, I had no idea a sound could ever be this high. This shit seems like it should just kill someone on the spot. I certainly fuckin’ thought this was it. Killed by my favorite SOAD song, ain’t life a bitch. That’s what my headstone should say. I faint.

Part 3

The ENT doctor tells me I have Subjective Tinnitus that can eventually progress to Musical Tinnitus. ST is caused by an overexposure to loud noise, MT being a malformation of that condition which occurs over time. It’s essentially going to make me start hallucinating and recreating melodies in real time in my mind as I get older. Which kind of sounds cool, sounds kind of trippy. Fuckin’ sucks, but I guess it’s better than being deaf. I should’ve worn more ear plugs at concerts, for sure. I started to wear em every show last year, but one year out of almost twenty isn’t a groundbreaking change. Thus, here we are. I have yet again fucked myself.

They gave me some ear drop medications to take home, an information packet on the condition and related issues, and told me to avoid using headphones and listening to loud music. My mom rubbed my shoulder in a hug knowing that I wasn’t going to be okay when the shock wore off. I can feel it wearing off already, I need to get home. I can’t be here right now. I hug my mom a second time, tell her I love her, get in my Lyft and head off to my apartment complex. I had to ask the Lyft driver to turn down the track, he looked at me annoyingly. I told him I love Kendrick, though. He kinda just scoffed. Fuck me.

As I close the door and take my first step toward the lawn, a kid rides behind me on a bike. He blasted a toy megaphone alarm at the back of my ear and I swear a rusty nail flew into it. My knees buckled and I hit the sidewalk hard, gripping my head cuz it felt like my brain was trying to escape my skull. I thought pressure would help so I squeezed hard. The kids got scared of my voice and pedaled like hell down the street, crying cuz they probably thought I was insane. 

The ringing was an ocean that felt thick yet without density. It was sterile and formless, I couldn’t tell any sense from another. Everything in existence was piercing, white, loud. I knew I was on the ground outside my apartment, but I couldn't place the feeling of actually being anywhere. Sometimes, when I sit on a couch too long, my limbs will start to feel like they’re part of the couch and my vision tunnels towards the TV or whatever. I start to feel, like, further back than I really am. If that makes sense. It was like that, but with absolutely everything that I can see or feel, or hear or touch. It’s like an endless valley.

Maybe not everything though, I could’ve heard a voice near the end of the white out. It didn’t sound like a language though, it sounded more animalian or something. If not animalian, something more…natural, than a human voice.

Part 4

During my white-out I couldn't really think. I was really only able to think about how it felt afterwards. It felt like I was in a coma or something. I didn’t really look at my phone when I was in the car, so I didn’t notice what time I collapsed. But it seemed like the sun was further in the sky when I came to. I hope I wasn’t out too long. I really don’t want to get kicked out of this apartment. My head feels fuzzy and thoughts aren’t coming to me so easily right now. I think I'm just gonna chill and watch some TV, probably still need to recover from the hospital anyway. Gotta get snacks and shit before I loaf out.

I looked in my cupboard and saw a sticky note from Mom: 

“Hi, Honey! I hope you got home ok! Give me a call as soon as you’re in, ok? I stole your keys and put all your favorite snacks in the cabinets and frozen meals in the freezer! Stay home for a few days ok? No work? Also, clean up the WEED and BEERS. What kind of girl is going to spend the night with that smell? Ok, enough griping. 

Love you!”

-Mom

Oh fuck yeah. I can’t believe she remembers I love Andy Capp’s. She’s always shit talkin’ me but she’s the best. I grab the chips and a beer and hit the couch. She’s right, I’m fuckin gross dude. I should really clean this place up, I could probably start a spider habitat here. I’ll do that in a bit, I really should sit down for a second. My legs still feel like jelly and I’m kinda foggy. The cushions are all I need right now. I stand in front of the couch, stretch my arms out like the chilled out christ figure that I am and just…plop…Fuck, that feels good. The couch, a beer, some snacks, and some weed after a hard day is better than any sex in the world and I’ll be a purist on that one. Die on that hill. Yup. The condensation on the can makes me feel like I’m in exotic lands, baby. Fuck, that tastes good. I turn the cable on, streaming seems like too much work right now. I am so surprised MTV is still around, or that they’re still called MTV. Martin is on VH1 right now, hell yeah. Get me a pack of Tropical Fruit Bubblicious, and some skittles. I feel like watching Bad Boys.

