#me?? migraine posting? more likely than you’d think

[napping-sapphic]

I want a partner because I want someone to know me completely and love me anyway and I also want to know someone else completely and love THEM anyway but also I just kinda want someone who will massage my head for me when I get a migraine

[inkdrinkerworld]

hi! i saw you were taking requests for post prison spencer, so hey

i was thinking about spencer meeting a kinda sunshine reader, and it’s like…love at first sight. she’s literally the one to make him smile for good

feel free to add your magic to it, and to ignore it, don’t feel pressure at all!

have a good day/night <3

babe you guys are saving my life with these requests right now! I'm feeling so good about everything I write again <3 enjoy sunshine!reader x post prison!spencer who looks less tense and serious around you

You’re at his desk, sitting there all perfect in your orange button up and flared pants, Mary Janes clicking on the linoleum tile as you tap your pen against your lips. Your hair is scraped back into a ponytail, the plait brushing the spot between your shoulder blades. 

Spencer had asked about you to Penelope, asked about your personality, about how you work- all the important things. What he didn’t ask was if you were gorgeous and Penelope, who loves to divulge, had never said a thing about your looks. 

“Hi, you’re Y/n right?” Spencer’s standing before you, not realising how intimidating he must look till you jolt in your chair. 

You’d been trying to get your morning crossword and read in before the day had officially begun, a habit you’d been trying to keep up with since you started the job. So far it’s been going- the crosswords are boring so you have to pretend to be distracted by it to let it last a bit more than four minutes.

“Oh sorry, I am. You’re Doctor Spencer Reid,” you lean back in your chair, not bothering to hold out a hand to you. Penelope had grilled you on his aversion to germs and touching people more than needed. “I’m sorry about taking over your desk, but they didn’t have any free ones.” 

Spencer shakes his head, you take a moment to look him over. His hair is a bit looser than you’d imagined, Penelope said curly hair and you’d thought tight spirals- he has pretty loose ringlets, dark and mocha-like.

He smells like leather and something else, maybe plum and black currant- it’s a bit of an all encompassing smell that you like already. He’s much prettier too, he looks tired, but still pretty. His stubble presents a problem, you know it’s going to be your downfall. 

“It’s alright, we keep a tight ship. Have they been treating you well?” 

You tilt your head, “The team or the unsubs? Because it’s been too many cases to have real team building.” You grin when Spencer huffs, making his lips twitch. “But I think getting concussed while saving Newbie’s ass counts for something.” 

Luke grumbles as he walks by with his coffee, “You were hired after I was,” patting Spencer on the back when the taller, lithe, man rolls a chair to sit opposite you. 

“Do you still experience headaches or migraines?” Spencer kicks himself when he sees your tongue poke into your cheek- you’re trying hard not to smile at his question. He also thinks he’s doing a shoddy job of flirting but that can be fixed- he’s been in prison for the last three months, he just needs to get back in the swing of things. 

“I’m pretty sure your first official day back starts with you in Emily’s office and not giving me an impromptu physical, Dr. Reid.” His lips twitch again, cheeks jumping as he shakes his head. 

“It’s just a check-up, no physical yet.” he stands, not really giving himself time to overthink what he’s just said. It’s more than a little presumptuous on his part but you don’t call him an asshole or swear at him, so he thinks he’s okay with it. 

“Do you want your desk back, Spencer?” you’re earnest in asking, not wanting to fuck up his routines and his norm. You can tell you like him already and it’s hardly been a fifteen minute conversation. 

“No, it’s okay. I’ll take the one right there.” Spencer points a finger to the desk right in behind yours with a little less severity to his lips, his stubble looking even more attractive as he does so. 

You watch him walk away, willing yourself to be professional about all this, he may be hot but he’s your coworker and you know all about close proximity relationships possibly being shams. You’re not here for that, so Spencer will be a good friend. 

You make your way into the kitchen, steps light as you reach for your mug- a cute blue mug with an orca as the handle. 

“So you come in and the kid’s already obsessed with you?” Rossi’s right beside you, making you jump as you put more than the recommended amount of tablespoons of coffee into your mug. 

“It’s not like that, you all made him out to be this awkward shy mess and he isn’t.” You try to sound as casual as you can, but you profile your own voice and know how it sounds to everyone- wistful. 

“Maybe he’s seen a pretty girl and the ‘awkward shy mess’ melted away,” Rossi places his hands on your shoulders. “He’s a good kid. You can trust in that.” 

You roll your eyes, stirring your coffee. “I’m pretty sure he’s in his thirties, Rossi.” You take the milk from him, pouring it in till your coffee is just at the lip of your mug and smile. “Definitely too old.” 

Rossi waves his hand, “I’ve been married four times, old isn’t a marker for romance anymore. Not when you’re only twenty four.” He leaves you be for a moment, and on your walk back to your desk to fill out the remaining crosswords you mull over his words. 

As you sit, you look down and find it all filled out in black ink, opposed to your blue and you know who did it, if the messy scrawled message is anything to go by- ‘You should get The Washington Post puzzles, much more stimulating.’

[robo-writing]

Kinktober Day Three: Old Man! Logan - Sleepy Sex | Kinktober Masterlist |

a/n: Sorry for the late update! I get migraine attacks sometimes and I truly couldn't bring myself out of bed to post this 🙏

Light barely illuminates the room, not quite morning but not quite night, a dull blue shade that gets brighter with each passing second. You blearily check your phone, just a few hours before you have to wake up for work.

Too lucid to go to sleep, too tired to get out of bed, tossing around aimlessly until a hand at your hip stops you. His sleep-deprived voice sends a pang of guilt through you. 

“Stop movin’, you’re making me nervous,” says Logan. His eyes are still closed, face buried in his pillow, the fading marks of last night’s bedside service still visible against his skin next to the plethora of old scars that decorate his back.

Your hand covers his in apology, guilt laced in your voice. “Did I wake you?” He groans into the pillow. “A little bit.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. “Go back to sleep, promise I'll stop.” Another groan escaped him, more playful than tired. “Something tells me you’re lying.” You are, but you were hoping he wouldn’t notice. Logan yawns, stretching out before pulling you closer. “If you can’t sleep, mind if I help?” You know good and well what his help entails, a giggle rising out of you as his salt and pepper beard tickles your neck. There’s no sense of urgency—not like last night—he takes his time with you, rests his hands against your stomach as his slowly hardening erection rubs against your backside. You find yourself relaxing under his touch, even when his hands caress your pebbled nipples you can’t help but sigh in relief.

“You’d think you’d be satisfied after last night,” he murmurs, raising your thigh in preparation. Deft fingers rub circles on your clit, your breath hitching in response. 

Your hand reaches behind you, guiding his cock towards your entrance. “Can’t help it, you spoil me.” “I do,” he sighs in relief, your fluttering walls gripping him tight. “I enjoy spoiling you.”

His breath lingers on your skin with each thrust, burying his head into the crook of your neck. Each movement is nothing short of lackadaisical, eyes fluttering shut as he brings your body to a gentle high, one that catches you by surprise and leaves you boneless in his hold. More of a ride than a wave, but one that overwhelms you all the same.

A few thrusts later and he meets his end as well, voice rumbling as his spend fills you up. The two of you stay like this for a while, sleep slowly enveloping you into its warm embrace while Logan holds you to his chest.

[spitgobbler]

Sweet Treat

I’m not a big halloween fan but I wanted to post at least something so here’s a smutty fic of fucking fboy leon at a Halloween party <3

pairing: fboy!leon kennedy x fem!reader

tags: fucking in Halloween costumes, handcuffs, dirty talk, pussy spanking, p in v, nipple play, fake fangs, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, smut with a tiny bit of plot, unprotected sex

"Aren't you glad I forced you to come? You look smoking." Your best friend giggled, loud music blaring in her home. Her parents home actually, but they were out of town.

You stood there clad in a sexy black corset, a black mini skirt, and fishnets. Oh, and don't forget the fake fangs she forced you to apply to complete your vampire costume.

You look at her blankly, "Yeah, totally.."

It's not that you hated Halloween, the opposite actually, it was more so that you hated parties. The migraine inducing music, the over abundance of intoxicated people… no thanks.

Your best friend huffs with a eye roll. "See? This is why I said you need some dick. Get that attitude fucked out of you"

Grinning slyly, she pats your shoulder. "Let me get out of your hair."

When she walks away in her skimpy little nurse costume, confusion is visible on your features. What was she up to now?

A muscular arm cages you in before you could follow her, causing you to step back, pressing your back against the wall in surprise. Eyes trailing up to see who it was, you came face to face to a pretty blonde man in a cop costume with too many buttons undone than what would be appropriate for an actual cop.

“You’re so pretty that I’d let you suck me dry,” He flirts, one of his hands tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “In more ways than one.”

Oh. That’s why your bestie fled.

The attention makes your thighs clench, he was coming onto you so strongly that you couldn’t help but be swept up in his advances.

“In more ways than one? These aren’t real fangs, you know.” You voice, trying to reject him at first despite how your body was beginning to react to his close proximity.

Leon just laughs, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip before tugging it down to see your fake fangs. “Come on, it’s Halloween. I think I need to take you up to the station for being such a downer.”

He grabs your hand with a surprisingly gentle grasp and begins to lead you past the drink table and up the decorated staircase. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, Officer Leon Kennedy will take good care of you.”

You find yourself in some spare room, pressed up against the locked door. Leon’s warm hands trailing up your thighs teasingly as his lips press plush against yours.

A small moan bubbles from your throat when he pressed his tongue against yours, his thumbs rubbing circles into the flesh of your hips beneath your miniskirt to show his appreciation for your cute little sounds.

His touch is more tantalizing than you’d like to admit, your pussy growing wetter with each touch, kiss, and caress.

You whimper when his fingers tease you through your damp panties, grasping for his biceps that bulge against his cop costume.

“Ah, fuck, Leon.” Brows furrowing at his touch and your hips twitch.

Leon continues to drag his fingers against your panties, the miniskirt you wore bunched up at your hips.

“I make you feel good, don’t I?” He breathes out, lips curling up pleased. “I know I do.”

Fingers nudging at your throbbing clit and rubbing messy, harsh circles against the sensitive bud, it has your breath stolen and jaw slack.

You whine out for him, “Please,”

Your pleas have him kissing your cheek sweetly as he brings you closer and closer to release, that warm pool of arousal building in your core. Those lacy panties separating his fingers from your weeping cunt adds to the mind numbing pleasure.

Mewling and whining, your hips rock to grind your clit against his fingers. “Close, m’so close.”

“Won’t you cum for me? Come on, I know you can.” Leon coos, slipping his digits through a opening in your fishnets and beneath your ruined garment with slight pressure that makes your legs go weak.

You gasp, moaning lewdly as your composure breaks completely. Pussy clenching around nothing as you fall over the edge and gush all over his fingers. Leon moans lowly at the sight, wet sounds squelching when he slows his ministrations to help you through your orgasm.

Pulling his fingers away, your mind is mushy when he eases you down onto your weak knees in front of him. When he fiddles with his belt, you look up at him with lust glazed eyes. Hands resting on his thighs and a fogged mind from your orgasm.

That lewd expression of yours makes his cock kick in his hand, taking a deep shuddering breath as his arousal flares.

Leon’s hand caresses your hair while his other slowly pumps his cock, a pearl of pre dribbling out. “I know you know what to do,“

It doesn’t even phase you that he’s hinting at your bloodsucking vampire costume, more intrigued by his taste and so you obey him. Lips pressing against his needy tip before your tongue slips out to lap at his slit, causing a long deep groan to spill from his lips.

“That’s it,” he praises, brushing your hair out of your face once more with a surprisingly intimate touch.

Licking at the vein on the underside, Leon grips your hair slightly as he shudders. His pretty blues gazing down into your eyes half lidded, as you tease his leaking cock.

His hand presses down on your head, wanting you to take him in your pretty mouth. “Watch the fangs, sweetheart.”

Relaxing your jaw, you slide his cock into your warm wet mouth and he whimpers from the suction.

“Shit, yes…” One of his hands press against the door for support, eyebrows knitting together from the feel of your mouth and tongue moving against his needy cock with every bob you make.

“Good fucking girl,” he hissed out, using the last bit of restraint left in him, Leon pulls you off him with a huff. “Spit on it, spit on my fucking cock.”

Wet saliva clicks in your mouth before pooling on your tongue. You spit a fat glob onto his cock which sends a shiver down his spine.

Leon’s cop uniform is straining at the buttons with how hard he’s breathing. “Stroke it,” He commands breathlessly.

“Like this?” You murmur, soft hand smearing your saliva over his dick along with his pre cum that oozes profusely from his flushed tip. Eyes looking up prettily at him for any sign of approval.

In which he nods, hands moving to help you up. Leon’s hands slip behind your back and begins to unravel the lace that held your corset snuggly to your form. “Let’s get you out of this, yeah?”

You nod appreciatively when your torso is freed from the confines of the corset, “Thank you.”

A groan falls from Leon’s plush lips at the sight of your tits, the corset forgotten at the floor. Leon picks you up with ease and presses you into the mattress.

Placing soft wet kisses to the flesh of your breasts with a hum. Your cheeks flush from the attention to them, it was something you felt that previous hookups tend to forget but Leon most certainly didn’t.

“Ah… mmh,” Gasping softly from the teasing kisses to your breasts.

Leon grins softly, “You like that? Fuck, you’re so pretty, so fuckin’ gorgeous.”

He flicks his tongue against your nipple while his hand teases and pinches the other causing them to pebble up and harden.

A whimper rips from your throat when Leon pressed his tongue flat against it, before his lips circle around it and sucking gently.

You squirm beneath him, “O-Oh, s’good.”

The look he gives looks you is so proud and he sucks on your breasts eagerly. “Mm…”

“Don’t wanna forget this one, now do we?” His attention is now on your other breast, licking and sucking all over the sensitive and soft flesh.

It makes you whine, writhing and moaning from all of it and you swear you’ll go crazy if he doesn’t do something more.

Leon paints your chest in pretty shades of rouge and it doesn’t even cross your mind that once the two of you are done fooling around that everyone will see his marks all over your breasts because of your corset.

“L-Leon, come on already.” You whine.

You hear a metallic jangle and you’re flipped over, face down ass up. His strong hands pull your arms behind your back and the handcuffs he had for his costume are secured onto your wrists.

“Gonna have to cuff you for being so impatient, baby.” Leon pushed your miniskirt back over your hips and his hands clench at your fishnets, forearms and biceps tensing as he rips a hole in them right at your crotch.

The sound felt so lewd, sending even more waves of arousal to your cunt. Your panties were already no good and they just clung to your pretty pussy to the point where you wanted him to rip those too.

Leon settles behind you, moving your panties to the side to reveal your needy pussy. He groans right in your ear when he rubs the tip of his cock between your wet folds, a moan of your own spilling against the mattress.

“So fucking naughty, letting a cop touch you like this.” He murmurs to you, slowly easing just the tip in and he teases you with it. Gently and slowly, pressing his tip just barely in repeatedly, it leaves you wanting more.

You press your ass back into his pelvis, trying to get more of him inside and he chuckles breathily. “Quit playing around, want you to put it in.”

Leon lets a hand slip around your hip, spanking your clit just a bit. You jump and choke out a whimper, desperation doubling when he spanks it again.

“I always give it to pretty girls like you, don’t worry.” He reassures with one more spank to your clit, making it throb.

Mounting you from behind Leon eases his fat cock into your wet hole, hands writhing in the cuffs from the pleasurable stretch.

Both of you moan and being the nice guy he is, Leon gives you a moment to adjust before fully sheathing himself inside of you.

The feeling in your cunt is so full, absolutely stuffed with his thick cock and it has you mewling already. Breathing all heavy and cheeks warmed with arousal and desire.

“Please, let me move,” Leon begs quietly, grasping at your hips. “…please.”

It’s like he’s become desperate once he’s inside your warm wet pussy, walls snug around every inch of him. He wants, needs, to feel you cum around his cock.

You nod, giving him permission to do as he pleases and Leon whimpers, rocking his hips into you slowly before increasing his pace. His tip smushing and pressing into your cervix, Leon grabs at your hands that were cuffed behind your back and uses them as leverage to fuck into your tight cunt harder.

Eyes rolling back, Leon groans, “F-Fuck, gonna make you my girl with a pussy like this.”

“Yes… yes!” Back arching like a cat as he dicks you down so good you might have to come back for more.

His pelvis smacks into your ass with each harsh thrust, sharp slaps of sticky skin ringing out that’s drowned out by the Halloween music downstairs. You writhe beneath him, his cock making you tremble and moan out into the sheets.

The strain in your cuffed arms burns but oh god, the way it’s blurs with the pleasure of Leon’s cock sliding in and out of you, reducing you into a needy, whiny, whore.

It was so sloppy, the wettest nastiest sounds squelching from your weeping pussy and he just fucks you even more eagerly with the lubrication of both of yours arousal.

“Wanna cum, Leon…” you slur out, drooling as your eyes flutter back. Mind all mushy that it can only process the way Leon abuses your cunt in such a toe curling manner .

He huffs, letting go of your cuffed arms to reach around your hip like previously, he spanks your clit and moans when it causes you the clench around his cock with a strangling grip.

“Cum. Cum for me, god, need to feel it,” Leon pleas, rubbing your clit in frantic messy circles when he feels his own climax bubbling. “Cum on my cock, pretty girl.”

With a few more thrusts accompanied by his fingers busy with your swollen clit, you feel that familiar warmth before it spreads throughout your body.

“A-Ah, ah, m’cumming!” Your orgasm crashing against your senses, cumming all over his cock which triggers his own release.

Warm seed spilling into your tight little pussy with a whimper that falls into a long moan, Leon’s thrusts faltering as his chest heaves and his cheeks flush. Pretty blue eyes clenched shut and brows furrowed as he takes in the waves of his release.

After a few moments, he eases out of you and removes the fake cuffs, helping you lay comfortably on the bed before flopping next to you. Both of you breathing heavily as your mind begins to solidify out of that mushy state Leon put you in.

Your eyes blearily look at the blonde when he cuddles up to you so sweetly, which is a change of pace from what just occurred.

“I know things are a bit reversed, but,” Leon gulps in some air as he comes down from his high and he looks a tad bit nervous. “Why don’t you let me take you on a date?”

As you walk hand in hand with Leon, strolling through the park and enjoying the ice cream he bought you, you felt a vibration in your purse.

“Can you hold this?” You ask, extending your cone.

He smiles and nods, “Anything for you, pretty girl.” Letting go of your hand, he takes it from you and sneaks a quick taste of the flavor you got with a pleased hum.

Fumbling and rummaging in your purse, you finally grasp your phone and check the message your bestie had sent you.

‘I know I said you needed some dick but why my parents room?’ It read.

You giggle loudly, shooting her a quick, ‘Oops!’ before slipping your phone back into your purse and resuming your date with Leon.

[johnwickb1tsch]

🌻Small Town Girl🌻 ~ Part 2

Tex Johnson thought he was just passing through…until he set his eyes on you. 

Part 2 of a little Tex x Reader fic for my beloved @treedaddymcpuffpuff. ILYSM!😘

Warnings: mentions of past spousal abuse, mentions of animal abuse, religious trauma...you know, the usual social problems of depressed rural america... I can say that because I live here. divider by saradika part 1

2. 

You’re a heavy sleeper, but this takes the cake.

When you stagger into your kitchen and look out the window Tex’s Chevelle is parked half in your gravel driveway, half in your yard. And tethered to your fence post munching green grass to his heart’s content is a certain miniature equine who you’d tried to acquire with cold hard cash the night before.

Fuck.

You march outside in your threadbare nightgown and your bare feet, finding Tex asleep in the driver’s seat. How the hell did he even get this horse here with that car?

If he put Ziggy in the trunk you are going to murder him.

You pound on the window, and he wakes with a violent start. “Popsicles!”

“What?”

He looks around, before fixing on you, and seems to relax a hair. “Mornin’, darlin’.”

“What. The fuck. Did you do?”

“Uh…funny story…”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What? Didn’t you want this horse?”

“Yeah, but…” You pull at your hair, feeling a migraine coming on already. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

You turn in the dew-wet grass to go check on Ziggy. You hear Tex exiting the car behind you. “Don’t be mad, baby.”