I got halfway through the bag of chips when my doorbell rang and sent me back into the pearl void. That ring resonated into a fine point that penetrated any walls I had in my head. It broke me down. I can’t feel anything, everything is jagged snow. Barely holding thoughts… Heari-.. Some. can’t….Agh–..nnn…him.him..him.you.him..you.you…….who– WHO A….That.. noise..I…so fucking beau…WHOO ARE YOUU?!

Part 5

The world goes from white to black, then slowly blooms. I’m on the carpet on top of a now soaked up puddle of beer and a crushed up bag of chips. What the fuck am I gonna do about this?! I can’t even drink a beer and watch TV without being almost killed by this shit! Obviously I gotta take out all the bells and alarms; smoke detector, door bell, phone on vibrate, all that. Fuck! Should I just post a sign on the door? People are idiots, they don’t read signs anyway, fuck that. Nah, I’m taking this shit down. I don’t care anymore. I need to soundproof this place. I spend the next hour doing just that and then I feel safe enough to chill a bit. I step into the bathroom for a long hot shower on the dime of the landlord, he sucks so fuck him. I’m so pissed, man.

The shower turns on with a little rattle and then starts to whine. My heart jumps out of my chest and I scramble to run away from the noise that I think is going to follow it. My foot gets caught in the shower curtain, jerks me downward and I–.

I come to with a throbbing head, I’m zoned out but the shower is still on. My eyes slowly refocus and my ears recalculate. “no..no.no…NO FUCK! NO PLEASE!!” I hear myself whimpering, losing a sense of who I am for a moment.

 The whining shower head gives me no chance and I’m plunged in it again. I just want peace. Death would be better than this. The whine becomes my world. Sharp white angles bent inward on other sharp white angles create a reality that’s invisible but feels harsh and violent, directed even. Precisely towards me. Is this my world? I think it must be. It feels like I’ve never known anything else, what could a memory be in a place like this? If I had memories, I feel them mingling and folding in on each other to make one mesh substance. I know I have been here before, though. I know this place. I think I’ve been here for some time.

There it is. I hear something other than the ring, it’s a crackling maybe. Or maybe something blowing up or expanding. It’s very dense, very fast approaching from a long way away. I don’t think I can be scared of what it is anymore. That sort of mindset isn’t a part of me anymore. Whatever that is, is however, a part of me. My world of a single shade is a part of me. I need to know this other thing. I wait for it to come closer. It takes a while. I don’t really feel the pain anymore, I don’t think. Don’t feel much of anything, just anticipation. 

It’s here!! I can finally hear it! It’s warm, burning. Not a memory, this is new. New, and burning, and bright. It’s overwhelming, makes me feel and smell and taste everything and the nothingness of everything. I’ve never really known what any of those sensations truly meant until just now. Everything I’ve ever heard in my life, this sounds just like that, all in one. Everything that could be heard and translated into love is here, everything that could be hateful I hear along with it. I think it is everything. That’s why it’s not human, why it’s not exactly natural. It’s everything that could be or couldn’t be heard at any and all points in time. It makes my heart disintegrate as I try to recognize my place in this grand song. I’m here, there, and also not. I can’t recall where it stopped or if I believe it will ever stop. It seems like it would be impossible to see it while merely being a part of it, but can I observe the thing if I am the thing? I believe I am. I believe I must be. I must be. I can’t go back into the dark. This is where I stay. Measures and patterns of non-existence swim in this space and there is no use for claiming the title, “I”. It’s no longer suitable. 

A thought turns into a fragment and then seems very, very far away.

[moral-turpitudes]

I’ll Follow You Into The Dark:

Masterlist | Rules | Peaky Prompts

Trigger Warnings: ANGST, Explosions, Mentions of Blood, Gore etc, and some Fluff.

*Based on Fluff Prompt #1 from my Peaky Prompts list.*

Word Count: 1,695

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Requested: Yes

Requested by: Anon, you can find it here.

Summary: When Thomas and the rest of the blinders head towards a trap, Y/N has to decide if they’ll stay behind or go with them. Knowing that they vowed to be with him until death.

“If heaven and hell decide That they both are satisfied Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs If there's no one beside you When your soul embarks Then I'll follow you into the dark”

- Death Cab for Cutie

The sound of explosions rang faintly in the distance as you held your hands over your ears, the impact dulling your hearing as a sharp ringing filled them.