“I’m not mad,” you answer sadly, running your fingers through the little horse’s coarse blond mane. “I’m scared.”

Ziggy nibbles at your fingers with his meaty lips, wanting the treats he associates you with. He was going to need a whole lot more than molasses cookies though. You could already tell how your day was going to go.

“Don’t be scared either, darlin’,” Tex says behind you.

“Easy for you to say. You realize this is the first place Dale is gonna come look? And he’ll probably bring Donnie too.”

Nevermind the restraining order you have. It won’t stop him. He’s friends with half the sheriff’s deputies anyway. The Barksdales are damn near untouchable. You learned that the oh so hard way.

“Honey, I’m not going to let them hurt you.” 

For the sake of the horse you keep your temper in check, moderating your voice when all you want to do is yell. “What are you going to do? Watch over me every minute of the day?” He lifts his brows like he likes that idea–you do too, which is batshit insane, because you don’t actually know a goddamn thing about this man.

“Hold on. How did you even know where I live?”

He shrugs. “Not hard to find out, if you know where to look.”

“Well that’s not creepy at all.”

You guess all he’d have to do is ask at the gas station–your family’s been here long enough that it’s basically common knowledge.

You stand there in your faded floral muumuu and your bare feet, toe to toe with this tall dark man and if you had any sense you would be afraid…but you’re not. You’re not because you just don’t think he’ll hurt you. You feel it in your bones and you haven’t had that certainty about any man in so long you can’t remember, and it’s driving you a little wild inside.

“I need my boots,” you sigh, and brush past him to go back to the house.

***

You put Ziggy in the farthest back stall of your barn, where he’ll be out of sight should anyone come looking. With a flake of hay and some grains in his bucket, he seems perfectly content, the sweet sound of him munching filling the old oak building. You lean on a rough sawn post and watch him with a storm in your heart, wondering how long its been since he’d been able to eat his fill.

There will be a price to pay for this little horse’s well being, and you decide whatever it is will be worth it, even if you are afraid. Tex’s presence might deter vengeance for a little while, but he won’t be here forever. You know he won’t, no matter how nice it is to think it, so you’d better be ready.

You were going to have to think on this.

But first, you were going to have to call the ferrier. Luckily you had a friend who wouldn’t rat you out to the Barksdales. Angela was tough as nails and didn’t kowtow to their bullshit. 

It occurs to you that maybe the best thing for Ziggy, and the best thing for you, might be to get this horse far away from here. You wouldn’t put it past Dale or Donnie or one of his other heartless relatives to sneak into your barn in the dead of night and do something awful. There wouldn’t be a whole lot you could do about it either.

You’ve had this horse for about 5 seconds, and the thought of giving him up already breaks your heart.

Tex has been standing silently beside you. You feel his eyes on you, but in what you suspect is a rare occurrence, he’s not running his mouth, giving you space to think. But when you give a heavy sigh he finally breaks. “Come on, darlin’, I thought this would make you happy. It kills me to see you sad.” He opens his arms to you, but you eye them warily. It’s too tempting by far. The way this man is dangerous to you, is that you could get too used to his company too quick.

“You want breakfast?” you deflect.

He nods, those dark eyes taking the measure of you, looking through you, you’re afraid, right into your soul. “Sure.” But he doesn’t move, still just looking at you. 

“What?” you grouse.

Your annoyance only makes him grin.

“Did I mention you’re the cutest little thing in a muumuu and muck boots this side of the Mississippi?”

You roll your eyes, not believing him for a minute. Your hair is still in its bird’s nest of a sleeping braid and you haven’t had your coffee yet. With hands on your hips you look him over too. He’s still wearing the same shirt as last night, and his eyes are a little bloodshot.

“Did you tie one on last night and steal that horse?”

He scrubs at the back of his neck, looking all the while like a guilty schoolboy. “Well…about that…”

This is the thing that finally breaks through your black mood, lifting your sorrow like a blanket. The thought of this man committing grand theft pony–dare you think it, for you–brings a small smile to your lips, and a whole lot of sunshine to your heart.

“Tell me in the house. I’m hungry.” When he doesn’t immediately budge you turn him by the shoulders and give him a shove. Without really thinking about it, you smack his ass for good measure. That tight little behind is round, and firm, and you bite your lip without meaning to, wishing it was something else.

He makes a show of jumping with surprise, smirking at you knowingly over his shoulder. “Watch it, baby girl, or I’mma get myself a handful next,” he warns you with a wicked glint in his eye that makes your insides churn. 

You don’t know what insane notion possesses you, when you stick out your tongue at him– and run. 

You're smarter than this. You know you don't run from a predator. You face them down and smack them on the nose. 

His laughter from right behind you makes an electric thrill zip from your heart to your toes. Dear Lord. No man should be this much fun. 

He really is like a drug, and you don’t know what you were thinking running from him, because you are not fast, and you are clumsy, but somehow it’s him behind you who lets out a surprised yell.

You turn to find Tex with his foot in a hole up to his calf. “Oh my god. Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.” He extricates himself, and you both peer down into a tunnel running under the aisle of your dirt floor barn. You look at the direction, and follow it to an unoccupied stall. Throwing open the door, you find mounds and mounds of freshly disturbed earth.

“Motherfucker. That groundhog is back.”

Tex looks at the impressive damage with eyebrows raised high. “Goddam. You sure it ain’t a bear? Or a rogue bulldozer?”

“Yes. I can’t deal with this now. Come on.” You take his hand, pulling him towards the house, and he happily follows.

You pause at the front door. “Umm…it’s going to be chaos for a minute. Fair warning.” Then you lead him into the fray.

Chichi is a tiny black and tan tornado at your feet, yipping and screaming. You shake a treat can and hand one to Tex. “Give this to him if you want to live.”

Raising an eyebrow, Tex complies, crouching down to the little dog’s level to offer the morsel. Chichi gobbles it and quiets down, switching to sniffing and licking as Tex scratches his side. His hand is almost as big as your dog, and it touches your heart, how sweet he is to the little creature. Satisfied, Chichi runs back to you for a snuggle.

“We good now?” you ask the little chihuahua. He licks you fervently, and you laugh, setting him back down on the floor. Your bulldog reacts in the exact opposite manner, not even getting out of her bed, only deigning to open one eye to regard your visitor. Your conure has joined in the cacophony, and will not quiet until you give him a piece of apple.

“I hope you like fresh eggs and bacon, it’s all I got.”

“Alright.” He seems amused by you, and the happy mayhem of your home, looking around with a sparkle in his eye. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure.” You point him in the right direction and go to the kitchen, lighting a burner under your cast iron skillet. You busy yourself with frying bacon and cracking eggs and filling the kettle for coffee. You are so concentrated on your task that it takes you a moment to notice Tex leaning on the door jam–sans shirt.

You blink, and nearly put your hand in the hot pan. “You forget something?” you ask, trying like hell not to stare at the broad expanse of muscled torso before you. Jesus fucking christ, that’s not fair.

“My clean shirts are back at the motel,” he defends. 

His hair is slightly damp from washing up, looking unfairly edible.

He sidles closer, and you notice the top button of his jeans is undone. A long scar runs down the center of his abdomen, leading your eye to a dark patch of hair that disappears into his waistband. 

Evil. This man is pure evil–and you want to taste every inch of him.

“My eyes are up here, darlin’,” he says with a smirk. 

“You are a menace,” you grouse, holding up a spatula in defense as he just keeps getting closer. He smirks, looking down at the implement.

“You gonna spank me, sweetheart?”

“I would, but I’m afraid you’d like it.”

You are warm all over, and it has nothing to do with slaving over a hot stove.

“Can I help?”

Like he hasn’t helped enough.

“Sure. Pour that hot water into that carafe.”

He looks between the french press, the kettle, and you. “Ever heard of a Mr. Coffee?”

“We don’t tolerate weak coffee in this house.”

He grins at you, doing as he’s told. He even knows to stir it with a wooden spoon, which makes you think he was just pulling your leg.

While you are flipping bacon you feel him zero in behind you, the line of warmth from his body like a heat lamp at your back. “Smells wonderful,” he says, daring to touch your waist.

“It’s meat candy, what do you expect?” You’re not sure if you’re talking about the bacon, or him. 

“Hmm.” His chuckle is a low rumble behind you. You feel it reverberate in your bones. The tips of his fingers press into your sides as he grips fistfuls of your nightgown–and you–as he nuzzles your hair. The sound you make as you wiggle in his arms is almost cartoonish. He takes no mercy, laughing and holding you closer. The warm, solid line of his body behind you is divine, so wonderful you can hardly stand it.

“You are going to make me burn the bacon!” you screech in an attempt at self-defense.

“That’s alright, I’ll just eat you for breakfast,” he tells you in that low growl that makes your knees weak, ducking to nibble at your ear. It’s possible you give in for a few seconds, your head rocking back against his shoulder as he holds you. Why does it have to feel like you fit together so well? When his long fingers bunch in your skirt, pulling it up as his other hand reaches for your breast you think you might combust. In a panic you smack his hand with the spatula with a little scream, trying not to giggle. 

“Go sit down!”

With a wicked chuckle he skips out of reach before you can smack him again, collapsing into one of the old wooden kitchen chairs. His smoldering gaze meets yours, and you feel unsettled. 

This man. Lord save you.

Or not. Maybe…you don’t want to be saved.

“I don’t know how you do things in Texas, but here you don’t get to feel a girl up just because you rustled a horse for her.”

He grins, baring his teeth like he means to eat you.

“Sorry, darlin’, blame the muumuu.”

You try to keep a straight face, but in the end you fail utterly. 

“You gonna tell me how all this happened?”

“You sure you want to know?”

“No, but I should.”

“Hmm. Well, after the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met abandoned me at the fair–”

“Oh save it, Mr. L.A. stuntman.”

He grins but goes on, “I had to do something to nurse my broken heart. So I went to the aforementioned TJ’s by the creek…”

“Ok, this is starting to make sense.”

You start setting dishes of food and plates on the table. Eggs, bacon, toast, butter and jam, and of course, coffee. “And I only had one drink, because I’m a cautious sort of fellow…”

“Yes, that has been made glaringly apparent in the short time I've known you.”

He nods in agreement with a fey glint in his eye all the while. “And who walks in, but our friend Dale…”

“Oh god. You didn’t pick a fight with him, did you?”

“I did not. I went out to the parking lot, to find his horse trailer still full of petting zoo employees conveniently two cars away from mine.”

You cover your mouth, so he can’t see the absolutely feral grin forming on your lips. “You didn’t.”

“I so did. Let the goats out to disperse in the woods there, and wouldn’t you know Ziggy fit right in my passenger seat?”

You are picturing this big tough man in his muscle car peeling out down the road with that cute little horse as a co-pilot. That must be the point when you officially lose your sanity, because you crawl into his lap, planting a big kiss right on his mouth. He lets out a low moan of appreciation, cupping your rear end in his two big hands.

“Tex?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“You’re a goddamned hero.”

“I know! I’ve been trying to tell you,” he says with a grin, stealing another kiss.

You try to extricate yourself to go sit in the opposite chair, but he will not let you. You eat breakfast together, sitting in his lap, his big warm hand on your thigh while you giggle and feed each other morsels and talk, and you can’t help but feel like things might turn out afterall.

***

Tex is helping you do the dishes, or maybe distracting you from doing the dishes, because he keeps plying you with toe curling kisses, when the two of you watch a battered red Chevy pickup pull down your driveway.

“Shit,” you say, recognizing it immediately.

“Here we go. Later than I expected.”

You look up at him open mouthed, an involuntary fear response coursing through your veins, turning your limbs ice cold. “You expected?”

“It’s alright, darlin’. Stay inside.” He kisses your forehead, cradling your cheek with a sweet assurance that you want to believe in, more than anything. It would be too good to be true, to have a man who could really protect you. Someone you could just…depend on. You want it with every fiber of your being, and rather than get your shotgun and run out to the porch on bare feet, you stand there in the kitchen and watch Tex go out the door, pulling a white t-shirt down over a blocky black object tucked into the back of his jeans.

Oh Lord. 

Predictably, Dale is driving, and your blood turns to ice as your piece-of-shit ex spills out of the passenger seat. And even though you know the very Devil is standing there in your driveway, your first thought, as ever when seeing Donnie Barksdale, is damn he looks good. 

There really is something wrong with you. 

He’s wearing a flannel with the sleeves cut off and his usual trucker hat advertising some manner of farm implement (as if he’s ever worked that hard). As always, the sight of Donnie feels like a sharp knife shoved up between your ribs. No matter what he did to you, a part of you will always love that man, or at least, the boy he was when he was your friend, your first love, before he became so hell bent on destroying you. To this day, you do not understand what you ever did to that man, to make him turn on you so violently. You offered him all the love in your heart, and in turn he made you feel worthless. For a time, you actually believed it was true. Now you know better, but it’s been a long, hard road.

“Who the hell are you?” barks Donnie up at the self-assured man standing sentry on your front porch. 

“That’s not what you should be worryin’ about right now,” answers Tex, leaning on the post. 

“That a fact?” 

“Yep. The thing you should be worryin’ about is that you’re trespassin’.” 

Dale exits his truck, leaning on the dented hood. “That’s the fucker that hit me last night, Donnie.” 

Donnie nods, sizing Tex up. The thing about Donnie is…he doesn’t like to get into a fight he doesn’t know he’s going to win. And Tex is a helluva wildcard. It’s possible your no-good wife-beatin’ ex finally met his match. 

“He’s leaving out the bit about askin’ for it. Is beatin’ on y/n y/l/n just a universal pastime in this county for you boys when you run outta pigs to fuck, or what?” drawls Tex, picking at his fingernails. 

Donnie bristles at this, taking a step forward. “Motherfucker–” 

“That’s as far as you go, son,” warns Tex, producing the object from the back of his jeans. You knew it was a gun. You did not know it was that big of a gun. Donnie is wearing his usual inscrutable aviators, but Dale’s eyes go wide. 

“We’re just here to get my stolen horse, mister,” says Dale, holding his hands up. 

“Aww, you boys missin’ your lil’ pony? Better check the lost and found then. It ain’t here.” 

“We’ll have a look for ourselves,” spits Donnie, stepping towards the barn. 

Boom!

The report of the pistol is deafening, and the bullet sends up an explosion of gravel right in front of Donnie’s feet. The dogs and the bird go crazy, starting up and barking and screeching. Donnie jumps backwards three feet, his glasses falling off into the dirt. The expression of fear on his face is as rare as it is priceless. 

“You crazy asshole!”

You scoop up Chichi, trying to comfort him. The little dog trembles like a leaf in your arms. You murmur nonsense to it, but your eyes are glued to the confrontation outside, adrenaline rolling through your veins like flash flood water. You realize you’re shaking almost as badly as the dog. 

“Guilty. Ever seen a Desert Eagle? Shoots a big fuckin’ bullet. A .50 caliber round will explode your kneecap like an apple.” Tex whistles with appreciation, and you’re pretty sure Donnie goes pale. “Wanna test my aim today? I might miss and hit you in the balls.” 

You shouldn’t be enjoying this the way you are, but God did that man have it coming. 

 “We should call the Sheriff on you!” 

“Please do. This is a ‘stand your ground’ state. We can tell him about how you’re trespassing, and I’m pretty sure you ain’t supposed to be within 300 yards of that pretty little thing watchin’ us from the kitchen.” 

Donnie’s attention zeroes in on the window, and you sense it like a laser sight fixed upon you. You hate it, how just that hateful look makes you flinch. 

“Y/n!” Donnie calls. “Come out here!” 

“She don’t need to come out here,” says Tex. “She ain’t gonna save you.” 

Donnie seems actually surprised, when you do not obey him, staying put in your spot in the kitchen. 

When the two men just stand there in the driveway, frozen and speechless, Tex cocks the pistol for show. “You need another demonstration? Git!”

“This ain’t over, fucker!” spits Donnie, pointing menacingly–from a safe distance. 

“You better hope it is. Don’t come back, and if either one of you ever touches her again I’ll kill you. That’s a promise. Now get the fuck out of here!” 

Spoiling for a fight but clearly outgunned, the two men back towards the truck, slowly climbing in. “There you go. See ya, bronies!” 

Tex waves the pistol in their direction, and you hear Donnie yell at Dale, “Fuck! Drive! Drive!”

Dale peels out, leaving ruts in your gravel and a dust cloud as they go.

Tex stays on the porch watching until their truck is good and gone. When he finally makes it back into the house you are a teary-eyed little mess. When he sees you the flint in his eyes immediately softens. “Aw, don’t cry honey, c’mere.” You do, and with your head resting on the solid warm wall that is this man’s chest you start to lose it. 

“You actually did it.” 

“Course I did. I told you I would,” he says, stroking your hair as he holds you.

“But…you actually did it,” you say again, because you still cannot believe what just happened. No man has managed to stand up to Donnie Barksdale since your Grandpa, at 80 years old, who stood between you and Donnie in the very same spot on the porch, with the same 12 gauge you still keep behind the hutch, and threatened to cut your then-husband in half if he took another step closer. 

It was the last night Donnie beat on you, and broke your orbital bone, two of your teeth, and your arm. You’d escaped into the dark woods that night, and even though you are not stealthy or fast you managed by some miracle to make it through the brush and thorns and barbed wire fences the two miles to your grandparents’ farm house. It was the last straw, and you finally set the wheel in motion to divorce him the next day. 

You are not a pretty crier, but Tex lets you soak his shirt with tears and snot, holding you and murmuring sweet nonsense. “That’s right, honey, get it out. It’s ok.”

For once, it doesn’t sound like an empty placation. Donnie seemed genuinely scared of Tex, and Dale is an even bigger coward than Donnie. Maybe…they really will just leave you alone. 

Stranger things have happened. 

“I’m sorry,” you wheeze, trying to pull away to get a tissue. “I’m a mess.” 

But Tex pulls you back, not seeming to care one bit, and when his lips touch yours it really does seem like everything in the world has turned right. 

Amusingly, Chichi has been sandwiched between all this in your arms, and only just begins to put up a grumble of protest. “Oh hush, lil buddy,” says Tex, not unkindly, scratching the little dog under the chin. He does nearly the same thing to you, brushing your hair out of your eyes. “You alright?”

You nod and offer a watery smile, setting the dog down on the ground. It’s not what Chichi wants, but he’ll live. “Yes. Thank you.” 

If Donnie believed what Tex said…you do too. There is something dangerous about this man. A wildness that makes his threat feel like a promise. You guess that when the law fails you, what you truly need is an outlaw who keeps his word. Yet you truly believe he’s not a danger to you. You feel safe with him, and maybe that’s the biggest miracle of all. 

“As silly as this sounds after the morning we’ve had…I really do have to go to work.” 

“Alright. I’ll drive you.” A part of you wants to say it’s not necessary. But the other half of you? Just wants to bask in this new found feeling of security while it lasts. You can’t expect Tex to stick around forever to babysit you. But for right now…god, it feels good, to not have to carry this weight all on your own shoulders. 

You kiss him again, and it is warm, and sweet as sugar cookies fresh from the oven. You melt into him, and with his strong arms around your waist, then lower, it is very hard to get up the motivation to go clean up and put on your uniform. 

“Honey, you keep kissin’ me like that and we’re not goin’ anywhere.” 

It’s embarrassing, but you know the sound you make in answer is something like a cat in heat, your fingers curling in the soft cotton of his t-shirt. You feel his words inside you–in the rhythm of your heart, and the throb of your loins. It’s damn near unbearable, this sudden restlessness you feel inside.

You don’t have anyone else to depend on, so you always have to do the responsible thing. Go to work. Get the money. Pay the bills. No one escapes the bullshit death march of Capitalism, except the fuckers who are running the game.

And yet. Maybe…just this once…you could call in sick. 

You stand on tiptoe to kiss him again, grabbing fistfuls of the fluffy waves of his now dried hair. “Tex?” 

“Yeah, baby.” His voice is pure honey dripping golden in the sun. 

“Let’s go upstairs.” His big hands flex against the soft curves of your hips, grabbing fistfuls of nightgown like he’s thinking about tearing it off of you. Incredibly, he says nothing glib, just nods. But when he looks down at you for a long, heated moment–you think he could burn down the world, with the fire in that dark gaze. 

“Lead the way, darlin’.” 

You take his big, beautiful hands in yours, and pull him towards the stairs.

[sohnric]

BELOVED — E. SOHN

pairing: eric sohn x fem! reader

genre: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers. angst, fluff. the tiniest bit of swimmer! eric for some reason. wrote this in a moment of weakness handle with care!! :~)

word count: 2.4k

warnings: reader is said to be red in the face from the cold (alludes to specific skin color - im sorry i wrote this for me only and yall just get to read it), swearing, insecurity and jealousy, unspecified mental illness (?)

a/n: once again thank you to @csenke for beta reading and encouraging me to post this :p and also for existing. ily <3 btw swimmer eric is such a concept it gave us both whiplash maybe i need to revisit this in a full fic....

The coldness of the crisp evening makes you sniffle, your bones freezing and fingers going numb even in the comfort of your coat pockets. Your brain is full of thoughts fighting amongst each other, running around and hitting the corners of your head, slowly causing you an annoying migraine. You now regret not taking your headphones with you, because the music could help you drown out the noise of your inner voice, but the you from an hour ago that decided to go on a walk to clear your head had other plans for you, so you now have to suffer the stream of your thoughts instead. The stream is so loud you swear you can hear it resonating through the silent campus, but you know that’s a foolish thought, so you fight it away with a bitter chuckle.

Eyes zeroing on the orange fluorescent lights coming from inside of the building you’re standing in front of, you start feeling a little silly for coming here. It’s not like you think you’d be sent away, but there’s also that little bugging voice inside of your brain that keeps reminding you that you weren’t invited. Your feet have dragged you here without your consent or order. One moment, you were walking down the river, shuddering from the cold, and the other, you found yourself in front of the pool– as if the tugging of your heart was stronger than your own brain, stronger than your own thoughts.

Sometimes you feel bad for taking it all out on him. At least that’s what you suppose you’re doing– with your annoyed remarks whenever he checks in on you, with your sighs whenever he asks what’s wrong. It’s not like he’s incorrect with his suspicions– he always somehow knows you’re in a bad mood, no matter how hard you try to mask it– you just don’t often feel like discussing the matter with him. Or anyone, really. Sometimes, you feel bad for pushing him away or not texting him back. Sometimes you feel truly shitty for the fact that you can’t open up to him, no matter how hard you try. 

And sometimes, you just truly think that he wouldn’t care. It’s weird how your mind works– someone could spend so much time with you, making memories together and laughing at your jokes, yet, your mind could convince you that they don’t really like you at all in the first place. That this is some sort of a game they’re playing, trying to see how long you can stay convinced that they enjoy your presence in their life before you notice and they step away. You don’t even know where this conviction is coming from. If you knew, maybe you could fix it. If you could locate it, you’d try to delete the flawed code from your system. 

Sometimes, you think he doesn’t care about how you are, what you’re doing, what you think. It has nothing to do with the way he treats you; more so with the anxiety nibbling at the corners of your brain whenever he talks to anyone else– with the constant fear of being replaced, of having him find someone better, someone less difficult to be friends with. In its full essence, the image is terrifying. You think your world would crumble if you lost another person in your life.

More so, you think your world would crumble if you lost him. You recognize that there’s a constant desire in the depths of your heart to be someone’s favorite– his favorite– to be the person someone would choose in a room full of people. To be the one they walk up to first with a smile and their arms wide open. 

And it’s silly. You’re his best friend. He tells you so every day. It’s the way you’re introduced to everyone out of his circle that you meet on parties or at campus.

Admittedly, you like hearing him say it. Best friend– the title shows you’re the best at something: at being his companion, at making him laugh, at being there for him, whatever it is that you do to earn that sticker. The title shows that you’re somebody’s favorite– his favorite– and it makes you deeply satisfied with yourself. It makes you proud, even. 

Some days, you still have a hard time believing it, though. Some days, you still feel stranded. Lonely. Isolated. It’s weird. 

Somehow, your heart, your feet and the unconscious part of your brain took you right where you knew you’d find him. You didn’t choose to go here– if you realized you were nearing the building, you would’ve even tried to stop yourself– and as you contemplate turning on your heel and going back home, hell, you even take the first step away from the pools, the sound of the main door opening and his voice calling for you makes you halt in your movements, gluing you to the pavement. 

Sometimes, the heart knows what it needs even before you get a chance to register it.

“Y/N! How long have you been standing there?” he calls after you, making you bite down on your lower lip. There’s no escaping him now– you guess it’s for the better, though.

Turning towards him, a guilty look spreading over your features, you shrug. “Not long.”

“It’s freezing out here! Why didn’t you come inside?” he asks, a wrinkle forming in between his eyebrows as he walks closer to you, his friends from the swim team patting his back and saying their goodbyes to the two of you as they pass the commotion on their way out.

“I didn’t want to intrude your practice,” you peep, sniffling a little from the cold.

“Gosh, you always do this,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. He almost looks mad at you, and by the way he raises his voice and throws his arms in the air in frustration, you think you’re correct with assuming he might be. “I texted you the whole day! Hell, I called, even though I know how much you hate phone calls. And I get that you probably didn’t feel like talking, but a simple ‘I'm okay, don’t worry’ text would’ve been nice!”

Dragging his hand through his hair in defeat, he shakes his head at you. “Besides, you can’t just keep shutting me off every time you are having a hard time, for god’s sake! Not only do I worry, but I hate seeing you suffer all alone.”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you listen patiently to his lecture. You know he’s right– he almost always is, because the rational side of your brain ceases to exist every time your insecurities fail you– so there’s really no aim in trying to argue or fight with him. 

Eric sighs as he steps even closer to you, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder before he reaches for the hood of your jacket and puts it over your head. “You could’ve texted me you were here, I’d leave practice early for you,” he says, voice now softer as he stands in front of you, not really wanting to scream straight into your face. 

You shrug in response, not really knowing what to say. Telling him you contemplated leaving  just seconds before he found you here would make him even more mad with you, so you choose to gloss over that fact. Besides, it’s kind of comforting, the way his words work. The way his presence calms you, makes the screaming match of your thoughts drown out with his firm comments and scolding remarks. His words, although full of frustration, make your insides warm up and your muscles relax, like you’re coming undone.

His face shows concern. His actions speak even louder than his words when he tugs the sides of your hood closer together at your neck, the hole for your head previously exposing your bare skin and making you shiver. “Couldn’t you dress more warmly? Do you want to catch a cold?” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “You scutter here all unannounced, wearing close to nothing, and expect me to not be frustrated with you?”

You study his expression for a while. It’s not often you get to see Eric from so up close, but even in the darkness of the evening, you recognise the familiarity of his close-to-flawless features. Anchoring yourself into his gaze for a second, you move to study the sculpture of his cheekbones, the furrowed nature of his brows, the slope of his cupid’s bone. His hair falls into his eyes, making you instinctively drag your hand up and move his bangs out of the way, having the male wince at the contact of your fingers with his skin. “Hell, your hands are cold! You didn’t even take gloves? It’s minus five degrees outside!” he grunts.

It makes you chuckle. You did something nice for him, yet, there he is– complaining about the fact that you have yet again failed to take care of yourself. “I’m not even surprised, y’know, since you didn’t put on a scarf either, but sometimes I wish this little brain of yours,” he point his finger to the side of your temple, “had better self-preservation instincts,” he finishes as he fishes for something in his pocket.

Taking out his own gloves and holding them up to you so you can slip your numb fingers into the fabric, he continues on with his little tangent. “Next time,” he adds when you’re successfully wearing the warm garment, “text me as soon as you get here, okay? And look outside before you go out, so you know what to wear. Maybe open that little weather app on your home screen, even. Might be helpful,” he jokes, although a little dryly, as he brings out a scarf from his duffel bag, tying it around your neck and almost suffocating you with how tight he wraps it, making sure you’re defrosting under his tender care.

When he’s done dressing you up like a doll, you’re left staring at him speechless. Eric reciprocates the gaze, something gentle, yet worried mirroring behind his dark orbs. There’s comfort lingering in the air now that you’re not so cold, and with the added essence of his existence, the act of living doesn’t seem like such a hassle anymore. You feel lighter, in a way.

“Sorry,” he hums after a heartbeat of silence, “how are you feeling?” he asks, an apologetic look sent your way when he realizes he slipped into a heated lecture again, not knowing that this is exactly what you wanted and unknowingly came here for. (For his furrowed eyebrows and the crease in between them, his worried orbs and words tinted with frustration, showing you that he cares and wants you to be safe. For his little tangent, yet also gentle touches as he takes care of you and makes sure you’re staying warm. For the familiar look in his eyes, whispering to you that you’re the only thing in the whole world that matters to him right in this moment and always, forever.) 

You smile at the clueless boy. It seems to make something in him settle into a more comfortable place. “All better now,” you reply.

“Good,” he says. “God, you look awful,” he jokes– laughing airly to reference the state of your frozen face– cheeks and the tip of your nose red, eyes watery from the wind, hair messily sticking out from the bottom of your hood– as one of his hands comes up to cradle your face and squish your cheeks together, turning your chapped lips into a big pout. The contact of his skin on yours makes your stomach feel light with the contrast of his warm hand on your cold face, all your senses coming alive when his voice drops a few octaves lower, seriousness tinting his tone. “Promise me to take better care of yourself from now on?”

Nodding, not really having it in you to even make a noise, you watch as the male studies your face for a while. In any other circumstance, his gaze would make you shy away, but not now. Not when everything seems suddenly so simple, not when all your worries seem to slip through your fingers. When his eyes point towards your lips– your puckered, dry mouth– a sense of expecting takes over you, a strange kind of excitement buzzing in the tips of your fingertips. When you breathe in through your half-clogged nose, the mixed scent of his fabric softener coming off the scarf tied tightly around your neck and the smell of the shower gel he uses to wash the chlorine off after his swimming practice hits your nose, making you a little light-headed. No words are spoken as the male suddenly leans in and presses a quick peck to your lips.

His warm lips meet with yours in what seems to be a second-long contact, but it’s enough to have the ghost of his touch lingering, enough to make your stomach churn in joy.

The action was so painfully casual– as if it was second nature to him. As if there was no reason for him to contemplate the decision– as if this was what he wanted to do all the time, and so he did it. Sometimes, actions speak louder than words.

Selfishly, though, you must admit you need both– you need the words just as much as the actions. Good thing Eric knows you so well– sometimes you think it’s even more than you know yourself.

“Now come on, let’s get you home,” he hums, hugging you to him with his right arm as you two walk down the sidewalk, “wouldn’t want my beloved girl to freeze to death right here.”

His beloved.

The words resonate in your brain. This time, it’s a good type of screaming match happening with your thoughts– all worries battled, using his sentence to cut out the bad parts like a sharpened knife. This time, your mind is full of fireworks and excited buzzing, sending the happy signals all across your body, helping you fight winter with the power of gentle loving. 

And sure, you know that those feelings might come again. There’s no way of telling when the skeletons will appear, hunting down your happy thoughts. But you know that even if they do, you will always somehow find your way back to Eric, and he’ll make sure to remind you of what you need to hear, and you’ll be okay again.

You guess The Beatles were right after all. Maybe all you need is a little love sometimes.

[novaksupremacy]

The Veiled Law of Attraction - Chapter 11

chapter surrounds the events of S6E16 "Ghost" Mostly angst, if not just 40 MS Word pages of the absolute angstiest angst that a lesbian could angst and like a small fluffy, almost smut but not really scene in between. I'm really sorry this took over a month to get to you, but I will make another post explaining why. <3

Pairing: Casey Novak x Olivia Benson, Olivia Benson x Alex Cabot, Alex Cabot x Casey Novak

Word Count: 9544

by PKJ aka @novaksupremacy

Read Part 10

The alarm went off and Casey shot up bleary eyed. Another night on the sofa in her office had left her with a stiff neck and a migraine. This was the kind of thing she used to rely on Olivia to help with, but she guessed she’d have to rely on some good old-fashioned over-the-counter pain relievers. She brought her hand up to rub the back of her neck when the door opened.

“Oh, I— I can come back.” Of course it would be Liv. Olivia “Haven’t Seen or Heard from Her Since She Left Her Key on The Counter” Benson.

Casey cleared her throat, “It’s fine, you need something?” She couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact.

The brunette held up the stack of files in her hand, “I just had to drop off these fives. I didn’t think you’d be here.” She looked over at the couch to see the blanket all sprawled out. “Casey did you sleep here?”

The redhead scoffed, “You don’t get to ask me that Olivia.” Her face went flush, her heart racing.

“I—I’m sorry you’re right.” The detective hung her head and turned to leave. She stopped right before she hit the doorway and turned around, “Casey, I—”

The ADA looked up at her, lip trembling, “You what? Led me on? Decided I wasn’t what you wanted?” Her face dropped, “Is this because I told you that you were my—”

“No of course not,” Liv interjected. “Casey I care about you more than you know and that’s why I left.”

“Olivia that doesn’t even make any sense. I thought I meant something to you. How can you say you care and then leave without a word. Not even an ‘It’s done’” the attorney felt a single tear roll down her face that she quickly wiped away.  

“Because the minute I saw you—” she walked towards Casey, it was clear she had been crying for a while. “I wouldn’t have been able to walk away. Please just know I’m doing this to protect you. Please.” The brunette wanted to reach out and grab her so badly and hug her until everything felt better, until all of the cracks and breaks in both of them healed. “I—I gotta get back.”

The redhead nodded and motioned towards the door. She looked down at her cold coffee from last night and sighed, rubbing her face. The counselor checked herself in the mirror of her office bathroom and brushed her teeth before locking up and heading out to the street towards the coffee cart.

“Large black coffee and a bagel please?” she said, the vocal fry from lack of sleep apparent.

“You okay Ms. Novak?” Paulo the coffee cart attendant asked her, “You sound like you might be getting a cold. Here.” He handed her a small container of what seemed to be some kind of soup, “On the house Ms. Novak.”

“No Paolo it’s okay I just didn’t sleep well, I’m fine I promise.” She tried to hand the container back to him, which he promptly dismissed and waved her off. “Thank you.” She mouthed with a small smile that made her dimple show.

“Casey?” She heard her name being called from the street. The redhead looked up to see Elliot walking towards her in his peacoat and newsboy hat. Shit. He jogged the rest of the way to catch up with her. “Hey Case,” he looked at her with sad eyes, not something she was used to from Stabler. He was usually so—stoic.

“Elliot don’t,” She didn’t know if he was going to try to defend Liv or tell her he was sorry, but she couldn’t handle either right now. As hard as she tried to fight it her lip jutted out and started to shake.

“Case,” he wrapped his arms around her, “Hey breathe kiddo, let’s go in your office okay?” She nodded and followed him inside. He closed the door behind them as she put her food and coffee down on her desk. Elliot sighed and leaned up on the arm of her sofa, “What happened?”

“I was hoping you knew?” she laughed sarcastically. “She’s “protecting me”.” She mocked Liv using air quotes.

“From what?” Stabler squinted.

“Fuck if I know. This all started when she put me in that chokehold—” Casey started to explain.

“She did what?!” Elliot jumped off the couch, jaw clenched, ready to tear into his partner.

“El stop it wasn’t like that.”

“Then enlighten me Casey because that sounds pretty bad.” The redhead could practically see steam coming out her friend’s ears.

“It was about two weeks ago with the Lucas Biggs case. She saw that storage locker and she was having a night terror. It scared me, I tried to wake her up and when I did she put me in a chokehold—but she was still sleeping El. Yeah, when I finally got her up, I freaked out for a minute, and I yelled but I know that’s not Liv.” She walked up closer to Elliot her arms folded and sighed, “but after talking to Avery she just kept talking about how she might be a monster, that some kind of switch might flip?” The ADA scrunched up her face.

Stabler grimaced, “That explains why she asked me if I was worried about how my kids would turn out.”

Casey still looked confused, “What do your kids have to do with this El?”

Elliot popped up and wrapped one arm around Casey and kissed her forehead, “It’s not my story to tell Novak. All I can do is try to get her to tell you. Okay?” He stepped back and placed his hand on the doorknob.

The attorney hesitantly shook her head, “Yeah, okay.” She choked out.

*****

After processing two crime scenes, the first the office building of Elaina Brevet, and second their home where her husband, Jason Brevet, was found brutally slain in much the same many. Tortured with slashed throats. Upon further investigation CSU found that Jason was tortured for the combination to the upstairs safe which according to O’Halloran’s new fancy technology was missing quite a large sum of money.

“The Brevet’s are financial managers,” Cragen briefed Liv and Elliot as they passed the holding cell and into the bullpen, “Now why not invest the cash? Money in a safe doesn’t earn interest.

“Maybe they were hiding it from the IRS?” Elliot suggested.

“Or their creditors,” Fin joined in from across the room, “I got the Brevet’s financials. Both houses mortgaged to the hilt. Credit card debt in the six figures. Maybe living large, they got in over their heads.”

Liv cocked her head, “Why not pay off their bills with all that cash?”

“Because then they would have to explain where it came from.” Munch called out from behind them as he hung up the phone. “I had the forensic accountants go over their books. Brevet Investments is nothing but a high ended pyramid scheme.”

Liv raised her eyebrows, “So all of those huge profits from the past year were phony?”

“Yeah,” Munch shrugged his shoulders, “they take the money from one client, pay another’s dividends, take the rest for themselves.”

“So,” Elliot pondered, “one of their investors got pissed off bad enough to kill em.”

Munch nodded, “yeah the kind you don’t want to piss off in Cali and Bogota.”

“Drug money?” Finch questioned.

“Yeah,” John sighed looking at the records, “and skimming it too, for one client in particular—for one company in particular too out of Vegas called Casa Vega enterprises.”

Finn creased his brow, “Drug lord finds out somebody’s ripping him off, he’d have to hit him quick to set an example.”

“Check with narcotics,” the captain chimed in. See if Casa Vega rings any bells.”

“You got it Cap,” Finn said grabbing his jacket as he motioned to Liv and Elliot, “I got a guy over there we can trust.”

As they head out Finn and Elliot lead the way chit chatting about different cases as Liv fell behind trying to get her arm in the sleeve of her jacket. “Oh, shit, sorry.” She muttered, timing would not be her friend in this moment. As she stopped Casey opened the door to her office and the two women just about collided. The redhead dropped the stack of paperwork in her arms. They both bent down trying to scoop up the mess, “Leave it to me to find another way to ruin your day.” She let out a half-hearted chuckle as she tried to make light of the awkward situation.

“Yeah, you’re uh, getting kind of good at that.” Casey teasingly chided, as she scooped up the rest of her papers. She caught a hint of Liv’s perfume, and her heart jumped into her throat. She missed her something awful and being this close to her was killing her. The smile faded from her face when she remembered she wasn’t really privileged to this familiar feeling with the detective, and she stood up. “I—have to get back to work.” The counselor cleared her throat and looked down, “Be careful out there.” She mumbled and disappeared back into her office. She leaned up against the other side of the door, clutching her files to her chest and began to sob. The tears rolled down the file jackets as she tried to stifle her cries.

Fin and Elliot watched the exchange from the end of the hallway as Olivia stood frozen in place, broken. The brunette could hear Casey crying and it was destroying her. She knew this was her own doing, but she couldn’t stop herself from still being in love with Casey.

“Something going on with the lovebirds?” Finn looked at Elliot with uncertainty.  

Elliot sighed and shook his head, “Liv called it off, Casey is devastated. I’m still trying to figure out what happened.”

“Awh shit, I was rootin’ for those two.” Finn said as the brunette walked up.

“Rooting for who?” The detective raised her eyebrow at her coworker as she approached, she pushed her jacket back to stuff her hands in her pockets.

“Uhh, Eddy Curry and Stephon Marbury, thought they were gonna take the lead in points this season.” Detective Tutuola spat out extemporaneously.

Liv pursed her lips together and nodded her head slowly as if she only half believed him. “We ready?”