“Tom!” You yelled into the void, hoping to hear him through the chaos.

Silence.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you crawled through the sharp debris, looking for the bomb that was set off nearby, hoping to find the remnants of the man who taunted your family and made the fatal mistake of stepping in his own trap. His evil smirk etching it’s way into your memory as he walked in the lavish room ever-so carefully. Thinking he’d be able to avoid the perilous wires near his foot as you spotted them before he did, your warning causing him to take his final step. Your hands soon scraping through the chunks of drywall and broken glass as the dust and smoke burned your eyes and lungs, your mind racing with finding the man whom you’d followed that day into the trenches, so-to-speak. 

Every Peaky Blinders mission for Thomas was like a battle, his mind always set on planning attacks to escape the scraping sound of the shovels against the hot, dark tunnels. But as always, no matter how many times he tried to stay one step ahead of his rivals, someone always got in the way. 

It started out as an ordinary day, Thomas calling a meeting and giving orders to head to the latest location on his mental hit-list. The name making your heart sink as you realized he was walking into a trap. The infamous, cunning gang leader you’d came to share a bed with was going to waltz right into what he swore he never would.

“Any questions?” He asked, his eyes lingering on yours as he blew out a puff of smoke.

Everyone nodded along except you, knowing the people they were going after were just as dangerous. That week, the rival gang had crossed the line, threatening and taunting the Shelby family with letters and fake explosives just to remind them of “who really ran the town.” One of them said in a tense phone call to Thomas, setting off the chain of events leading up to now.

The decision to leave your clerical duties was a rash one. Nervously following your husbands car to their destination. Once there, you parked a ways back, behind a slew of trees. Your steps light against the cobblestones as you got closer to them, knowing in your heart you had to warn him, even if it was the last thing you’d say to the man you loved.

“Tommy! Wait!” You said loudly, your heart racing from the effort it took to catch up to him and his brothers.

“Y/N...you need to go back to the shop, it’s not safe. Go.” He said lowly, not wanting to call attention to you all.

“I came here to warn you Tom. Remember when you sent me to sit in on their meeting at the pub? They mentioned a trap. I-I didn’t think much of it then, but after the threats...Tom I know it’s a trap. If you go in there now you won’t make it out.” You said as tears formed in your eyes, your nerves getting to you as you struggled to speak. 

“I have to, love. Now go.” He said, kissing you quickly. 

“No. I’m going with you.” You said defiantly, pulling out the handgun he gave you, checking to make sure it was fully loaded.

He had a pained look on his face as he nodded, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to change your mind. You’d been a good shot in the past, but that didn’t exactly mean much when explosives were concerned.

You all had barely made it through the first floor of the large manor before the first one went off. Thomas shoving you to the ground, shielding you from the small debris falling through the air. As the haze cleared, you sat up, feeling Thomas pull you to the nearest wall, yelling orders at his brothers before checking his bullets.

“Keep your eyes peeled for the wires yeah? Stay behind me.” He said, opening the door as the dust covered space cleared. You walked closely behind, quietly looking at the ground for any signs of the deadly wires as you heard yelling upstairs. Arthur was shouting amongst gunfire, and John sounded like he was scrapping with one of the men they were after.

Thomas roughly took your hand, leading you up the stairs in a sideways motion, backs towards the wall, checking around the corner with a quick glance before a bullet whizzed past your head. A scream caught in your throat as you realized how close you were to the darkness of death itself. Thomas soon returned fire, the screams of the man he hit echoing through the stone hallway that led to his brothers.

Upon arrival, you flanked your husband, pointing your gun at the man holding John down as Thomas shot the other.

“Get off of him!” You yelled, catching the mans attention enough to where John could get a punch in. The man hurling himself angrily at you soon enough until you shakily shot him. The man falling limp to the ground within seconds. Your hands shook as you took in the sight, trying to distract yourself from the blood by looking at the ground for more wires.

Almost as soon as you’d said that though, the man who’d sent you all the taunting letters came in with a menacing smirk, stepping in a weird way so as not to disturb the floor. But your eyes saw the colored wires poking out ever so slightly, your brain wondering how in the hell you all avoided it earlier.

“Everybody down!” You yelled, causing the man to misstep, setting it off. The wind soon knocked out of you as the blast hurled everyone to the ground. The ceiling caving in in various places as well as part of the floor below you.

You felt yourself relax as you breathed in the smoke, feeling as though you were going to pass out from the ordeal. The sharp pain of the glass shards stuck in your now shredded coat the only thing keeping you clinging to consciousness. As you closed your eyes, you pictured what life would be like if he’d never had the family business thrust upon him after the war. How he’d have probably married you sooner and how you’d probably be chasing little kids around by now in a big house on the outskirts of town. But now, reality set in as Arthur’s shouts came through the muddled noise, Johns following not too far behind as they ran towards you, grabbing you up in the knick of time. The once lavish building crumbling before your eyes as you knew the one you loved was most likely gone.

“Tom!” You called out, hands still scraping through the rubble of the first floor as Arthur and John dug through the rest of the larger stuff. Tears visibly splattering on the dust covered floor, the tiles smashed beyond repair.

Your heart ached knowing you’d never find him as you scraped through the debris, your hearing slowly coming back and eyes watering as you continued on, stopping once a hand reached out from one of the corners.

“Y/N.....” Thomas said weakly, his arm badly cut and his face busted up as he spat up blood, most likely from his busted lip or the jagged stone poking him in the chest. It most definitely broke a few ribs, causing him too much pain to move as he thought about what to do, even though he couldn’t do much of anything at the moment.

It seemed like he waited longer now, than he did for the calvary in France, for his brothers to make it to where he was. Helping him up despite his loud groans of pain.

You watched in horror as they drove him to the hospital, his face paling as you followed behind their car, hoping that neither heaven nor hell would take him, even though he belonged to the latter. Hoping that he would stay here, for you. For his family.

Hours had slowly passed until you’d gotten word he was going to make it, the doctors saying he was damn well close to dying by the time they’d got him in surgery.

“There you are love.” He said weakly, the meds doing his head in as he saw you walk in carrying his beloved cigarettes and his bloodstained coat. Your own body covered in various bandages as you sat next to his bed.

“I thought you were dead.” You said, tears rolling down your cheeks as he cupped your face with his hand. A small, pained laugh escaping his lips.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Y/N.” He said. Knowing he might as well have nine lives with as close he’s been to death over the years.

“I know...” you said shortly, holding his bruised hand in yours that were bandaged up.

“But...please promise me...that next time you’ll listen to me. At least when I know it’s a trap alright?” You asked, concern lacing your every feature as you felt him pull your hand to his lips, kissing the top of it gently.

“I will, but promise me something as well.” He said.

“What?” You asked.

“Promise me you won’t follow me next time. You shouldn’t have to risk your life for me.” He said, a serious look in his tired, blood-shot eyes.

“I can’t promise that Tommy. I’ll follow you into the dark not matter what. I fucking vowed to you know.” You said, pointing at the diamond on your ring finger.

“Aye, but you’re my partner. Can’t have you dying too.” He said.

“That is true, but what is love without sacrifice?” You said, giving him a light kiss as he pulled you close despite his injuries. Wanting to feel you beside him, to know that he wasn’t stuck in the rubble anymore, to know that he had you, and you had him.

Thomas Shelby Tag List:

@msbzowy, @nofckingfighting, @aranoburns, @sighonahurricane, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @gaytommyshelby,  @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby, @inglourious-imagines, @thebloodyshelbys, @tsolomons, @blinder-secrets, @reveparade, @shelby-fanatic, @ta-ka-shi-ma, @psychkunox, @peakyxtommy, @captivatedbycillianmurphy,@dreamwastakenx,

@lovemissyhoneybee @thomashelbyswhore​, @xxbeckybeexx-blog

If you’d like to be added/removed just send me an ask or message! :)

[justmypartner]

Still Breathing: Chapter 3

Summary: AU | When a case goes sideways, Hailey wakes up in the hospital with a revelation that leaves her evaluating her life. While she recovers at Med, she meets Jay, an aloof, yet intriguing patient that catches her by surprise. The two get to know one another as they take on the task of rediscovering what it’s like to truly live, and eventually learn their lives intersect in more ways than one.

Writer’s Note: Hi everyone!! I want to apologize because this chapter is coming way later than I intended. I ended up rewriting it several times with different scenarios because I couldn’t quite figure out the best way to work in the dialogue I had planned. Nevertheless, I finally figured it out, and I’m really happy to finally share. I’m hoping to get the next chapter out really soon, so be on the look out! Thank you so much for reading!