*****

After meeting Mike at a diner he explained to them how the money laundering scheme for Casa Vega worked and how they get others to write checks for investments with sob stories and then pay the investor back with cash. After reviewing the list he recognized a name and decided to tag along for the questioning as a favor to Finn since he was familiar with the perp. Just as Mike had suspected she did in fact write checks to Casa Vega in exchange for cash but was more than willing to give up a name in exchange for lighter punishment for a family member doing time in Sing-Sing.

When they arrived at the apartment, Mike and Elliot kicked in the door. There was an eerie silence that is usually only found in an abandoned apartment.

“Guess no one’s home.” Mike shrugged as they began their sweep. “Senor Montoya! Policia!” He called out.

“Mr. Montoya! Police!” Liv called out behind him.

As they made it passed the threshold, Elliot peered over the couch to see a man and a woman lying face down, shot execution style. He leaned over to check for vitals. “Dead.”

Liv leaned over as well, “But not for long. The bodies are still warm.”

“In here!” Mike called out from the back of the residence.

Liv and El followed the sound of the narcotics detective’s voice to one of the bedrooms, where they found him standing next to a twin-sized bed. A small child lay with a pillow over their face. A gunshot burn visible in the pillow’s cover.

“Bastard kills a kid,” Mike said in horror, “doesn’t even have the balls to look at him.” He picked up the pillow to get a better view and assess the scene, revealing a small boy.

Liv looked away, but to everyone’s shock the child began to groan.

“He’s alive! Call a bus!” the narc exclaimed.

Stabler shook his head, “It’ll be faster if we take him in.” Mike nodded and scooped the child up and headed for the door.

*****

“Is he awake?” Liv asked after getting the all clear from the ER doctor that the child had survived. “We’d like to see him.”

The doctor nodded, “Right this way.”

Liv and Mike walked into the room quietly as possible, “Hey there,” she smiled at the little boy. “I’m Olivia, what’s your name?” she spoke softly.

The small child kept his face turned away from the detectives, fidgeting with his fingers nervously.

The brunette looked at her fellow detective as he stepped up next to her, “Maybe he doesn’t speak English? Why don’t you go ahead.”

“Hola.” Mike smiled, the boy hearing something familiar turned his head towards them. “Como te llamas?” The young child didn’t answer but rather stared blankly. The detective saw the chain around his neck and picked it up gently to examine it. “Ah, San Antonio. Es este tu santo?” to which the child nodded timidly. “His name is Antonio after the saint.” Mike told Liv and then smiled kindly at him.

“Antonio mi llamo Miguel, soy policia.” Sandoval placed his hand on his chest and leaned down to the boy.  

Antonio looked at him in a panic, “Mi mama y papa?”

Mike kneeled down next to him, “Bueno, Antonio…tu mama y papa.”

“Papa Dios se los llevo al cielo.”

Mike turned to look at Liv, “He says God took them to heaven.”

Liv pursed her lips, “Ask him why?” she encouraged.

“Porque Papa Dios hiz eso?” the narc detective inquired.

“Para salvarles el dolar. Porque le hizo dano a mi mama y papa.” Antonio replied, still barely speaking above a whisper.  

Mike translated for Olivia, “To save them their pain, he was hurting them. Quien Antonio?”

“El fantasma.” The boy answered.

Mike looked confused from the young boy to Liv, “He’s saying a ghost shot him…I think he’s still out of it.”

Liv’s beeper went off as he spoke, “Okay,” she sighs softly, “Stabler needs us at the ballistics lab.” She smiled empathetically at Antonio as she headed for the door.

Mike rubbed his arm, “Adios Antonio.”

*****

Stabler and O’Halloran already had quiet to compilation of evidence to present when Liv and Mike walked through the door. Elliot didn’t even wait for a greeting to start talking, “Ballistics results from the Montoya homicides, take a look.”

Liv squinted at the screen as Ryan began explaining what she was looking at, “On the left, the bullet taken from Mrs. Montoya. Three twists and a left groove. On the right, the slug taken from Mr. Montoya.”

The brunette looked at him slightly puzzled, “Same gun it would make sense that they’re identical?”

 “Yeah,” O’Halloran murmured preoccupied, “Now look at this.”

“It’s a perfect match.” Mike chimed in, “Same triple twist, is that the bullet from Antonio’s bed?”

“No.” Ryan answered sternly, his face contorted in concentration. “From an unsolved homicide.”

“What case?” Liv asked?

Ryan pressed a button on his keyboard to pull up the case file and the brunette woman’s blood ran cold. There she was— in the photo that was on her city issued ID, the one sitting buried in the bottom of a box in Liv’s closet along her ADA badge, Alex Cabot. A face and a memory she tried hard to push down whenever someone brought her up, too painful to keep reliving. A twist of fate.

“The Murder of Alexandra Cabot.” Elliot said out loud. Liv still lost in a trance.

“Who’s that?” Mike asked as the beautiful woman did not seem familiar to him.

Liv stared at Alex’s picture for a few more seconds and finally opened her mouth to speak, “Our old ADA.” She couldn’t seem to wipe the shocked expression off her face.

*****

Casey stood in the doorway to her office as the three detectives walked past, she wanted to try and grab Liv if only for a second, try and talk. She kept holding out that whatever had a death grip on Liv would soften and that they could fix things. She had also heard about Antonio and wanted to check on the child. “Hey Liv,” she muttered quietly, “You got a sec.”

Olivia didn’t even stop to look at her, her face paler than Casey had ever seen it, “Maybe later Case, I can’t right now.” And continued towards the bullpen.

Casey looked towards Elliot, “What’s wrong with her? She looks like she’s seen a ghost?”

Elliot stopped and sighed, “Something like that. The bullets from the Montoya homicides? They match an open case. Cabot’s case.”

The redhead’s face softened, “Oh.” she said breathlessly. She didn’t know the specifics of it all, but she knew they were close. She was also quite fond of Alex herself, they were a few years apart at Harvard and she started White Collar around the time Alex started as the ADA for sex crimes. She’d like to think what they had was akin to friendship.

“We’ll talk in a bit kid.” He nodded at her and squeezed her shoulder as he headed off towards the squad room.

Cragen was already adding Alex to the crime board, “Alexandra Cabot was prosecuting a rapist who worked for Cesar Valez the Norco baron. Valez ordered the hit on Cabot and blew up D.E.A. agent Tim Donovan, who was working the case with us.” He looked towards Stabler.

Elliot picked up from here, “Ballistics match to the weapon used in the Cabot homicide is our link between Velez and the Brevet-Montoya murders.”

 Liv felt like she was reliving the events of the Zapata case all over again. She wanted to vomit but instead cleared her throat to speak, “And we believe Elena and Jason Brevet embezzled a couple million dollars from Caser Velez. Sergio Montoya was working as their middleman. When Velez found out he was getting ripped off, he ordered the hit.”

Finn jumped in at this point, “And the hit man was good. He left zero forensic evidence at the Brevet and Montoya homicides.” He turned his eyes to Munch, giving him the signal it was his turn to contribute to this round robin rundown.

“Our best lead is the security footage from Brevet investments,” John stated, “We’ve excluded over two hundred employees, messengers and janitorial staff. We have about seventy-five subjects left to identify.”

“We got a lot of names,” the captain sighed staring at the board. “All the employees at Brevet Investments, everybody involved in the money laundering scheme. Somebody has got to connect back to the Cartel.”

The narc detective nodded as he soaked in all the information, “D.E.A. can help us out with that, their HIDTA computers are programmed to find links between cases.”

“Good.” Cragen retorted, “Get over to HIDTA. Run every name we got.” The captains eyes were somber as he looked over at two of his strongest detectives, he knew how close they were with Cabot. Hell, even he was warmhearted of the ADA. If they could finally get justice for her murder, he was going to make it happen.

“Yes sir.”     

*****

After a brief visit to HIDTA Liv, Elliot and Mike almost left empty handed until upon leaving Mike mentioned that the person they were chasing really was a ghost.

The technician turned around and said, “What’d you say?”

“Our kid witness,” Mike nodded, “said a ghost killed his parents.”

The HIDTA tech tilted his head, “Did he say it in Spanish? El Fantasma?

“Why that mean something to you?” Liv asked as she pulled her jacket back on.

“El Fantasma. The Ghost. Contract Killer. Liam Connors.”

*****

Liv and Mike went back to visit Antonio again to make sure he could identify The Ghost if he were to see him again. He could, at least he was pretty sure he could. Upon learning this they headed out to meet Elliot and see if they could locate El Fantasma.

“Munch just got something,” Liv said snapping her phone closed and walking towards Stabler and Sandoval. “Rent-a-car parked in a loading zone outside Brevet Investments got a parking ticket late Friday night.”

“Liam Connors rented the car?” Elliot said as he turned around and headed towards the sedan.

“No,” the brunette shook her head, “it’s a Bronx guy by the name of Doyle Shanahan. Fundraisers for the IRA in bars around New York.” She opened the passenger door while Stabler jumped behind the wheel and Sandoval swiftly slid into the back seat.

“Where can we find him?” Mike inquired.

“Works in a warehouse downtown.” Liv stated buckling her seatbelt hastily. Her partner pulled out into traffic as they took off on a Ghost hunt.  The three detectives burst into the warehouse to confront Shanahan, pressing him until he finally gave up Connors. While resistant, the minute he heard Connors had turned to the cartel he had no problem ratting him out.

“Fuel Depot. Over in Gowanus, on the canal.”

From there the race was on to capture Connors. The detectives sped to Jersey calling in backup along the way.

“Go! Go! Go! Go!” an ESU member yelled and slammed the door down with a battering ram.

As everyone rushed the building a man racing towards the stairs caught Liv’s attention. “Connors!” she called out to alert the team. Elliot and Mike took after the suspect on foot chasing him down along the canal as Benson jumped in the sedan. “We’re in pursuit of Liam Connors! Headed south along the canal! Headed south!” She hollered over the radio.

Liam managed to clock Stabler hard with a two by four knocking him off his feet and knocking the wind out of him before taking off. A miscalculated turn into a car lot got him jammed up as he was corned by Sandoval from one side and Olivia pulling up from the other in the sedan. Stabler catching his breath followed close behind and was able to with great satisfaction slap cuffs on Connors and place him under arrest.

*****

Connors was tossed into a line up where Antonio was able to identify him with ease. Afterwards Liam was taken to interrogation, he sat smug, convinced he was going home. Elliot smirked as he leaned down and let the Irishman know that they did have a witness and that he wasn’t quite as good at his job as he thought.

The idea was to arraign Connors as soon as humanely possible to keep him from hurting anyone else. Mike and Liv went pick up Antonio the next day from his relative’s on Staten Island to have him testify and get Liam on his way up to Riker’s before he even knew what hit him. Liv didn’t want to be bitter, but she was, she was reeling, knowing that Connor’s was the reason she lost Alex, but more presently the reason she’d have to see Casey in court. She’d have to see the hurt in the redhead’s eyes and on her face and she just wasn’t sure she could bare it.

****

 “Where the hell have you been?” Casey snapped as Liv and Elliot rushed into the courthouse.

“Being shot at.” Liv said faintly yet vexed.

The redhead’s face immediately softened to an expression of distress. “What.” She managed to croak out?

“There was a drive-by attempt on Antonio, one of the bullets nicked Sandoval and we ended up at Mercy.” Elliot sighed.

The ADA’s face dropped as she tried not to let her eyes well up with tears, she turned towards her ex-girlfriend, “Olivia I’m sorry.” she said almost breathlessly.

“It’s fine Casey, you couldn’t have known.” Liv shook her head, “We better get inside.”

The prosecutor hurriedly pushed open the swinging doors to Trial Part 22 and ambled towards the prosecutor’s table.

Preston looked particularly perturbed as the ADA and detectives entered the courtroom. “You’re late Ms. Novak, its 3:15.”

Casey dropped her briefcase onto the table and took a deep breath, trying to sound as professional as possible. “I’m sorry your honor I was in the Grand Jury. They just indicted the defendant on all counts.”

Kressler scoffed, “Fifteen minutes too late.”

“There was an attempt on the eyewitness’ life. I think witness tampering is grounds for an extension.” The ADA rolled her eyes at the defense.

Kressler threw his hands up in protest, “My client’s been on Rikers. He didn’t shoot anyone. And I’m betting you don’t have any proof of his involvement.” He wagged his finger condescendingly.

“So its just a coincidence Antonio Montoya was shot at on his way to testify against the defendant?” Casey argued, her lip curled in mild annoyance.

The opposing counsel chuckled and shook his head, “You can call it whatever you like. You still can’t connect Mr. Connors to the shooting of your witness.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Novak. I can’t grant an extension without proof of the defendant’s complicity in the shooting. The people have failed to meet the deadline. I’m ordering the defendant released until the trial.” Preston said apologetically as she banged her gavel.  

Connors nodded happily with a smirk that only a guilty man could wear.

Casey slammed her hand down on the table, “Your honor Conners is a flight risk. If you let him go we will never get him back.”

“I give you my word my client will make all of his court appearances.”  

“I would like something stronger than his word.” Casey retorted. Connors watched her with a clenched jaw as she demanded Preston hold him.

“I’m sorry. You’re free to go Mr. Connors.” The judge said bluntly with a bang of the gavel.

The defendant stood up and shook Kressler’s hand as Liv and Elliot hung their heads in disappointment. Elliot nodded and stood up. The ADA looked sternly at her friend, “Arrest him.” She spat out. Connors looked over in shock. “Your honor, my detectives are here to re-arrest the defendant.” The redhead stated with confidence.

“On what charges?” Kressler exclaimed incredulously.

Casey looked Preston dead in the face, “The murder of Assistant District Attorney Alexandra Cabot.” Stabler’s face dropped as he looked over at Olivia with panic.

“Your honor this is a blatant attempt to unlawfully detain my client!” Roger protested.

“Save it counselor, Alex Cabot was a friend of mine. I’ll see you both at arraignments.” Preston stood up and exited to her chambers.

                The redhead nodded at Judge Preston then shot Kressler a look as if to let him know she had his ass in a sling.

                Elliot snarled as him and Olivia stepped forward to cuff Connors. He scoffed at them, “You can’t prove I killed her, and the dead can’t talk.”

*****

“What the hell are you people doing?” Agent Hammond demanded as he stormed into Cragen’s office.

Don turned around when he heard the familiar voice, “Agent Hammond, most people knock first.” he said slyly.

“You should’ve called me before your detectives arrested Liam Connors for the murder of Alex Cabot.” Hammond growled.

The captain stepped towards the marshal, his patience wore thin. “Connors blew up one of you agents! I didn’t expect flowers, but I thought you’d be pleased.”

“Connor’s goes to trial,” he scoffed, “I’m called to testify. What am I supposed to do?”

“Your job.”

“That’s exactly what I’m gonna do. I just came to tell you that you’re on your own. I’m not gonna ruin my career by committing perjury.” Hammond shook his head, eyes narrowed on Cragen. “Do we understand each other Captain?”

Cragen tilted his head, perplexed but then a sudden realization hit him, “She’s alive. You son of a bitch, you stashed Alex in witness protection.”

Casey was on her way to Cragen’s office as he voiced this to the older agent. She stopped in her tracks and leaned up against the wall outside the door, her heart pounded, her head got dizzy. She felt like she was going to be sick or pass out, while it was never confirmed she felt like she lived in Alex’s shadow—both at work and with Olivia. She stood there for a moment and continued to listen.

“You didn’t know.” Hammond said in shock, “They didn’t tell you.”

The ADA didn’t even wait for Cragen to come out of his office and blow a gasket, she was going to blow it for him. She stormed down the hall as Elliot and Liv were coming back from getting lunch, “You and you.” She jerked her head motioning at each of them, “MY office, now.”

Both detectives stopped in there tracks and looked at each other confused.

“NOW.” The redhead reiterated and urged them to follow her. “What the hell were you two thinking, you hung me out to dry out there. We work together, you should’ve trusted me,” Casey closed the door to her office as she scolded Elliot. “And we—” she looked at Liv and started to choke up, “you should’ve told me.” she said quietly. “What did you think I was too green? Too fragile to understand? Did you think you needed to protect me from that too?” Her voice began to strain.

“Hey c’mon Case, let’s not do this?” Elliot tried to mediate.

Casey bit her lip and nodded before running her tongue over it to self soothe and walked to grab some files off her desk.

Liv hung her head, she knew the ADA was right.

“I’m going to need both of you back in here first thing tomorrow so we can figure out a way out of this mess you’ve created and dragged me into.”

“Case—I’m” Liv started to reach out.

“Save it, just be here tomorrow. I’ll do my best to save all of our asses.” Casey shook her head in annoyance. She turned her body and brushed passed the brunette as she left her own office in search of Cragen.

*****

Cragen and Hammond pulled up in a small beater car to a quaint house on a quiet block. Wisconsin was so—suburban. As the two men got out of the sedan and approached the door, Cragen went to knock, only for the door to swing open and a familiar face to greet him.

“What happened?” Alex Cabot asked, her blue eyes and face furrowed in concern. She ushered the men inside as Hammond did another quick sweep to make sure they weren’t followed.

After giving his old friend a brief synopsis of what had transpired in court the day before, he looked at her and exhaled, “I’m only sorry the bastard won’t have to answer for what he did to you.”

“Oh, he will.” The blonde stated without even skipping a beat. “I want him charged with my attempted murder.” Her eyes searched for a reaction from Hammond.

“You’d have to go back to testify, that’s stepping right into the crosshairs.” The marshal protested.

“For years,” Alex cut him off, “I convinced victims to face their attackers. Now its time for me to step up.” She emphasized.

“Your testimony won’t help the case, you can’t ID Connors as your shooter.” Cragen interjected with growing concern. “Alex—if you go back, they will try and kill you again.”

The stunning attorney’s mouth hung agape a moment before she spoke, now in a softer, much less argumentative tone, “I have lost—my home, my job, my friends.” Her voice cracked— because what she wasn’t saying was that she also lost her love. “My mother died, and I couldn’t go to the funeral. Liam Connors is not going to take my conscience too.”

*****

Elliot sighed, “Are we gonna need lawyers?” He paced back and forth nervously in Casey’s office the next morning. He had no idea how to get them out of this, he’d stayed up all night racking his brain and couldn’t come to a single conclusion.  

“I hope not,” the redhead said picking up some case files from her desk. She smirked and looked towards the door as it opened.

Liv and Elliot turned around to find a familiar face smiling back at them.

“Alex.” Liv whispered. Casey’s gut jolted, she knew that tone, but by G-d she wished she didn’t.

Elliot smiled in surprise, “You didn’t have to come back.” He looked between her and the Marshal behind her.

“Well who else is gonna get you out of trouble,” the blonde grinned and folded her arms.

The redhead sighed, scooping up a mountain full of paperwork, “Before everyone gets reacquainted they’re waiting for us in court.” As she walked out Elliot studied her mannerisms, there was something different. He could tell as sad as she was about Olivia there was something that shifted in the young ADA’s body language when Alex entered the room. Elliot smirked softly to himself.  

*****

Later on that afternoon, after Liam Connor’s had been reindicted on attempted murder as opposed to murder one, Antonio and Detective Sandoval sat in Casey’s office across from her and the office’s former resident—Alex.

“I’m really scared,” Antonio said shakily, “I don’t want to see The Ghost. He gives me bad dreams, he says he’s going to kill me.”

                “He had a nightmare last night,” Mike frowned. “The Ghost had a gun in the courtroom.”

                Both Alex and Casey cast an empathetic gaze on the small child. Casey pursed her lips and nodded at Antonio as the blonde listened intently. “Well, that sounds like a really scary dream.” The younger ADA said gently to the little boy.

 Alex watched her intently, her mind wandering to how caring Casey was with the child. She must have fit it instantly with SVU, she’s got a knack for this.

The redhead turned towards her and smiled sweetly, almost searching for approval as she spoke, caught off guard at the way Alex watched her. “But, you know what Antonio? The ghost doesn’t have a gun anymore. ‘Cause the police took it away from him.” The older woman immediately tore her blue eyes away when they locked with Casey’s and focused back on Antonio.

“I know,” the little boy said in a small, sad voice. “Mike told me—but I still don’t want to go to court.”

Casey bit her lip nervously, there was no shot of this case going forward without Antonio’s testimony, but she had no idea how to convey that without unfairly voicing her frustrations to the young boy.

Alex took a deep breath, “I got shot, just like you.”

 The younger ADA stared at the former counselor in awe, the way she had just been perceived by her a few moments before.

“By the ghost?” Antonio crumpled his brow.

“Yes.” The blonde nodded, “And I have to go to court too.”

“Are you scared?”

Alex smiled reassuringly, “A little. I get scared that he might try and hurt me again. But then I remember that I have friends to protect me, just like you do,” she nodded her head towards Sandoval, “and it makes me feel safe.”

“I wish my mom was here.” The boy looked down at floor, melancholic.

Mike frowned, “I’ll keep working with him. Come on, ‘Tonio.” He led the boy by the shoulder out of Casey’s office.

Casey took a deep breath and raised her eyebrows at Alex in shared frustration as closed the door and turned around.

“We should keep preparing my testimony.” The slightly older woman nodded, a far off look in her eyes.

The redhead should her head assuredly, “You know, we’ve gone over all my questions. I think you’re ready.” She knew Alex had to be exhausted and pushing too far could end up burning her out rather than helping.

Alex looked up as she snapped out of her daze and looked directly into Casey’s hazel green eyes, “Are you?” She said, more pointedly than she intended. 

The counselor let out a small breathy scoff, her eyes grew a little dimmer, as she tried not to let it show that she was hurt. After all, she’d always looked up to Alex. Instead she opted to tilt her head and give the blue-eyed woman a knowing smile, as if to say I won’t let them hurt you.

The blonde’s face softened, she grimaced, “Casey I’m sorry. That was…out of line.”

“It must be hard to be on that side of the desk.” Casey nodded for a few seconds and then voiced softly. She tilted her head empathetically at the blonde.

“Yeah, especially when the gorgeous woman they hired to replace me is sitting on the other side of it.” She smiled, “and from what I hear she’s just as good at the job if not better.” She took her glasses down from her face and looked at the redhead.

Casey was blushing, trying not show that she was flustered, and failing miserably at it. “I—thank you Alex, that’s sweet.”

“I don’t want to go back to the hotel yet, do you mind if we just pretend we’re still working?” Alex came and sat down next to her on the sofa leaning on her elbow, positioned against the back of the sofa.

“Hey fine by me,” the redhead pulled out a bottle of scotch from next to the couch and placed it on the table with two glasses, “You drink?”

“No,” Alex shook her head, “Pour me a double.” She smirked. “So, do you like Special Victim’s? Last I heard you were in White Collar right?” she asked picking up the glass and taking a sip.

“It’s growing on me,” Casey chuckled, coddling the glass between her hands. “My first case made me try to fight Branch on the placement.” She pulled her feet up onto the couch underneath her.  “But then…” she trailed off.

“Then? Well don’t leave me hanging.” The blonde teased.

“I met someone, and that helped make it easier—for a while.” Casey’s expression got sad, the emotion in her voice, raw.

“What happened?” Alex spoke softly, almost in a whisper, a note of concern in her tone.

“She left me,” the redhead cleared her throat, “suddenly too. No warning, I thought we were happy, but something spooked her. She said she was afraid she couldn’t promise me a future. Something about a switch that might flip,” Casey’s voice trailed off as she stared into nothing, “I never did quite figure out what she meant by that.” She finished the whiskey in her tumbler and poured another, offering another to Alex.

“Was it serious?” Alex was staring into the younger ADA’s green eyes, trying not to focus on the attractive woman’s lips as she spoke.

“I thought it was, I almost thought she might’ve been the one.” She took a sip and shrugged. “But then I came home one day to her key on the counter and her toothbrush missing from the bathroom. I was so in love with her,” she paused, “but I never found a way to tell her.” She swallowed off the rest of the glass and put it down on the table. “I should probably not drink anymore of that tonight.”

“For what it’s worth Casey, whoever this woman is? Her loss. You’re a beautiful woman, a talented litigator, and if I have to hear Elliot tell me how good at softball you are one more time I’m going to beg them to stash me back in witsec.” She giggled, a little tipsy and put her glass down on the table next to Casey’s. She leaned forward and brushed the redhead’s hair away from her face. “You’ll find someone who will treat you the way you deserve.”

Before Casey even realized what she was doing she leaned in and kissed Alex, who leaned into it kissing her back. It went from soft and delicate to heated in a matter of seconds. Alex pushed the younger woman back against the couch and wrapped her hand around the back of her neck, kissing her feverishly, pulling at her lip. Whiskey and sin between them. She knew there was a security detail outside of the door, so she tried her best not to breath too loudly. She slid her fingers down into Casey’s slacks and started to tease her, rubbing her over her underwear as the redhead tried to stifle the sighs and gasps.

“Alex,” she whispered, “we shouldn’t.” Her heart and her brain told her this was a terrible idea, but her body had already made its decision. “Oh, Alex.” She pulled the blonde’s lower lip, smirking as she dragged her teeth across. “Mmm.” Her head was spinning.

The blue-eyed attorney melted at the way Casey said her name, a name she hadn’t heard in so long. She was about to take the encounter further when there was a knock at the door.

“Hey, it’s Liv I’m just making sure everything is still okay in there.”

“We’re fine,” Alex called out “just finishing up some last-minute testimony questions.”

“Okay great, just let me know when you’re ready.” The brunette called through the door.

Casey’s body language changed the minute she heard it was Liv at the door. She felt sick. A wave of guilt washed over her. They weren’t together but her heart still belonged to Olivia.

“Hey you okay?” Alex looked at her, concerned.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” The ADA tried to play it off but almost immediately grabbed the trashcan and hurled into it. “Oh god this is so embarrassing, I’m so sorry Alex.”

“Hey, hey, shhh another time.” She rubbed the redhead’s back, “are you…okay? You didn’t really drink that much. You were fine until—was it something I did? I’m sorry you kissed me, and I got carried away.” She blushed.

“No, no Alex it wasn’t anything you did, you’re wonderful.” She glanced at the door and then down at the trashcan. When she leaned over the small gold chain fell loose from her shirt.

 Alex squinted and then it clicked, and the blonde’s face tempered. She sighed and looked at Casey sympathetically, “It was Liv, wasn’t it?”

The redhead looked up at her bleary eyed, head still over the trash, “I—don’t know where it went wrong. And I’m so sorry, I just ruined the moment. I find you very attractive, I just heard her voice and…”

“Hey, it’s okay, another lifetime maybe.” She consoled and held her to her chest. “You’re still in love with her aren’t you?”

“It’d be so much easier if I wasn’t.” the redhead sobbed.

“I get it, I was in love with her once too. She’s hard to get over.” Alex said, rubbing her hand up and down Casey’s arm. “But back then we were both deep in the closet and then I ended up in witness protection, so it all ended up a very depressing moot point.”

“I always figured there was something between you two, she wouldn’t talk about it. Then again I thought you were dead, so I never pushed.” She gave a halfhearted laugh.

Casey stepped away for a minute into the ensuite bathroom to get herself cleaned up and brush her teeth, mouthwash, etc.

 When she came out she found Alex leaning next to the door. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I am really sorry for ruining the evening.” The redhead furrowed her brow and frowned.

Alex put her hands on her waist and pulled her close until their faces were almost touching. “If you ever find yourself in another lifetime, I hope you’ll think of me.” She laid a gentle kiss on Casey’s lips and then pressed her forehead to the younger woman’s.

“Could be a while?” the redhead joked and gave a half-hearted smirk.

“Something tells me it’s worth the wait.”

*****

“I wish these windows opened, I want to smell the city.” Alex whined as she looked out on to the financial district below.

Liv chuckled, “You mean the, uh, rotting garbage and diesel exhaust.”

The blonde craned her neck and rolled it against her shoulders, it was hard to keep to her voice from breaking, “Wisconsin is so quiet at night. Sometimes when I get homesick, I hum the Mister Softee song.” She pouted as a small smile crept across her face.

The brunette laughed through her nose and scrunched her mouth to the side. She leaned her back against the large glass window and looked at Alex. It had been a very long time since she had seen her at all let alone like that, her guard down, without the power suit armor she wore to court—just sweatpants and a soft top. Olivia stared at the strands of hair that fell and framed her ex-lover’s face, everything about it familiar. She started to tear up, both out of a sense of what they had once and out of shock that in that moment when it would be so easier to fall back into past patterns—all she could think about was Casey.

“Well—you making any friends?” Liv asked quietly, her voice pained.

Alex grimaced and let out a sad chuckle. “There’s a claims adjuster, at the insurance agency where I work. We’ve been seeing each other.”

Liv smiled, her levies in her eyes were about to breach. “Good.” She whispered.

“He’s a good man, he thinks I’m from Tulsa. And when we’re in bed at night he whispers my name… ‘Emily’” her blue eyes turned down to the floor.

“It’s hard being someone you’re not,” Liv placed her hand on Alex’s arm.

The blonde turned her attention away from the window towards the brunette and let out a frustrated sigh, “Olivia, what are you doing?”

Liv pulled her hand away, “I’m sorry I wasn’t trying anything.”

Alex chuckled, “That’s not what I meant, I meant what are you doing?” The detective looked at her puzzled. “That girl is crazy about you. You know that right?”

The brunette hung her head, her voice got quiet, “I know that.” She looked up into Alex’s familiar blue eyes, “How is it you know that?”

“I haven’t been gone so long that I don’t know how to read people. The amount of pain in Casey’s eyes when she heard your voice outside that door. Olivia you broke her heart. What I don’t get, is why?”

“Things just don’t work out sometimes.” Liv shook her head and looked down at the floor.

“That’s a load of crap Olivia and you know it,” she put her hands on Liv’s shoulders and leaned down in attempt to get her to look up at her, “Hey, look at me. Why don’t you just tell her the truth? Tell her why you’re so afraid.” Both her and the brunette had tears in their eyes. “You know you’re not broken right? Olivia there isn’t an evil bone in your body.”

The brunette had tears freely falling now, “You don’t know that. I want to believe that, but I can’t stop thinking, what if we had kids? I know she wants them, we’ve talked about it. What would I pass on? What if something snaps in me and I hurt her or our potential child? It’s safer to break her heart now.” She wiped her tears away and shook her head.

“Liv, you are not your genetics, you and I have proved that in court time and time again. Don’t miss a chance at happiness over this.” She hugged her and kissed her forehead holding her lips there for a few seconds, “Or because of anything else.” She whispered.

“I’ll always love you Alex and I hope that you and I will always be a part of each other’s lives,” her voice cracked as she spoke, “but Casey, I’m so in love with her and I’m afraid it’s way too late. I really screwed up.”

“It’s not Liv, trust me.” She pulled her into a tight hug. “And I’ll always love you too and will always be your friend. No matter what.” They embraced for a while until Alex pulled back and looked at Liv caringly, “Tell her.”

“Thanks Alex. We need to get some sleep because tomorrow is a big day.” She kissed Alex softly, it wasn’t a pass, it was just a thank you for being you. “I’ll take the couch.”

The blonde stopped in the bedroom doorway and looked behind her, “By the way not only can I read body language, but I also know your badge number, Benson. She’s still wearing it.” 

The next morning Alex was up before the sun, pacing around, trying not to break out in a sweat. Her nerves were definitely getting the better of her. In her furious pace she accidentally bumped the table which clanked her spoon in her coffee cup. Liv shot up on the couch gun in hand.

“Sorry,” the blonde grimaced, “Just me. I wasn’t watching where I was walking.”

The detective bolstered her weapon and rubbed her eyes, “You okay?”

“No,” Alex shook her head, “I can’t stop thinking like a prosecutor.” She took a deep, ragged breath, “Connors is going to sit in that courtroom tomorrow, looking like a choir boy.”

Liv shook her head in agreement.

“He’s going to charm the jury with his Irish brogue, and—and I have to make them see who he really is. But—” She buried her face in her hands and then threw them up in exasperation and Liv walked over to her bag.  “I don’t even know what makes him tick!”

“Alex—” the brunette handed the blonde a DD-5, “you didn’t see this file.”

****

                Casey tried to maintain her composure as she questioned Alex on the witness stand, trying not to think about the fact that twelve hours ago the blonde was sliding one of the delicate hands, now neatly folded in her lap, down the front of her slacks. “Finally, Ms. Cabot,” she locked on to blue eyes, placing her hand gently on the corner of the witness box, “would you describe to the jury what happened after you were shot.”

                Alex searched Casey, not able to maintain eye contact, her eyes traveled to her chest, what she would have given to listen to her heartbeat for just another minute. She tried to regain her composure, her eyes now searched the redhead’s full lips as she spoke. “I woke up in the hospital,” she started finally staring back into the ADAs hazel green eyes, “The marshals were there. They told me that I was dead, officially, and that the only way they could keep me alive was in Witness Protection.”

                “Thank you,” Casey smiled, trying not to give in to Alex’s stare. “Your witness.” Her face dropped as she turned towards Kessler.

                “That sounds like quite an ordeal,” Roger said as he stood up, “I think we’re all very moved by your experience.”

                “Do you have a question?” Alex annunciated and practically rolled her eyes at her old sparring partner.

                “Only one.” Kressler spat back, “Did you see my client shoot you?”

                “I saw his gun aimed at my heart.”

                “Please Ms. Cabot, just answer the question.” She could hear Kressler tell her this, but her eyes were locked on Connors. His eyes deadpan, lifeless stared back.  “On the night you were shot, did you see Liam Connors anywhere near the vicinity?”

                “No but he’s a coward. He likes to run away.” She smirked, she knew exactly what she was doing, it was like something reignited in her blood, a second nature. “Did you leave a family behind in Ireland, Mr. Connors?” The volume of her voice spiked.

                “Your honor—” Roger voiced in displeasure.

                “Ms. Cabot, please.” Preston urged her to stop.

                “You have absolutely no idea who shot you, do you?” Kressler’s tone started getting aggressive.

Casey furrowed her brow at Alex—What the hell is she doing, gunning for a mistrial? Don’t blow this Cabot.

                “Oh, I have an idea. It’s the kind of man who likes to rape a woman to make her talk.” The former prosecutor retorted, Liam’s face contorted in anger.

                “Let me rephrase, did you see Liam Connors shoot you?” Roger stepped forward putting emphasis on each word as he spoke.

                “No but I know it was him.” Her teeth gritted.

                “Objection your honor!”

                “It takes a lot of balls to shoot an unarmed woman and a sleeping child! Too bad your aim wasn’t a little better.”

                Liam stood up, his rage bubbled over, “You think you’re safe? They know where you are! You should’ve stayed dead!” he shouted as four court officers wrestled him back into his chair.  

                “Enough!” Preston raised her voice, “We’re in recess until Mr. Kressler can control his client. You may step down Ms. Cabot.”

                Casey’s eyes went back and forth between Connors and Alex, she smirked at Alex’s mad grab and how she couldn’t believe it actually worked. Hammond jumped up to follow Alex out of the courtroom.

*****

                Casey closed her eyes and held her breath as the verdict came back. A smile spread across her face as all counts came back guilty. Relief weighed heavy on Alex as she heard Liam Connors convicted on her attempted murder, something he had said earlier gave her the weary feeling that this wasn’t over.  

*****

                Elliot wrapped his arm around Novak as they walked down the hallway with everyone on the way to celebrate the conviction in her office.

                “Guilty on all counts.” She smiled quietly, she was proud of herself even if she knew the tipping point was actually the stunt Alex pulled.

                Stabler could still the sadness in her eyes surrounding recent events, “I never doubted it would be anything else.” He smiled at her like an impressed older sibling, she smiled back, thankful for him as he steered her into her office.

                “Let’s get this party started.” Liv smiled as she came through the other door holding two bottles of champagne and handed one to Mike.

                “Ooh, that’s what I’m talking about,” He smiled and brought the bottle over to the desk to crack it open.

                Liv looked over at Elliot and Casey laughing and teasing each other. She missed the fiery redhead, the way she smelled after a shower, the way it felt to hold her against her chest after a long day, the way her kiss tasted.

                “Alex knew just how to push Connors’ buttons,” Cragan brought her back from her thoughts.

                “She’s a great prosecutor.” The brunette shrugged, nonchalant.

                “And you gave her the ammunition.” He said softly.

                She was taken aback by his comment and stayed silent as Mike handed her a glass of champagne.

                “Don’t let me drink too much,” Casey teased Elliot, “Penalty face starts first thing in the morning.”

                “Slam dunk,” Stabler waved her off, “Live a little tonight.” He heard a noise from the hallway, “Is that her? Is that her?” He said in a hushed but excited tone.

                Everyone held up there champagne to toast Cabot as she walked through the door, smiles on all of their faces. Casey tried to quickly make herself more presentable, maybe with all of this behind them, she could see if Alex wanted to try again, maybe this time without the crying and the throwing up into the trashcan. However, smiles quickly turned to confusion as the only person who came through the door was Agent Hammond.

“Where’s Alex?” Liv asked, a sullen tone in her voice.

“Marshals are moving her and Antonio to new identities. She asked me to say goodbye.” His eyes moved from Liv unto Casey. The only person Alex had actually asked him to say goodbye to.

The redhead chewed her lip nervously as nodded, she understood the weight behind his look. As everyone turned to each other in shock he made another eye motion from Casey to her office couch. She furrowed her brow, this one she was unsure about. The nights festivities continued however bittersweetly.

“Goodnight,” the ADA sighed as Elliot hugged her and was the last one out the door. She closed it behind him and flopped back onto the couch only to jolt forward again. Her back had hit something hard, and it startled her, for a second she panicked that she may have become the new target of Connors’ and the cartel. She reached back behind the pillow and put her hand on something smooth and glass. Upon pulling it out, she found it was a significantly sized bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label with a note attached.

Casey crinkled her forehead and tilted her head in curiosity as she opened the note which read: “For another lifetime. -A”

She couldn’t help but smirk, “Maybe so, Cabot. Maybe so.” She smiled to herself and held the note to her chest when the door swung open. The redhead sat up startled to find a distressed Olivia “Really Poor Timing” Benson standing in her doorway, one hand palming the doorframe, the other hand palming the handle.

“Can we talk?”   

[justiceforfoxface]

Okay so I saw the post about needed more sfw coryo content I was wondering if you could do one where the reader gets migraines and it’s just him taking care of reader?

I’m not too sure if you’ll do this but you work is amazing and tysm pookie ❤️

I am absolutely furious right now (not at you, this ask was amazing and fun to write) I had like a 1K word fic for this and then my Internet glitched out and I lost the entire freaking thing

so here is me hurriedly trying to rewrite it

Warnings: none, entirely sfw, slightly ooc coryo, one use of Y/N, corio and reader are already dating

You sank into your chair. It had been a long day, and your migraines had been absolutely relentless. You were exhausted and honestly just wanted to lay down.

But you had invited your boyfriend Coriolanus Snow over for dinner, and it wouldn’t be a great dinner if you just slept through it. But you were really tired, so you figured if you sat down for just a few minutes, you’d still have time to make something for dinner.

Then you heard the door open, and a familiar voice said, “Y/N? It’s me, Coriolanus.”

“I’m in here,” you said, standing up, ignoring the instant rush of dizziness that flooded to your head. “Sorry I didn’t make anything for dinner yet, I…forgot you were coming over.”

That was a horrible excuse and you both knew it. Even if you did forget, you wouldn’t forget about dinner entirely. You hadn’t made any food at all. Since you’d gotten home, you had just been lying down.

Coriolanus raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Well….no,” you admitted, because what was the point of lying? He’d figure it out eventually, or just help you make a late dinner, and then you’d be more exhausted. “I’ve been having really bad migraines all day, and I didn’t want to make anything for dinner but I also didn’t want to just cancel our dinner together, so, I’m sorry.”

Coriolanus gently took your hand in his. “You don’t need to apologize for that. It wasn’t your fault. How about you go lie down and I’ll get you a cold washcloth?”

That sounded amazing to you, but you were still concerned about one thing. “What about you?” you asked. “Don’t you still need to eat?”

“I can eat a late dinner when I get back to my house,” Coriolanus said, leading you to your bedroom. “Right now, I just want to help you feel better.”

He walked into your bedroom with you, and the second you collapsed in your bed, you didn’t feel like arguing with him about it anymore. It was much more comfortable than you’d been all day.