Read on AO3 or below

Hailey’s heart stopped in her chest as she watched the man snake a hand into the girl’s hair, yanking her to the ground in one fell swoop. 

“Hey man, can’t we leave her out of it,” she offered, swallowing back the lump forming in her throat. 

“Oh yeah? Since when do I take orders from you?” the man raised, removing his fingers from the girl’s hair and wrapping both hands around the rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Not an order. I’m just saying she’s only a kid. She’s got no part in this, and she’s scared to death. That alone should shut her up, we should just let her go,” she told him, trying to control her breathing that left her words coming out in shudders. 

He took a step from the girl, his movements shifting in Hailey’s direction. It took everything in her not to reach for the weapon concealed in her boot. Her instincts in that moment were telling her things were about to go sideways, but her training was forcing her to let it all play out. She inhaled sharply as the man raised the barrel of the gun at her chest, and her hands immediately rose to the air. 

“You know, it’s kinda hard to have a conscience in this line of work. Which makes me wonder why someone like you who is supposedly waist deep in the game suddenly wants to play saint. Unless you aren’t who you say you are,” he spat, racketing the gun and sending her heart falling into her stomach.

“Woah, okay. Don’t be stup-“

She startled awake. Sweat pooled against her skin and her heart pounded rapidly in her chest as she came out of yet another nightmare. It was the third night in a row she was ripped out of sleep by her unconscious mind’s cruel fixation on the shooting. She was having the same dream each time, a replay of the events leading up to her being shot, and it all began the first night she was discharged from the hospital. She figured it was just part of being home, finally being able to sleep more than an hour at a time. Part of her also wondered if it was the isolation that triggered the nightmares. The noises of the hospital were enough to keep her awake, but they were also enough to remind her she wasn’t alone.

When she first regained consciousness, the memories of that day were only fragments. Then slowly, with each day that passed, more pieces would come back to her. She soon realized that the more she remembered, the more she wanted to forget. She knew it wasn’t healthy, and she knew she’d have to work through it eventually, but she wanted to do it properly and on her own terms. So, for the time being, she was just trying her best to distract herself from it. Yet, no matter how hard she tried to push it all from her mind, she was dragged right back to it every night she slipped into a deep sleep. 

Her doctor had given her three days to rest up before returning to work. After just the first day of idling around her place alone, she was already going stir crazy. It was hard not to think about everything that happened, especially when her place was quiet and there was nothing else to do. She tried to occupy herself with movies, books, tv, anything that kept her mind elsewhere, but the only thing that actually seemed to work were her conversations with the stranger.  

The two had been messaging one another daily ever since that night she returned from the hospital. It was mainly small talk, surface level conversations throughout the day, but it was enough to be a distraction from everything. Talking to him was easy and exciting, and it was just what she needed to get through those desolate days off.

Her last day was the exact same as the other two. She woke up way earlier than she would have liked, rolled out of bed begrudgingly, and planted herself on the couch where she’d remain for the rest of the day. The hours seemed to drag on, and it seemed like nothing could pull her out of the bad mood she was in. That was until her phone buzzed on the table sometime late in the afternoon. She practically leapt from the couch to answer it, eager for some sort of human interaction after days of consuming fictional stories about fictional characters. When she read his name across the screen, a combination of confusion and joy overcame her. They had spent all of that time texting, she wasn’t sure what made him suddenly want to call, but she wasn’t looking to complain. 

“Hello?” she greeted, her voice slightly raspy from having not spoken all day. 

“Hi,” he replied, the simple word drastically perking her mood.

“What’s up?” 

“Just wondering what you’re up to. I know how fidgety cops can get while on bedrest.”

“Speaking from experience are we?”

“So you are fidgety?”  

“What can I say? As much fun as it is to lie around and watch movies alI day, I really miss the job.”

“Junkie,” he teased. 

She could picture the grin on his face just by the tone of his voice, and she let out a dramatic scoff, fighting the smile breaking away across her lips.

“Would you want some company?”

This sent her eyes trailing around the room, assessing the mess that had accumulated over the past few days as she decided how to answer. She wasn’t usually open to having people over, even people she knew well, but after days of isolation she knew she could use the interaction.

“Actually, yeah. That’d be nice,” she finally settled, rising to begin tidying the room.

“Okay, cool. I’ll see you in a bit then?”  