Just a minute or so later, Coriolanus returned with a cold washcloth and a cup of water.

“Drink this,” he said as he placed the washcloth on your forehead. “It’ll help. I think.”

You drank the water and then set the cup on your nightstand. “Thanks, Coryo,” you said. “Would it be okay if I just laid here for a while?”

“Of course,” Coriolanus said. “I’ll just be in the main room, can you come and get me if you need anything?”

“Yeah,” you said, pulling the washcloth over your eyes. “Thank you, again.”

“Of course, again,” he smiled and clicked the light off on his way out.

[offsidekineticist]

FINALLY

I mentioned in another post that I was going to split the next chapter into three chapters and...uh...I lied. It's Giliys's Terrible, Horrible, Awful, No Good, Very Bad Day, and splitting it into three parts just kind of messed with the flow. So, uh...sorry it's so long...

CW: Hurt people hurting people (dysfunctional/abusive family or relationship dynamics); problems eating; poor bedside manner; migraines; rotting body parts; use of a gendered slur; cops being jerks; mass casualty incident; loss of control/blackout; suicidal ideation; saying goodbye

What I Said Back In Brastlewark

Everything comes to a head the day Qweck returns to check on Thay’s hands. The day starts off miserably. The day before was one of Thay’s Bad Days, when he couldn’t manage the energy to leave the apartment, which meant he couldn’t eat all day because of the Stench. The night was also bad. He pretended to sleep, but by now you can tell the difference from the way he breathes–soft, shallow breaths when pretending, long and loud when asleep. 

Despite being hungry and exhausted, Thay forces himself out of bed at dawn. You’d rather he save his strength for later, so you can get him to someplace where he can eat, so you put a hand on his shoulder.

“Thay, I think it’s ok if you stay in bed–I think she’ll understand, on account of bein’ a healer–”

“I will not have her thinking I’m bedridden,” he snaps through grit teeth, swaying in place. He is unsteady on his feet, but he is standing. He looks around the apartment. “Where’s the incense?”

Your brow furrows in confusion. You had brought home some incense you swiped from Temple Hill the other day, hoping it would cover up the stench so Thay could eat at home. Turns out that layering two strong smells on top of each other just gives Thay migraines. “It’s in the cabinet, but why–?”

“Light some.”

You should know better. You should know better by now, but you argue with him anyway. “Uh…Is that really such a good idea, Thay? You’re already having a rough day, and last time–”

“Shut up and light the damn incense,” Thay snaps, even sharper than usual. You feel the fire in your chest, the whispers almost too quiet to make out–how dare he speak to you that way? How dare he tell you what to do, like you’re just–

Instinct takes over, pushing away the fire. Shame and guilt at having disappointed him replace the rage and indignation. “Of course. I’m sorry,” you say softly, bowing your head slightly as you retrieve the incense from the cabinet and put it in a bowl on the table to light. You can tell as soon as you’ve lit the incense that this was a bad idea: Thay’s skin goes from stone gray to ashy, and his jaw tightens as he’s determined not to be sick. But you don’t say anything. You don’t offer to put out the flame.

You help him dress, and then he settles down on the floor. “Fetch me my book?” he asks, and you retrieve his latest book from his bag. It’s one of the ones he got from Rivad, you’re pretty sure. He’s been reading through them near constantly since arriving in Kintargo, and it became even more intense once Qweck left. You think this book is about summoning circles, given the illustrations. Every time he reads it, you want to ask him to read out loud so you can follow along, but you know better.

You open the book to the bookmarked page and hold it up in your lap for him (“What do you think you’re doing?! You do not ever lay a book flat! You’ll break the spine!”), and you can immediately tell Thay is only pretending to read. His eyes are unfocused, staring straight into the book instead of moving back and forth across the page. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, and you realize he probably can’t read with that migraine of his. He’s just going through the motions so it will look like he’s reading it when Qweck arrives. He her to find him at the start of a cheery morning reading his book. He doesn’t want her to know how much he’s struggling. He doesn’t want anyone to know. 

(Except you. Everyone gets his best face except for you.)

It’s hard to judge how long the two of you sit there like that–you usually judge the passage of time by how many pages he’s asked you to turn–but eventually there's a knock at the door. Thay flinches at the noise with a slight whimper. You gently close the book and set it down on the floor in front of him as softly as you can before getting the door.

Qweck looks well, for the most part–less tired than she did last time you saw her. She’s paler than usual, but given how she’s covering her mouth and nose with her hand,  you can guess why.

"Why does half the city smell like rotting flesh?” she demands without preamble. 

“Nice to see you too, princess. Settled in so well to rich folk life that you forgot what the rest of us smell like, have ya?” you say, stepping aside so she can get into the apartment. Her ear twitches in frustration.

“We both know it didn’t smell like this before I left. What happened?”

"Fuck if I know, I just live here. You try asking the shiny jackdaws about it? Maybe they’ll care once someone from uptown asks.”

(The answer is that Hell doesn't let its holdings go without a fight. Hell is coming for Kintargo, and the birdbrains who “liberated” the city can’t fucking stop it.)

“Giliys, stop antagonizing our guest,” Thay says with false gentleness. When you turn to look at him, it’s all you can do not to gape, because there he is: it’s the old Thay, his mild disapproval of your antics evident in the way his bottom lip slightly juts out like a disappointed pout, but an affable twinkle in his eye assuring you he isn't angry. For a moment you're back in Brastlewark, and the last several months have all been a bad dream, and you have to remind yourself of the truth. Even knowing how skilled Thay is at disguising his feelings, it’s still shocking to see just how good he is at it.

Qweck stares at him a moment, and your heart sinks. She won’t see through it. She’ll think he’s doing great, and still nobody will know except you.

“Is that incense?” she asks.

"Helps cover the Stench,” Thay explains with a wry smile.

“And that isn't making things worse?” Queck asks.

"Hard to get much worse than corpse stench, isn't it?” Thay says with a chuckle as he stands up, and gods, the migraine must be bad because he actually winces. 

“It’s actually giving me a headache,” Qweck says. Thay slips for a moment, his expression freezing.

“Giliys!” He hisses.

“Yes, Thay,” you say as you hurry to put out the incense.

Recovering himself, Theo returns his attention to Qweck. “How shall we do this, Healer?”

Qweck looks at Thay suspiciously and then looks at you as you hurriedly smother the burning incense. Your eyes meet, and you search for any sign that she knows that this is an act. Any sign that she sees through this and knows how badly he’s struggling. 

The moment passes, and she returns her attention to Thay. “I just need something flat to rest your hand on. A stack of books will do.”

He grimaces at that before he puts back on the cheeriness. "Promise I won't leak blood or pus on the books?”

“Have you been leaking blood or pus?”

"No.”

"Then this won't change that. Where's the bag?”

"Here,” you say, holding up Thay's biggenlil bag. One by one, you take out books on infernal hierarchies and arcane geometry and the construction of summoning circles and whatever else the Order of the Rack deemed too subversive for public consumption until you've made a stack tall enough that Qweck won't have to bend over to reach Thay's hand while she works. She and Thay both settle by the stack of books, and she takes out a small pair of scissors to cut through the bandages she used to make her makeshift splints. 

Thay does a spectacular job of hiding it, but the tightness in his jaw is giving away the fact that this hurts. It doesn't stop him from making small talk or chuckling at Qweck's dry sense of humor.

Halfway through working on his second hand she decides she's had enough. "You don't have to pretend for me, Theo. It's alright if you're in pain.”

The expression freezes on his face. "Well, the last time I let you see how much pain I was in, you left, so you'll forgive me for being skeptical.”

Your heart sinks. She sees through him–at least enough to know his hands hurt–but it doesn’t matter. She’s not coming back.

Qweck’s face tightens. "I see,” she says, cutting off the last bandage. "Should I bother asking how they feel, or are you going to lie to me about that, too?”

He slowly opens and closes both hands, ignoring the barb. "It's fine,” he announces. He pauses before looking sheepishly at Qweck. "Genuinely, it's fine. My affect is not a deception, I just. I didn't want to be misunderstood.”

“Is that what you think happened last time? I just misunderstood because you didn't put on a performance for me?” Thay freezes, and you can see him struggling to find the correct answer through the pain. Qweck must see it too because she closes her eyes with a sigh. "Your hands have atrophied, and you're going to have to learn how to use them again. Giliys can show you where I'm staying. I want to see you twice a week for conditioning.”

“Twice a week–I'm sure that's unnecessary.”

"Of course you are. Wealdays and Stardays at noon. Don't waste my time by skipping.” She turns her attention to you. "Do you have any flayleaf you need me to measure out?”

“Forgot to pick up the new batch yesterday, so I'm going to take care of it today. Figured I'd stop by the cafe this afternoon,” you say.

(“Thay, I have to go–it's just for a couple of hours, but she's gonna be here tomorrow and I need to get the medicine before–”

“Please–please don't.”)

Qweck rolls her eyes. "Of course, because I couldn't possibly have had my own plans for the afternoon. Fine. I'll see you in a few hours.” She turns back to Thay. "I don't know why you're lying to your healer about your health, but I do know that your hands are not, and probably never will be, back to normal, so don't strain them by pretending they are.”

"It really isn't so–”

"Theoven,” she says sharply. "Your hands are holding together by a thread. Do not ignore the pain. If something aggravates it, you stop, and if that's too much for you, let me know, and I can save us all a lot of grief by just amputating now. Is that clear?” 

Theo nods but you can't tell how much of that got through to him. You hope he got it because otherwise you'll have to be the one enforcing this bit of doctor's orders, and judging by how he responds to your limiting his flayleaf dosage when he has a flare up, that won't be fun. Qweck, however, seems satisfied with that–or at least satisfied that if Thay loses his hands he won't be able to blame her. She picks up her doctor's bag and stands up.

"Well, if that's all, I'll be off.”

"It was wonderful to see you again,” Thay says, as if that can somehow salvage the situation.

"I'm glad. It would have been nice if I could have seen you too. Remember: Wealday at noon.”

It is only after the sound of her steps on the stairs has faded that Thay suddenly doubles over and lets out a half groan, half roar of pain that turns into violent but futile retching. You hurry to his side and, seeing that he's shaking and gasping for breath, you scoop him up in your arms and carry him back to the bed. It’s not hard; he is disturbingly light these days.

You gently lay him on the bed. You turn away, but he reaches out, with a hiss of pain, very weakly grabs your sleeve.

“Don't go,” he gasps.

You were just going to shutter the window. The light makes the migraines worse. You know it will be better for him if you go and come back–

–but he said no.

So you climb onto the bed, carefully shielding him from the sunlight from the window as best you can, gently stroking his hair as he whimpers and gasps in pain and he buries his face in your chest, and you wish he would just let you help him right.

It is early evening when Theo finally falls asleep and you're able to leave to find his medicine. You need to be quick–hell's influence is at its strongest after dark, so the less time you spend out at night, the better. The sun is almost touching the horizon line, ready to sink into the sea for the night when you leave the apartment. By the time you've arrived at the fisherman’s supply shop by the harbor, delivery in hand, the sun is gone.

You have to pound on the door three times before it opens.

“Shh!” hisses the dwarven tiefling at the door. You're pretty sure she gave you her name at some point, but you just call her Ears because of her huge, bat-like ears. She glares at you with beady eyes. “Are you insane being out after dark?” She ushers you inside.

“Shit don’t stop needing to be done just cuz the sun got lazy,” you snap. She laughs.

“All that halfling luck's gone to your head if you think you're not bullshitting. Good to see you, I guess. Was beginnin’ to think the guard got to ya,” the tiefling said, crossing her arms. “Them or the ghosts.”

“Yeah, well, they didn’t.” You set down the bloody bag on the counter, mood soured more than usual by the old 'halfling luck' line. “All three are in there.”

She opens the bag and immediately chokes on the stench. “Fuck–how long have you had these?”

“A couple days. Shit came up so I couldn't get to you right away. Didn’t realize they were rotting that bad.”

“How the fuck don’t you notice this?” She demands, still gagging.

“All of Redroof smells like that.”

“You poor bastards. Fuck.” She ties off the bag. “Drop it in the river on the way out, will ya? Gonna have to light some incense or something to get the smell out, shit.”

“Did you get me the good stuff this time?”

Ears’s tail flicks in irritation, and she rolls her eyes as she turns back towards the shelves behind her. “I did what I could. Best I could manage was more raw stuff.”

You grit your teeth, ignoring the heat in your chest. “That wasn't the deal.”

“No, the deal was you take care of my competition, and I do what I can. Look, you want the stuff so bad, you break into the castle and take it.”

You clench your teeth. Supplies are limited in Kintargo. Trade has been disrupted so that anything that relies on imports has become absurdly expensive. It's even worse when the goods in question are medical in nature–any medicines that can’t be easily brewed from local herbs are now kept and dispensed by the City of Kintargo. It was one thing to break into a mostly empty mansion and take a few of the less notable baubles; it would be another to break into the headquarters of the provincial military, the city guard, and the local hellknight order to take highly valued medicine.

(You could pull it off, you’re sure, but only if you weren’t planning on staying in the city after)

So instead you’re stuck knocking off petty criminals so a kid with delusions of grandeur and a connection in the docks can give you the stuff that's too shitty to sell to alchemists. You’re just able to wrestle down the heat in your chest when you see the size of the herb pouch Ears is holding.

“What the fuck–that’s nowhere near enough!”

“That's what I got. You have any idea how much that little bag is worth in this city right now?” She gets a sly look on her face. “Now, I might be willing to stick my neck out a little for a full-timer.”

There it is. Ever since she realized you were a professional and not just some goon with a knife, she’s been trying to get you to agree to being the lieutenant of her “crime empire” of pickpockets and muggers. “I��ll think about it.”

“You always say that.”

“I’m always thinking ‘bout it.”

“Aww, Lucky, I’m flattered! But I’m gonna need an answer soon. This is a lot of effort to go through for a man who won’t commit.”

The innuendo startles you, and without instinct to tamp it down the rage burns in your chest. How dare she try to ensnare you? How dare she mock you? How dare this waif, cursed with a speck of hellishness, mock the vessel of hell itself?

You force the fire down through sheer force of will. You ignore how the flames roar in fury, robbed of sustenance.

I am hungry, hellhound!

You snatch up the herb pouch out of her hand, ignoring the fire. “I’ll be by when I need more,” you snarl as you go to the door. She doesn’t resist, only grins smugly at you–she likes unsettling you, likes reminding you that there’s nowhere else to go.

The fire burns, and it takes all you have not to let it consume her for her insolence.

“Don’t forget the hands!” Ears shouts after you.

“Don't forget it yourself, you fucking pussy!” you shout over your shoulder before slamming the door behind you, holding the fire in your chest so it doesn’t spread. Once you're sure you're not going to catch fire, you take a deep breath and begin walking.

Qweck is staying with Laria Longroad, who runs the Long Roads Coffeehouse in the Villegre. The Villegre is Kintargo's university district, situated against the city's northern wall–on the opposite side of the city from Ears's supply shop. You don't exactly like having to cross a helltouched city at night, but you don't have much choice.

You never put much stock in the "lucky halfling" myth–you always figured that if you were really lucky, you wouldn't ever have been a slave–but considering you make it to the docks, catch the ferry across the river, and make it as far as Alabaster Academy without seeing any trouble, maybe there's something to it. The hair on the back of your neck is just starting to settle down when a shriek cuts through the air and rattles your bones. You flinch and cover your ears. You'd heard rumors about this–a phantom that screeches through the night, uttering oaths and curses in dark languages. You think it's Infernal that she's screaming, but you don’t understand the meaning. You don't know what the phantom–ghost–wraith–thing wants, but you don't intend to find out.

You sprint down the street, and you feel the warmth spread from your chest down towards your legs, driving you faster and faster. You will pay for that when you stop, when the fire won't die back down and hide in your chest anymore, but the creature's wails are in your ears, and you need to find shelter now.

You ignore the CLOSED sign in the window and barrel through the door. A halfling woman with fair hair–Laria Longroad–startles from her work cleaning the countertop and looks up.

“What the fuuu–oh! It’s you.” she says, eyes widening in surprise before she smiles like she’s happy to see you.

(Laria always smiles when she sees you. You have no fucking clue why. You’re just as much of a dick to her as you are to everyone else who isn’t Thay, but for some reason that doesn’t faze her.)

“Yeah, sorry to show up so late, I just gotta talk to Qweck about something,” you say.

"She said you might come around. But you're outta luck," Laria says, disappearing behind the counter again before walking around it to get to you. “Qweck’s gone to bed. Early sleeper, she is, but I suppose that’s t’be expected, what with her being Irorian and all.”

Shit. “Well, I guess I better go wake her up.” You move to walk towards the back, toward the stairs that you know lead to the apartment upstairs, but Laria steps in front of you.

“If you give me the medicine, I’ll see that she gets it and brings it to you tomorrow. She needs her rest. Today was rough on her.”

You huff at that. “Sure it was. She spent less than an hour with us. I think she can handle five minutes with me to get Thay’s pain down from excruciating to torturous.”

She doesn’t react right away. Then she reaches out and takes your arm. “Come sit down, Giliys. There’s something I’d like to talk with you about.”

You almost tell her to fuck off, but you’ve always had a soft spot for Laria. You knew her when she was first on the run after beating a slaver to death with her bare hands, and you got to watch her grow into the tiller she is today. She thinks you had something to do with that. Maybe you did; you did check in on her a lot when she was getting established in Kintargo. And you were maybe a little more honest than usual with her about your history when you caught her crying over the blood on her hands.

The point is, you never had a sister, but if you did you’d kinda hope she’d be like Laria. If Laria says she wants to talk to you, well, you gotta make sure the guilt isn’t getting to her (she’s not as used to it as you are, on account of being an all around better person than you). So you let her lead you to a table and you both sit down across from each other.

“Everything ok, Kid?” you ask.

“I should be asking you that,” she says. “We haven’t talked since you arrived, but from what Qweck has told me, you’ve been on a rough ride the last couple of months.”

You wave her off. “I’m fine. I’m not the one who got tortured for a month.”

“That doesn’t mean it hasn’t been hard.”

You shrug. “It is what it is. You said there was something you wanted to talk about?”

She hesitates before nodding. She's thinking through her words before she speaks, and that's not a good sign–Laria has never been afraid to speak her mind, at least not to you. “It’s funny," she says, looking over the shop. "Most days I’m used to it, but every now and then I stop and look around and think ‘this is my place. My shop. My home. I own this.’ And it’s just…for a second I don’t believe it. It’s like the Laria from before just popped into my body, and she just can’t grasp the idea of having any of this.”

You relax slightly. She just wants to talk about her feelings, and she's hesitating because they're about the Old Times. Nothing too bad, you just gotta listen and nod and not be a dick. “Yeah," you say with a nod, "yeah, I think I get what you mean. Not that I have a coffee shop or anything, but…yeah. I know that feeling.”

(You used to get that feeling when you’d visit Thay, when you’d sit on his couch with a mug of hot cocoa and realize you have a friend, that this beautiful, wonderful soul was your friend and chose to be your friend, even though you had proven to him from the moment you met that you didn’t deserve–)

“It gets me thinking, sometimes,” Laria continues. “Reminiscing, I guess you could say, about how I got here. Remember the first time you visited after I set up the shop?”

“The time you fucking poisoned me? Yeah, I remember that.”

She chuckles at that. She didn’t actually poison you, she just gave you a cup of coffee on the house, and that was how you learned that you fucking hate coffee. “I remember I mentioned I was thinking of hiring some folks to help out–another server or two. And I said I thought maybe it could be a way to help the slaves we freed. Give them a job, help them get on their feet and figure out who they want to be now that they’re free. And I remember you said something that stuck with me. You said not to make a server out of anyone still learning how to be free, cuz the customers will act like masters and make them forget they're free.”

“Yeah, I remember that, too.”

“And it's funny, because even all these years later, sometimes I catch myself falling into that–not often, but if it's been a busy few days, and I've got some cranky customers who haven't had their coffee yet, sometimes the old scars start aching, and I catch myself saying sorry to some snobby brat screaming at me in my own shop, you know?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s been a couple decades since the last time I had a real job–well, ok, I've never had a legit job, but, you know, a job with a boss–but yeah, I remember what that was like.”

She pauses for a long moment, and you begin to wonder if you’ve said something wrong. And then, disturbingly gently, she says, “It’s not just a job that can make us feel like that, though, is it?”

She's not here to talk about her feelings. There's something specific she's fishing for, and you don't like it. You can feel your expression harden. “Get to the point, Kid.”

She sighs. “I just want to make sure you haven’t forgotten that you're free. Because Qweck said some things that have me thinking that maybe you have.”

Your jaw almost drops.

“Ex-fucking-scuse me?!” you demand. “You–hold on. I–wow. Okay. So, just on the word of sheltered kid who lived in a cloister until a month ago, you’re accusing someone you’ve never met–someone, I will add, who has more goodness in his thumb than either of us have in our whole fucking bodies–you think he’s acting like a master cuz his ungrateful cunt of a daughter said so?”

“It’s not about him," Laria says, eyes wide. "It’s–”

“But it is! Of course it is! People don’t just forget they're free when they feel respected, do they? Not when they're decades removed from slavery. So she thinks he’s taking advantage of me? Of course she’d think that–she despises him!” You don’t notice your voice rising, or how it shapes itself towards the highborn Egorien of your youth. “As long as I’ve known her, all she’s ever had to say about him were backhanded comments about her guardian–never her father–her guardian, the collaborator, how he burned books for Thrune and was just as complicit as any hellknight. He took her in, raised her on his own, and she has nothing but contempt for him–and so she started pouring poison in your ear and you just believed her?!"

"That–that's not–"

"You did! You didn't even question it, you just accepted it as divine prophecy! But of course you did–she’s a pretty face, isn't she? She's someone new and exciting and we both know you–”

The phantom's wails cut through the air like a knife, and you hear her Infernal vows of vengeance against the adventurers who killed her.

You understand her.

The shock of it knocks you out of your tirade, and suddenly you realize you’re standing up, your chair overturned behind you. You tower menacingly over Laria, both hands on the table in front of you–hands flaring with sparks as smoke rises from under your palms and fingers. She stares at you in silent terror, right hand reaching for a dagger you taught her to keep in her bodice. It’s no use, though–the fire in your chest has spread through your body, and you know from the siege camp that a knife in your chest will just make things worse–

So you run. You bolt across the cafe out the door, Infernal words that you can understand pounding in your ears, trying to get her out, out, OUT! But still the woman wails and still you understand, and still the fire roars and demands escape because you promised.

The heat grows and grows in your chest and your hands and your feet, and you realize you need to get as far from people as possible because you can’t hold it in anymore and people will burn. You race towards Villegre Park–not even nobles are crazy enough to go for a walk in the park after dark.

You make it. With desperate effort, you make it to the center of the park–or close enough. You drop to your knees and wrap your arms around yourself. You feel the fire rising inside you. The scar on your chest glows red under the drawstrings of your shirt. You squeeze your eyes shut and clench your teeth with a growl and then, with all your might, you let go–

–and nothing happens.

You’re left panting and sweating from exertion and heat and emotion, but there is no relief. The fire in your chest still burns, still spreads and demands release.

I want my souls, hellhound.

You sit on the ground uselessly, shaking with anxious energy, feeling like you want to tear off your skin and escape the confines of your body. The fire burns without warmth, leaving you to shiver in the cold of the night even as your insides are consumed by an inferno.

It's hard to say how long you sit there, wrestling the hellfire under your control. It’s harder to say how long you would have remained were you not interrupted by someone grabbing your shirt collar and picking you up off the ground.

“And what’s your business here?” It’s a guard–two guards. One of them, a tiefling with curled horns, holds you up by your shirt, while the other, human by the look of them, searches you.

“Stop,” you grind out, while the fire roars in your ears.

“Hey now, what have we here?” the human guard says triumphantly, snatching the pouch of flayleaf from your belt. They open the bag and take a quick sniff. “Flayleaf–the actual leaf? Got ourselves a connoisseur, we do!”

“Fellas at the harbor must be doing a good job of keeping out the hard stuff if he’s resorting to that shit.” He drops you on the ground and puts his foot on your back before you can react. He bends over to handcuff you and he puts weight on your back, and–

And–

And it’s dawn. You’re not in the park anymore. You're still in the Villegre–you can see the academy's tower to the west–but you are on some street surrounded by smoldering ash. There are piles of ashes and scorch marks on the sides of buildings, and you suspect they form a trail that will lead you back to the park. You don't care to test that theory. You are covered in ash, your clothes are scorched, and your hands sting when you move them, burned with hellfire. The rage is gone. The flames are silent.

She is silent.

Maybe halflings are lucky–after all, you woke up. She lost grip on you–took too many souls at once–and while you don’t remember how you know this, you know she would never have let you go if she didn’t have to. You might have been lost forever if she hadn't gorged herself. You were lucky.

This has to end. You’ve kept her at bay for years, but that time is over. Next time she won’t let you go. Next time she’ll know better, and she’ll never wake up. She’s silent now, quieter than she’s been since you arrived in Kintargo, sleeping off the feast of the night before. If you’re going to end this, now’s your chance.

The sun is rising over the city. It makes the water shimmer, and it’s beautiful. It’s all beautiful. You wish you had seen it before. You wish you could see it after. You are glad you see it now.

You don’t remember the walk back to Redroof, your mind in a haze. This is the third time you’ve resolved to cut to the chase, but something about this feels different. It feels real this time. You hate that your last kill will be with that stupid decorative dagger you swiped from an idiot noble–you’ve sharpened it until it could do fucking surgery if you wanted, and it still cuts wrong. Maybe you just miss your old dagger. Maybe there’s only so much you can do with a weapon that wasn’t made to be used. Maybe you should throw yourself off the bridge like you planned when you first got here. Or maybe Qweck will agree to slit your throat for you.

You arrive, and Thay is awake. He looks at you in alarm. Right–you're badly burned, dressed in scorched clothes and covered with ash. "Gilly–what–"

"I'm dying,” you blurt out. Thay freezes. "Or–no. I need to die. The devil–I’m losing control. She’s been getting stronger since we got here, and I can’t–I can’t hold her back anymore, and someday soon she’s gonna take over and I won’t ever come back, and fuck if I know what she’ll do but she just burned a path through the Villegre and killed gods know how many people, so I know it won’t be anything fucking good. So…so I have to die.” Thay doesn't say a word. His face doesn't shift. So you do what you always do when you’re anxious about the silence: you keep going. "I thought you should know, so…y'know. You could patch things up with Qweck and make arrangements before–”

"No,” he says softly, almost keening.

“It'll be fine, Thay. She loves you, she'll–”

"I'm not losing you again!” It's an animalistic snarl, feral and harsh. The sheer intensity of it strikes you speechless for a moment before you find your words and carry on.

"You...you have to, Thay. It'll be alright–you don't need me. I haven't really been helping much, anyway. You'll be fine without me.”

"I won't!” he exclaims, and there’s a naked desperation in his expression you don’t recognize. “I won't be fine without you–how could you think–” He stops short, trying to collect himself. “I'm sorry–I know I've been awful, I'm trying, I swear, but it's just so hard, and it's not working, but I'm trying, I–please don't give up on me, Gilly, I won't survive it, please!” His expression shifts, and it takes a moment to quash the hope you feel when you realize he has an idea. “The contract–show me the contract! There must be a way to break it, there always is, and we can–”

“There’s no contract, Thay,” you answer wearily.

He seems to almost recoil in confusion. “No contract–as in you lost it?”

“As in there was never any contract. I just let her in, and she’s stayed ever since.”

“But–but that doesn’t make sense! What kind of devil–there has to be a contract, we just have to find it. It might take some time, but–”

“We don’t have time, Thay. She’s gonna wake up soon, and then she’ll want more souls.”

“Then give them to her! We live in Redroof, for Aroden's sake, surely you can find someone who won't be missed!”

It takes a moment for you to process–to understand what he wants you to do. When you understand, you have a moment of sickening clarity: there is something very wrong with Thay, and you've been making it worse. He’s been so twisted up inside that he’s starting to become like you. You need to leave for his sake as much as for the sake of the souls you'd have to reap to stay.

"I'm going to go tell Qweck,” you say as gently as you can, “so she knows to come see you. I don’t have much time, so I probably won’t be back before…yeah. I just want you to know…I’m so, so sorry for…for lying to you. For tricking you into helping me, and letting you think I maybe…might be….almost good somewhere deep fucking down. I’m so fucking sorry. And…And…” Oh, how these next words catch in your throat. “And I meant what I said back in Brastlewark. About why I couldn’t let you volunteer. I meant it. I fucking meant it, and if you don't believe anything else I’ve ever said–and I sure as shit haven’t given you much reason to–please, for the love of all that’s holy and good, please believe that.”

You allow yourself a moment–barely any time at all, just a moment–to look at him, and for this moment, and only this moment, you believe with all your heart that halflings are the luckiest of creatures, and you are the luckiest of halflings, because surely only the luckiest of the lucky ever behold beauty like this.

The moment passes. It's time to go. You hear his voice behind you, hear him sobbing, begging you to stay, but it's no use. You've already seen him for the last time. As much as you'd like to stay and stare at him forever, it's time to go.

You step out from the shade of the apartment into the brightness of your final day, and you don't look back.

[daddyyy88]

Headache | Steve Harrington x y/n

if you’d like you can reblog my original work, but please don’t post it without credit. if you take inspiration from my ideas please tag me, I’d like to see how someone else would write it

word count: 0.6k

warnings: I wrote this a little while ago so I might’ve forgot some things but reader has a headache/migraine, I think reader gets nauseous, ?

summary: y/n has a really bad headache but Steve is more than happy to help it go away

You’ve had this dull headache all day long. It’s been really irritating you all day and you were going to try to get medicine during your lunch break but you completely forgot until the headache got worse and you knew you were too busy to get a break.

Now, you’re home and you didn’t do anything for the last 30 minutes but bury your face in the pillow and try to wish the headache away. Sure, you could get up and go get medicine but you’re so tired and you honestly feel a little lightheaded and nauseous so you’re sure this is the end for you.

“Bubba! I’m home!” Steve said as he came in. You whimpered and he called for you again but you knew yelling would make it worse. A few minutes later he came in and said “hey, are you alright?”

You were kinda curled up and your breathing seemed a little irregular so there had to be something wrong. “I just…I’ve had this headache all day and it got worse after lunch and now I’m nauseous and I feel really dizzy” you whispered, eyes squeezed shut as you sighed.

He kissed your head softly as he gently massaged your head and said “you feel a little warm, baby. I think you might be getting sick or something. You should really eat something and drink some water and take some medicine” “I’m…I’m not sick I just need this headache to go away”

He gently encouraged you to move your head so you could look at him and you sighed, a small pout on your lips. He smiled a little and said “come on, honey. Why don’t you just do it incase?” “Ok fine” you said and closed your eyes, the light bothering you more than usual.

He noticed and said “oh…babe, you have a migraine” “mm mm…I don’t have migraines” you whispered and groaned, you just wanted the pain to go away. Steve sighed and got up, turning off the light and grabbing the medicine and the water as well as your leftover pasta from a restaurant you ate at the other day.

“Hi, beautiful. You gotta eat so you can take medicine” he said and you took a deep breath. He sat in front of you again and said “come on, baby. It’ll make you feel better, I know it” He helped you sit up and gently tied your hair in a loose braid to keep it out of the way.

“When did you learn how to braid?” You asked quietly and he smiled. He set the plate on your lap and said “I want to learn for nights when you’re too lazy to do it yourself since I know you like to sleep in them sometimes. Robin and Nancy helped me learn” You smiled and said “you’re a good boyfriend”

“I hope so,” he said, urging you to take a few sips of water. You ate pretty slowly, trying to wish the nausea away and thankfully it did kinda go away as you kept drinking the water and eating little by little.

“Good girl, now take these,” he said and you blushed a little. You took some medicine and rested against him, turning over and cuddling into his chest. He smiled and started massaging your head softly, whispering sweet nothings to you.

You sighed and said “thanks for taking care of me” “of course, princess. You’re probably stressed and that could’ve caused it, maybe you should try and use some sick days or something so you can rest” he said and you smiled lightly.

You hummed, drawing little patterns and shapes on his ribs with your hand. You started to feel sleepy as time passed and the medicine helped numb the pain a little. He kissed your head and said “get some rest, bubba. You need it” “I love you…so much, Steeb” you said and he chuckled. He shook his head and said “I love you more, y/n/n”

Taglist: @hellfire1986baby

As of now l'm writing for

Eddie Munson

Joseph Quinn

Jamie Bower

Steve Harrington

Robin Buckley

Maya Hawke

Lo’ak

Neteyam

So just comment the taglist you want to be added to and l'll add you :)

[andreafmn]

I'm Not Afraid | Chapter 11

Word Count: 3K Story Description: (Y/N) Argent arrived at Beacon Hills to put to rest her father’s sister, Kate Argent. For the first time, her family has decided to settle down and sustain a life in this interesting small town. After 17 years, (Y/N) has the opportunity to establish interpersonal relationships but will she be ready to face the complications that come with relating to her cousin’s, Allison, friends; especially, the infamous Derek Hale. She will face the adventure of being associated with the Derek and McCall pack, as well as being faced with the discovery of certain aspects of her life she never imagined. Chapter: 11/? A/N: Somehow manage to cough out 3k words with a migraine flare-up, so hope you enjoy it 💖 My content will always be free, but if you’re feeling particularly generous, you can leave a tip on any of my posts to support me and my love of writing or buy me a coffee TikTok • Instagram • Business | MASTERLIST If you’d like to be tagged in this or any other story: click here Make sure you have my notifications on so you know every time I post! 

<- Previous | Next ->

Chapter 11

Friday couldn't come any quicker. Sure, they were going to an underground rave to catch a murderous reptile and the murderer that was controlling him, but it was an underground rave, nonetheless.   

It was no surprise that (Y/N) had never gone to a party before. Being a social pariah at every school she had been to, there had been a lack of invitations for her. So, the fact that she would be going to one and that they were so close to trapping the biggest threat to Beacon Hills in one night had the girl's veins buzzing with excitement.   

If she had gotten more than three hours to sleep that night, it would have been too much. Having woken up at six in the morning to take Brody out for a run, she knew the crash would be inevitable later that day. But how could she sleep? The party and the Kanima weren't the only things running through her mind.   

Derek had not left her thoughts for a second. She could feel the warmth of his hands on her skin, she could smell his cologne, she could hear his breath right next to her ear, and she could almost, almost, feel his lips on hers. The night before they had been so close to finally sharing a kiss. If Isaac had spent even two more seconds inside, they sure would have been caught mid-kiss.   

But he didn't. He exited the loft at just the right time to startle them apart, making them wait that much longer to give in. Even if all she wanted was to throw caution to the wind and give in. She wanted him more than she thought she could want anyone else.   

After coming back home, (Y/N) hurried to school. She thought the more she rushed the faster night would come. Sitting still on her bike was almost impossible as the anxious thrill of what came after school rushed through her. All she wanted was to get through her classes and get to the rave.   

As she entered the school, making a beeline for her locker, she ended up crashing into someone, her bag flying through the air and spilling its contents all over the hall. Just by the force of the body she bumped into, she had an idea of who it could be.   

“Where are you hurrying to, Scott?” (Y/N) called out as she started to gather her things.   

“Oh, sorry, (Y/N),” he gave her an apologetic smile. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”    

“You okay?” she said as her eyes finally fell on his face. “You look kinda bummed out, not gonna lie.”  

“It’s nothing,” he sighed. “I just saw Allison and she got weird there at the end. She said it was nothing, but I don’t know.”    

(Y/N) was the first to stand up, taking the books Scott had gathered from his hands. “What were you guys talking about?” she asked. “Was it about tonight?”   

“More or less. But it’s more about what I told you about her mom,” he shrugged. “I told her that it would be good for her parents to see us with other people, so they think we are broken up. And she was fine with it at first, but she got weird after.”   

“Please tell me she didn’t mention me,” the girl groaned.   

“Why would she?”  

“So I guess she hasn’t told you.” She sighed before she continued, feeling like a gossip as she relayed the information. “You know how I told you she was acting off? Well, we had an interesting conversation regarding all that. She basically accused me of trying to take you from her.”  

“Take me?” Scott questioned. “Take me where?”  

The Argent girl couldn’t help the laugh that overtook her as the poor oblivious boy tried to make sense of what she had said. His expression could only be explained as a lost puppy dog. They had been walking to Chemistry class and he’d stopped dead in his tracks at the statement.  “She thinks I’m trying to make you my boyfriend,” she explained. “She claimed that everything came easy to me and that I already had a lot. And on top of that, I was trying to steal you away.”  

“But where would she get that idea? I mean, sure we’re friendly but I don’t think either of us has been anything but.”   

“I don’t know and honestly, it’s her shit to get over,” (Y/N) brushed off. “I made it more than clear to her that there was nothing between us. If she still wants to be pissed at me about it, then she can stay mad.”   

“I’ll talk to her,” he offered. “You should also know that your family knows that there are essentially two killers.”   

“She told them everything, didn't she?”  

“Sort of. But that's a good thing. The more people there are to take them down, the better.”   

“Sure, if those people weren't Argents and Gerard wasn't here.”   

“So, it's a bad thing?”  

“Let's just say that if they get involved, there might be one or two students that won't come to school tomorrow.”   

“Ms. Argent, Mr. McCall!” Mr. Harriss called their attention. “If it's not something you want to share with the class, I suggest you keep it quiet.”   

“Sorry, Mr. Harris,” the pair mumbled before they sank into their seats and placed their attention on the board.    

The rest of the day went by in a flash. As the time got closer, the more (Y/N) could feel the nerves creeping up her neck. Long gone was the excitement, instead replaced by a chilling sense of dread that she couldn’t seem to shake. Something in the back of her mind told her that tonight would most likely end in a tragedy. For whom, she wasn't sure. But she could feel the inevitability of a loss.   

As soon as the last bell rang, she gathered her things, ready to go back home and change. She had to pick up Isaac and Erica before the rave, much to her detriment. She was fine with Isaac. But something about the blonde was less than digestible for her. Maybe it was her personality, but her subconscious knew it was because of Derek. To that day, she couldn't shake the image of them in his car. And she hated that it made her question how okay she would be if he decided he couldn't wait any longer.   

“What the hell?” Her phone ringing in her pocket broke her out of thought as she was getting on her bike. “Uncle Chris?”   

“Hey, (Y/N), by chance did Allison talk to you today?”   

“Not really,” she answered, biting her tongue to not spill that they had yet to speak in two days. “What's wrong?”   

“We're gonna need you to meet us at home. We’ve got a meeting about tonight.”   

“Oh, uh, sure.”   

“We'll see you here, okay?”   

“Yeah. See you.”   

(Y/N) was quick to text Isaac the change of plans, the surprise shared between them. She told him that it was more than likely they would be planning an attack at the rave that night, and that every single member of Derek’s pack needed to be on high alert from the Argents. If they did go, they would be going for blood.   

As serious as the moment was, the blond boy couldn't help but throw a joke into the mix, asking her if she wanted the whole pack to be safe or if she wanted to make sure that Derek was safe. It made her face change into a million shades of red, regretting the fact that Isaac knew such a vulnerable piece of information.   

Instead of dwelling on the message, (Y/N) sped to her uncle's house, bracing herself to meet with revenge-blind hunters that wanted to take down the Kanima and anything that got in their way. But she wasn't sure if she wasn't prepared for those tens of men or finally seeing her cousin after two days.   

She knew she had been harsh, but she did not regret a single word she had said. Allison had formulated an image of her in her mind that was nowhere near what reality was, and it made her question if she could trust her with other aspects of her life. Could she tell her about Derek? Could she tell her about what her dad had told her? Could she trust that if she confessed that she wanted the family business to change that Allison would keep it to herself?   

They were questions she would have to wait to answer.  

Her uncle's house came into view, the driveway filled with tinted black SUVs. If she hadn't known there were meant to be people there, she would have been awfully intimidated, and most likely would have kept driving. But she fought the desire to escape and clothed herself in confidence, walking into the home like she belonged there.   