“Yeah, I’ll text you the address.”

“Great,” he said before she pulled the phone from her ear to end the call. She picked up the collection of empty take out containers on the table and carried them to the trash bin in the kitchen. She did her best to clear up the place in such short notice, fluffing the pillows and folding the blanket she had been living in over the past few days. It wasn’t the cleanest it had ever been, but she figured it would have to do.

Not long after, she heard a knock on the door. She stopped at the mirror by the entryway, taking a moment to smooth out her curls before pulling the door open. He stood on the other side, his tall stature towering over her with a greeting grin on his face and two tubs of ice cream in his hands. 

“Hi,” she muttered. 

“Hey, brought you something,” he said, raising the two containers in the air. 

“I see that- Wait you got Scooter’s. That’s my all-time favorite place,” she beamed when she saw the label on the cup. 

“Figured you can’t go wrong with it.” 

“Now I know this is the start of a beautiful friendship, come in,” she smirked. He let out a low chuckle as he stepped inside, just enough for her to close the door. 

She walked him to the living room where she gestured towards the couch. He sat as she moved to the kitchen for spoons.

“I got you chocolate because that’s what it looked like you were eating that day in the elevator. I got mint chip for myself, but if you prefer that I’m willing to trade,” he explained, his voice raised slightly to be heard from the other room. There was almost a touch of nervousness in his voice, and as cool as she was playing it, she was feeling nervous too. She made her way back into the living room and sat down across from him.

“Chocolate is perfect,” she said, trading one of the spoons in her hand for the small tub of ice cream in his. 

“So how are you healing up?” he asked as she settled cross-legged onto the couch facing him. 

“No more pain really, my arm is kinda sore when I get dressed and stuff, but other than that I’m doing pretty well,” she told him.

“How are you sleeping?” the words left his mouth in a way that almost made it seem like he’d already known the answer.

“I’m managing,” she said plainly. 

“It was always pretty bad for me the first few weeks after. I feel like nobody ever really talks about it, but getting shot is a really strange and terrifying sensation. No matter where it happens or how bad it is, that feeling sticks with you. Keeps you awake at night,” he divulged, his eyes never leaving hers despite the way she desperately tried to avoid them.

“It’s more than that for me. It’s… I don’t know it’s everything else too,” she whispered, moving her spoon around in the half-empty tub in her hands. He didn’t say anything, but the look on his face told her he knew exactly what she meant. 

“Anyway, I don’t really want to talk about all of that,” she sighed out, silence falling upon them briefly.

“So are you finally going to tell me your name?” she eventually asked, attempting to throw the conversation as far away from her as she could.

“Nope,” he said straightly.

“Okay, tell me this then, which unit are you from?” 

She figured if she could pull out some details, she could eventually use them to look up his name. He was quiet, but he carried a knowing look on his face. She knew he saw right through her, and she figured it meant she was about to be shot down once again.

“How about… how about we play a game of truth or truth. It’s a game I used to play with the guys in my units overseas, and it’s a good way to get to know somebody,” he presented. It wasn’t what she was expecting, but it was the perfect diversion to avoid the question.

“Basically, we each get the same number of questions. They can be deeply personal or stupidly basic, but whatever the question is, the other person has to answer and they have to answer truthfully,” he proposed.

“Okay,” she nodded, greatly intrigued by the idea.  

“I want to set some rules though,” he said hesitantly. She quirked a brow at him, waiting for him to dish them out.

“You aren’t allowed to ask for my name, and no questions or talk about the job… from either of us,” he offered, cutting his eyes up at her as he moved to finish off the contents in his cup. It baffled her why he was so guarded about those two things in particular, but she was itching to know more about him so she agreed. He let her start them off. She decided on a question that wasn’t too revealing, not too deep, but answered something she had wondered since the day they met.

“How old are you?” she inquired, raising forward to place her empty tub on the edge of the coffee table. 

“36.” 

“Interesting, I actually thought you were way younger than that,” she admitted, tilting her head as she looked at him to try and match his face with that age.

“Well, I usually have a beard. That usually helps me look more my age. This clean shaven face gives me a very youthful glow,” he boasted with a teasing grin.

“Youthful glow, okay,” she repeated in amusement. 

“Okay, how old are you then?” he threw back. 

“32,” she revealed, dipping her head with her words.

“Interesting, I thought you were way older than that,” he said satirically, causing her to fling a pillow at him with a snarl. 

They spent the next hour or so firing off question after question. Any sort of nervousness was soon gone as they fell into a natural level of comfort with one another. The conversations jumped around from things as deep as what their childhoods were like, to things as simple as their coffee orders. In that brief amount of time they spent on that couch, it seemed as though they learned a lifetime’s worth of stuff about each other. They laughed, they tugged on each other’s hearts, and by the end of it, she genuinely began to see him as a friend and she hoped he did too. 

When the conversation began to die down they threw on a movie, shifting their positions so they were side by side on the couch. There was a good bit of distance between them, but she couldn’t help but recognize how nice it felt to be so near to him. She chalked it up to days of solitude, but she couldn’t deny that there was something else about him that gave her that feeling. Something that made her feel safe and solaced.

She wasn’t sure when she fell asleep or how much of the movie she’d missed out on when she slipped into her nightmare again. She woke at the same moment she always did, just before that first shot rang out, except this time when she shook awake, her body was fighting off a hand gripped around her wrist. 

She was disoriented as she took in the sight of him, a fearful look in his eyes seen from under the brim of his ball cap, one hand gripped tightly around her wrist and the other gently wrapped around her opposite arm. 

“Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay,” he repeated over and over as she tried to control her breathing. He released his grasp, backing up to give her space and a minute to sit up. She rubbed a hand against her eyes as she tried to regain her bearings. 

“What happened?” she questioned groggily, thrown off by the way he was practically holding her down when she woke.

“You were screaming, then you started thrashing at me. I didn’t want you to hurt yourself,” he whispered, a gentle, yet concerned look on his face.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I didn’t hurt you did I?” she inspected, looking him up and down for any injuries. 

“No, no, I’m fine. Are you though? Has that been happening a lot?” he questioned, kneeling before her, his eyes level with hers. She nodded slowly.

“Ever since I got home from the hospital. It’s the same every time. Right before the shooting, and I wake up with the first shot,” she admitted, her eyes looking down into her lap to avoid his.

“You should talk to someone,” he suggested. 

The look in his eyes told her he knew exactly what she was going through, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

“I will,” she said unconvincingly.

“I’m serious. It’s more helpful than you’d think.”

She just nodded again, rubbing at her face once more.

“I should probably go, I know your first day back is tomorrow. You need the rest,” he said, rising from the ground to stand. She rose with him, following as he moved towards the front door. He turned around just before he made it there, a soft look on his face and a disquieted look in his eyes.

“Are you going to be okay?” 

"Yeah,” she uttered, slowly blinking her eyes to confirm to him she meant it.

“Thanks for coming by. I’m really sorry about all of that,” she told him as they stood there in the entryway of her place. His forehead twisted into a frown with her words.

“What? No, you have nothing to be sorry about,” he returned immediately, the stern look on his face allowing her to know he meant it. 

She clenched her jaw and bowed her head with his words. In a way she didn’t want to say goodbye. She liked the comfort of him being there, but at the same time she was embarrassed that he had seen her in that state. She also recognized that they were just barely getting out of the stranger phase. With all of that, she snapped herself out of the idea of asking him to stay a while longer. His head fell into a nod while he moved his hand to open the door. 

“Wait- one more question for the road?” she interrupted his movements, causing him to spin around completely. 

“Okay,” he gave in, slowly leaning back into the still shut door. 

“Why won’t you tell me your name?” she asked, crossing her arms as she stood before him, looking up into his steely eyes. He inhaled deeply, holding it a second before releasing and meeting his eyes with hers.

“You’re not going to give this up are you?” he asked her, a tone of defeat in his voice.

“You do realize I interrogate people for a living, right?” she reminded. He shook his head, inhaling sharply. She figured he was going to brush her off again. Then his eyes met hers and his mouth began to move and she froze as if any sudden movement might change his mind.

“My team doesn’t know about my cancer. They think I’m on vacation, traveling the world or sitting on a beach somewhere,” she watched him swallow hard before continuing. 

“I watched my mom deal with the same cancer as me, a worse diagnosis, but still I had to watch the way people’s perception of her shifted. Her whole identity, her whole reputation, it was all wiped out and replaced with her diagnosis. Everything she was disappeared and all she became was ‘the woman with cancer’ and ‘the woman who was dying’. I didn’t want that. I also didn’t want them to watch me deteriorate if I got as bad off as her. So my friends, my teammates, they don’t know I’m sick and they don’t even know I’m in Chicago. I didn’t want to tell you my name on the off chance we run in the same circles. I don’t want anyone to find out,” he explained, unfolding the details in a way that tore at Hailey’s heart.

“So you’re going through this alone?” she asked, tears welling up in her eyes by his words.

“I’ve got my brother, and now… if this doesn’t scare you off, I feel like I have you,” he said. She was taken aback by the words, and she froze. Not in fear, but in flattery. She didn’t even have to think. The words were flying out of her mouth before he had the chance to think otherwise.

“Yeah, you’ve got me,” she muttered, nodding her head with the words. “You’ve got me,” she repeated, swallowing to fight back her erupting tears. His lips curled into a fake smile, and he nodded before turning and opening the door. Her eyes traced his movements as he climbed down the steps and walked the pavers that led to the street. He didn’t make it far before he stopped in his tracks.

“You know, I don’t think calling me a stranger really works anymore,” he said, twirling around with a pensive look on his face. 

“I agree,” she called out to him, her hand curling around the door frame as a rush of anticipation went through her body. She wondered if he was going to finally give in. Finally tell her his name.

“Promise to keep my secret, to not look me up if I tell you my name,” he asked after a moment. She took a beat, her eyes looking up into the sky before she made her way down the steps to meet him where he stood, holding out a pinky as her eyes looked up into his. A lighthearted, yet contemptuous laugh escaped his lips as he realized what she was offering. He brought a pinky to hers, wrapping it around and shaking their hands together. 

“Pinky promise,” she whispered, a childish grin on her face. They pulled away and he smiled back at her a moment. 

“Jay. My name is Jay,” he revealed quietly. Her face brightened immediately, giving away the excitement that came with finally learning his name. 

“Jay,” she repeated, noting the way it suited him so well. “I’m really glad I met you, Jay,” she told him. 

“Me too,” he said, his eyes falling to the ground and raising up to hers just before he turned to walk back towards the street. 

“And just so you know,” she called out when he made it to his car. “Your secret is safe with me,” she affirmed once more. He flashed her a final look of content and she made her way back up her front steps, watching him wave before climbing in his truck and driving off down the street. 

It took her a while to decompress after everything that happened that night. She never expected to learn so much about him, to reveal so much about herself, or to be even more allured by him than she already was.

I feel like I have you, he told her. Those words echoed in her head for the rest of the night. It was clear that he needed a person with everything he was going through, but she realized she needed a person too. She had her friends at work, but what she had with him was different. She still felt like she had to keep her guard up with them. Not show them her bruised parts or the things that made her vulnerable. But with him it was different. There were times that night when they were vulnerable together, revealing things she wouldn’t normally reveal to anyone, let alone someone she’d only known for a few days. It was whatever connection they had. She couldn’t explain it, but it was organic and real, and it worked. 

She kept thinking about what he said about not wanting people to know about his diagnosis. Not wanting to be defined by it. She figured that’s why whatever thing they were building between each other worked so well. With her there was no bias, no warped perception of who he was, no before and after. She was getting everything, diagnosis and all, and because of that he was just Jay. A random stranger she’d met in an elevator. In a way it scared her to get too attached to him, knowing he was dealing with something that could limit his days. Yet, she realized the thing that brought them together was a shared reminder that one way or another, life is always limited. Whether we recognize it or not. The more she learned about him, the more she felt as though they were meant to find each other. So, part of her felt sure enough to see it through.

Before bed, she went into her office to find the notepad she had started her list on. It made her excited to cross her first item off, and even more excited to cross off more. She pulled out her phone, clicking his contact and changing it from Stranger from the Elevator to Jay. Her cheeks dimpled at this, and her fingers danced across the screen to type out a message to him. 

Thanks for helping me cross off the first item of my list… and for earlier 

Three dots rose on her screen as he typed out a response, and not long after, her phone pinged with an incoming message. 

Glad I could help with the list. As for the other thing, I’m here if you ever need to talk.

Sleep well tonight. No bad dreams

She smiled at his words and prepared herself to sleep. She needed the rest, but she dreaded the impending nightmares. She laid awake with his words in her head. Sleep well. No bad dreams. She had a hope that his words were enough to ward off the turmoil that remained in her mind, and somehow that hope was enough to eventually soothe her to sleep.