She nodded to a couple of people she knew, following the trail of people into the basement where Allison, Chris, and Gerard were waiting. The girl made a beeline for her family, ignoring her cousin's intense gaze. If (Y/N) had been questioning if Allison was still angry at her, she had gotten her answer.   

“(Y/N), can I speak to you over here?” Chris asked her as she got closer, motioning to an empty corner. (Y/N) followed her uncle, thankful that she didn't have to face her cousin or her grandfather just yet. “I know you've been kind of out of the loop since your dad has been away, so I don’t want you to feel ambushed. Allison told me everything that's been going on and I'd like to think that if you knew more information about all of this that you would tell us about it.”   

“Of course, I would," she smiled sweetly. “I would do anything for our family's cause. But I just don't know what to look out for. Mom and Dad have been away a lot and I haven't had much training in all of this.”   

“Maybe I can talk to Victoria,” he said. “She could help you and Allison with what it means to lead the hunters. One day it will be up to you two and it's best you're prepared.”   

A shiver traveled up (Y/N)'s spine as she thought about spending time with her aunt and being taught what it was like to be a female hunter. The woman had always unnerved her and the last thing she wanted was to be in close confines with her. “That would be great,” she said instead. “Maybe once mom comes back we can all meet up.”   

“Alright sounds good, (Y/N),” he smiled. “Now, get in line. Meeting's starting.”   

“Aye, aye, Captain.”   

She had to bite back a smirk. Her uncle had eaten up her oblivious and unknowledgeable façade, allowing her to fly under the radar. If that was the role she had to play, then she would damn well give an Oscar-worthy performance.  

(Y/N) watched as Allison took a seat on the wooden stairs, choosing to stand as far from her as possible. Her cousin wasn't talking to her, and she was planning on doing the same. She could already hear her father's words, begging her to take the high road. But she didn't want to be the bigger person, she wanted her to apologize.   

“All right,” Chris called for everyone's attention. “The party's in a warehouse just inside the industrial sector. Allison has learned that Jackson Whittemore will be there seeking his next target out of the crowd. Since we still have no clue as to just how strong he is, we need to be extremely cautious.”   

As (Y/N) listened to her uncle speak, her attention was drawn to a soft rattling sound. Out of the corner of her eye, (Y/N) noticed her grandfather swallowing two pills. The last thing she had heard, Gerard, was of sound mind and health. Pills didn't feel like something that fit his persona. Without even knowing, she had engrained the fact into her mind. If there's one thing she knew, no detail was too small. At some point, it could become necessary information.   

“When Allison had Jackson's location and has determined him to be at the optimal point where we can take him down, she'll signal me,” Chris continued, his eyes falling on his daughter. “Optimal meaning as far from the crowd as possible. If she cannot, (Y/N), I take you will make sure to do so. There will be no collateral damage tonight. You two, go ahead.”   

The man motioned his head toward the two of them, waiting for the teens to disappear before any of them talked. (Y/N) followed behind her cousin begrudgingly, drowning in the unnerving energy that was shared between the two family members.   

“Okay, this is stupid,” (Y/N) finally spoke, grabbing Allison's elbow to turn her around. “You cannot still be mad at me for something that you made up completely in your head?”   

“In my head? My dad doesn't even believe I can do one job without screwing up,” she seethed. “You didn't have to be here. I could have done this by myself.”   

“Come on, Ali. I'm basically your understudy here,” (Y/N) finally confessed, tears stinging the back of her eyes  “I only have friends because you introduced me to them. The only reason Scott and I have gotten close is because he's a good friend. And tonight, the only way I get to do anything is if you fail. And that is a huge if. So, instead of blaming me for whatever it is that you are feeling, try and focus on why you're feeling it.”   

“(Y/N)...”   

“Whatever, Allison,” she shrugged her off. “And be careful. I'm pretty sure you'll be leading Jackson right into Gerard's trap.”   

As soon as (Y/N) was outside, she fumbled in her pocket for her phone, dialing the number of the person that should have been the most aware of her family's plan. A pang of guilt bubbled in her gut as the thought that she was betraying her family. But there was a part of her that knew that what she wanted to do could not just save one life, but it could potentially save the lives of all her friends.  

“(Y/N)? Is everything okay?”  

“Listen, Derek, my family is gonna be there tonight,” she breathed. “They say they're only gonna be there to trap Jackson before he gets to his next victim. But something tells me they're there to kill him, whoever's controlling him, and anyone that gets in their way.”   

“How did they find out that it was Jackson or that there were two killers?”   

“Allison told her dad,” she said. “But she didn't have another choice, and I get that. But I need to make sure you and everyone else are safe. So, you might have to change certain strategies.”   

“You're aware that the majority of us are werewolves?” Derek laughed on the phone. “The one that should be worried, should be me.”   

“I've been training for something like this my whole life,” she smirked. “And technically, I’m the one who can get closest to Jackson. He can't paralyze me.”   

“But he can do a lot worse,” he said. “And I won't let that happen. All you have to do is keep a lookout. Isaac and Erica will get him.”   

“I am more than capable of doing this.”   

“(Y/N). You can not get close to him,” he commanded angrily. “You're inexperienced and you could get in the way. I don't want you to get close to Jackson, and that's an order.”   

“Thankfully, I don't take orders from you, Derek,” she scoffed. “Anyways, watch out for Argent hunters. They might have you on their target list.”   

“(Y/N)....”   

“Goodbye.”   

(Y/N) knew that Derek meant well but all she could do was feel betrayed. The one person she thought would have believed in her the most had made her feel weak and incompetent. Even if it was her first time taking a threat this big on, she had been confident that she was an asset to the pack. But he had made her feel otherwise.   

But that only made her more determined. (Y/N) would prove to Derek and to her family just how good of an advantage she was. She would prove it to herself.   

*** 

Derek couldn't believe what he'd said. All he wanted was to make sure that (Y/N) was safe, make sure that she was nowhere near where she could be hurt. It had been a long time since he had cared so deeply about someone else, and he despised the fact that he'd started to do so when so much was happening in the town. She had been kind enough to warn them about her family. Going behind their back to make sure he and the pack were safe. And instead of being thankful, he chastised her and made her feel small.  

“So, are we going already?” Erica snipped at the alpha. “Or do we have to wait until you're done gushing over the new girl?”  

“I'd watch my mouth if I were you, Erica,” he seethed. “One more word and you can stay here tonight.”  

“And miss out on all of this? Not a chance,” she groaned. “Fine, not another word.”  

“I don't want any mistakes tonight,” Derek directed himself to the group of teenagers before him. “I was just informed that the Argents will be there. You cannot let them see you or what you are. They are not going there to trap Jackson. They will be there to kill him.”  

“Or us,” Isaac added, a flash of fear crossing through his face. “Is it safe for us then?”  

“It will be,” he reassured. “As long as everyone sticks to the plan. Now, let's go. We cannot waste more time.”  

Derek needed that night to go without a hitch. That way he could think of ways to dig himself out of the hole he’d created with (Y/N). Because the last person he wanted to have hate him was her. 

Next ->

Tag List: @hellowinterlane​ @lokisgoddesofpower​ @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @malar-region @sunshine-flower@lilstanxd @sunsetcurvej @malar-region @heyitsaloy @blackbluerose666 @bellabadacadabra @winter-soldier-101 @zheezs14 @sunsetcurvej @mushroomelephant @she–walks–in–moonlight @Gracelynn318 @skyesthebomb @esposadomd @blueshoelaces @then-worship-at-my-altar @six-call @yuki254 @honeylovemoon @Beckiej0073-blog @baebeepeach @cecehensonn @catgirlpwr @magimtz23 @perle-noir @adaydreamaway08 @hufflepuffobsessedwithmarvel @thatgirljayy @sugasthreedollarkookie @laylaskywalker @fandomonetwo @fruitylilfuck @haroldpotterson @gangstalicious06 @elijahssuit @ellabellabus07 @scarletdfox @halleest @sunflowerleii @shara-ne @nngkay @mar @saltedcoffeescotch @thecollectorofwords @gabi-princesada1d @zealouscookierebeltrash @sleepilysworld @laylasbunbunny @treatiseofselena @american-staness @cevans-winchester @brittany-appleyard24 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ivory-raptor @euphoria1992 @mrknightsgirl @hopexargent @druigsluver29 @Fresita1218 @sunsetmaverick @rebelbagel @mrknightsgirl @missfunsize @shara-ne

[hurtcomfortficstilltheend]

Sometimes it's just better (not to know).

Chapter two: Killed by uncertainty

Lucy Carlyle x gn! Reader

Summary: Is this supposed to be the calm before the storm?

Warnings: not much, maybe a nap that lasts too long lmao

Word Count: 950

Your boots are too tight. You don’t like them one bit, but you had made the decision to buy new ones for cold winter nights -with equally cold Visitors-, and now you have to live with rock solid shoes, at least until they soften a little with use.

Your rapier is in place in your belt, and so are your salt bombs and greek flares. You had -against Anthony’s wishes for the team to take a week-long break- decided to take back your verdict on the Geralds case.

You had just gotten out of the library, a while after the reading that ruined your morning (and maybe your life too), all puffy eyes and incoming migraine, when you bumped into George. 

-

“Have you already called the client?” 

There was a frown forming on his face, “I was just about to do that.” He held up the folder where you assume he must have had the contact number. He seemed impatient and irritated, you didn’t blame him.

“Don’t bother, we are going tonight, as scheduled.”

His grimace was replaced by a look of surprise, but he covered it quickly and turned around to head to the basement.

You went right up the stairs and flopped on your bed. You didn’t notice Lucy in the corner of the room until you heard her speak (for a second there you thought she would actually be feeding Skull biscuits, just out of spite). “What was all that about?”

Startled, you turned around and held your body up in your elbows.

“Nothing. I was wrong. We’ll do the Geralds’ case tonight, as planned, so we better start preparing in a little bit.” 

“You sound like you’ve been crying.” She stated, simply.

“Allergies, you know how much dust there is in the library. I was just talking to Lockwood about a new brand of salt bombs that seems to be more effective in dissipating ectoplasm.”

“Love, we make our own salt bombs.” She caught up on your bullshit too fast.

“Did I say salt bombs? I ment flares- greek fires. Remember the other day and how that cold maiden didn’t react to our usual ones?” 

Lucy walked closer to the bed, she kneeled beside it to be the same height as your face. Her calloused fingers found their way to your cheeks. “You know you can talk to me. About anything.” 

You leaned into the touch, closed your eyes, and tried to enjoy the moment. “I know. I’m gonna take a 30 minute nap, and then help you with the chains.” You took her hands in yours, pulled her a little bit. “Wanna join me?”

She rolled her eyes but laid down with you until you fell asleep.

-

“Should I go wake them? There is only a few hours till sundown.” 

“No, let them rest. I’ll get their chores, what was it? Snack packing?”

“Chain oiling.” The pair headed to the office to get the duffel bags prepared. “What happened today? They were so out of themselves, I’ve never seen them like this.”

“It was just a rough night. Believe me, this happens more than you’d think. A beauty nap is all it takes for them to get back to normal.” Even as Lockwood said this, he didn’t seem convinced. “That is assuming we don’t get their post-nap grumpy mood. I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy.” He chuckled lightly.

Lucy’s lips twitched, right about to form a smile, but she noticed her friend was avoiding answering the question. She knew how closed off you Lockwoods’ could be; after all, it took a year for Anthony to show her the room on the landing, and two years and a half for you to admit your feelings for her, but she wished it wasn’t so difficult to get some actual information. The team was founded on trust, and survival depended on how well you communicated with each other goddammit.

-

What was supposed to be a half hour nap turned into an I-have-only-forty-minutes-left-to-prepare-for-the-case-’cause-I-slept-six-hours-non-stop nap, which was quite inconvenient. Still, you managed to get ready, apologize for the lack of help on the iron chain department, and chug up half a liter of water on one go, before getting into the waiting night cab.

This is fine, and your boots don’t bother you, and neither does the little tag on the neck of your shirt that you forgot to cut out (again), or the judgy stares you are receiving from George, or the worried ones from your cousin, or the feeling that very soon everything will end. You are perfectly fine, and this is just another day on the job.

From the moment you get to the house, to the moment you emerge from it, everything goes smoothly. The source is easy enough to find, and the Visitor turns out to be a weak type one, not the type two you were expecting. The client paid full price anyway, and the team got back safe and sound.

It was all perfect. And that was alright. More than alright, actually, it was marvelous, but something felt wrong. You knew there was something about to happen. You wouldn’t admit it, but you wish it had been a rawbones or an impromptu cluster, the Geralds’ case that is. It would have been a pain in the ass, that’s for sure, but you had already gotten out alive from situations like that, and such a vile set of apparitions would have fulfilled the readings’ prophecy. Maybe. 

The anticipation that had started in your chest was unbearable. You wanted to get it over with as soon as possible, but still, you felt it wasn’t going to be that easy. It never was.

Taglist: @myownpainintheass @superpositvecloudshipper @carpinchodetecta

A/N: I would love to hear (read) what you think! Hope you enjoyed :)

This story is lowkey stuck, but just because I finished The Creeping Shadow like a month ago, and I haven't started The Empty Grave cause I'm in denial, I don't want to finish the series T-T

[bruh-myguy-what]

If Not Him, Perhaps Me

Good evening again, my friends! I have chapter 2 all ready! It wasn’t totally proofread, so I might have to be updating and fixing it as I reread it later but I was so excited to post the second chapter I couldn’t wait lol I also super appreciate all the comments on the first chapter. It really helps encourage me to continue writing! So keep commenting if you want! I love it haha

If you want to be tagged, just let me know!

So here it is!

Enjoy~

_____________________________________

Chapter 1

Pairing- Thrawn x f!reader x Luke Skywalker

Summary- You finally meet the Grand Admiral himself and the conversation is intriguing for the both of you.

Word Count- 2K+

Warnings- Mentions of kidnapping

______________________________________

Bright lights glared painfully against your eyelids. The ringing in your ears coming back with a vengeance but finding its home near the back of your head in a raging migraine. Consciousness still felt as if it were a distant dream, but you were steadily grappling it with shaking hands, pulling yourself toward the blinding light. Soon your shoulders ached with the stiffness of tension and the feeling of hard steel beneath you.

‘Where am I?’ The thoughts swirling in your mind were flimsy and challenging to gather into a lucid form, but you still tried to make sense of yourself. Full consciousness continued to grow closer and closer but as it did, the realization that you weren’t aboard the Falcon anymore was also becoming increasingly troubling. Trying as best you could to recall where you were and how you got there was proving even more difficult than stringing together a cohesive thought. Your eyes wouldn’t obey your demand to open, and your limbs felt weighed down as if by lead, numbing your body. ‘Luke,” your mind strayed to the man who’d left you alone with Chewbacca and Leia to assist Han and as you lay against cold steel in thought, you heard a series of boots thud closer toward you.

Then you remembered suddenly where you were. “Get up, woman,” a gruff modulated voice spat in irritation, “the Grand Admiral wants to see you.” The Grand Admiral. That’s right! You’d been kidnapped by Storm Troopers and brought onto an Imperial Star Destroyer. The last memory you had was the white armored soldiers restraining you and giving you a drink of what you thought at the time was water. “Get her up, I think the drink is still in her system.”

“Really?” Another modulated voice sounded beside you, “that’s crazy, it’s been four days and it’s still affecting her this bad?”

Four days?! You’d be out for four days without any knowledge?! Groaning as the man beside you assisted you in sitting up, you were finally able to force your eyes open- as blurry as the atmosphere was, at least you could get some sort of idea where you were. “F-Four…d-days?“ You choked on the words, dryness aching your throat. It felt as if your vocal cords were dust and your mouth the sandy dunes of Tatooine. “We’ll get her some water on the way to the Grand Admiral’s office.” The one at the door explained as his partner lifted you to your feet.

Desperately, your bleary eyes tried to focus on the surroundings you passed. To memorize what it looked like to be in an Imperial Star Destroyer so whenever the knowledge was needed to be used in battle you could recount it perfectly, but the dryness wasn’t just plaguing your throat now- the bright lights overhead still blinding you. It was, you noticed, becoming easier to gain your own footing now, the troopers less rough and uncaring than you expected and it wasn’t long before you were at a door. After one of the Storm Troopers punched in a code, a soft hiss echoed through the quiet hall, and they ushered you inside.

“Who is this?” A whispering voice made you jump, nearly into the ceiling you noticed but wouldn’t admit to anyone who asked. The small corridor was hardly lit, and the hissing voice seemed bodiless.

It made you feel better when one of the men beside you cursed under his breath just enough for you to hear. “Stop sneaking up on people like that, Rhuk. We’re likely to shoot you if you aren’t careful.” The trooper seemed anything but pleased at the sudden start and there was only a hissing chuckle in the dark.

“I am the admiral’s protector, and I shall do my job as arranged.” So, the Grand Admiral had a bodyguard? Not just the Storm Troopers? Another note you placed in the back of your mind for later as the door before you in the darkness whooshed open, itself.

As you were ushered forward again the room you stepped into was surprising. What you had expected from a Grand Admiral’s office was bright overhead lights like the halls that stretched around the ISD, large murals displaying their awards, and perhaps some Galactic Empire paraphernalia to show their “pride” in the imperial navy. But what you were greeted with instead was practically an art gallery with dimmed lights that were backlighting a tall structure that had what looked like furry lizards strewn about it.

But what truly astounded you was the man sitting behind the desk, awaiting your position before him to be to his liking before he spoke. He wasn’t a man, at all. His skin was a surprisingly blue color, nearly sapphire in the dark lighting, dark hair that gleamed its own shade of cobalt, his features serious and thoughtful as you stood in front of the large grey desk now. The facial feature that struck you the most was the all-consuming eyes that sat framed by long dark lashes. The piercing red gaze was disturbing as they narrowed at you, his mouth and chin hidden behind steepled fingers- he was studying you.

“Ya know,” you began, quietly at first, “you had already kidnapped me. I think the drugging was a tad bit overkill.” The sarcasm in your voice made one blue-black eyebrow raise in question, but that was the only movement out of the Grand Admiral sitting before you. Shifting in your wrist shackles, you huff indignantly. “I mean, it was a little nicer than waking up on the cold steel floor, I guess.”

Without a response, the admiral stood from his chair. His stature was imposing, far taller than you’d expected him to be too, you noted. To your surprise- again- he smiled at you politely. “I apologize that your time aboard my ship has not been to your liking.” The voice. Your mind went blank, and eyes widened at the deep, warm voice that came from his lips. The evidence of a life lived speaking a foreign language you probably never even heard accentuating the syllables he spoke. Before you recognized it, the alien man was standing directly in front of you, eyes studying you still as he placed his arms behind him. His entire air seemed noble, regal…Imperial.

No wonder he was a Grand Admiral.

He carried every bit of his title in his stance and your heart ached with uncertainty. But before uncertainty turned to apprehension, the admiral smiled again as he spoke, “Would you, perhaps, mind giving me your name?”

Your eyes narrowed this time. Just because he was intimidating didn’t mean he was going to scare you immediately. “If this is a game, I’m not going to play. You kidnapped me, clearly, you know my name, or at least have some idea of who I am, or else I wouldn’t be here.”

It seemed as if his smile grew from your challenge. He was enjoying himself. “Perhaps,” he commented casually, “though, I prefer to be mannerly in certain circumstances. You are a woman, whether a prisoner of war or not, and I prefer to give you the respect you deserve.” When he saw that you weren’t budging, he let out a dissatisfied breath, as a father would a rebellious child and his face swiftly grew stern. “Very well if you insist. I am Grand Admiral Thrawn, warlord of the Galactic Empire. Welcome aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer; Chimera, (y/n).” Thrawn’s full title was so imposing it nearly knocked the wind out of you, but you purposefully gave no sign of fear.

“Grand Admiral, huh?” You replied interestingly, then changed your weight to one hip as you studied him this time. “But you aren’t human, how did you become a Grand Admiral?” Another smile appeared on his face- patronizing. You grumbled at the grin and stepped away to face the structure behind his desk, petting one of the furry lizards.

 “I am sure you are aware you weren’t brought to me to discuss my time in the Empire,” he almost sounded as if he were chuckling a little and it infuriated you. How could he be laughing so casually? “You see, I brought you here because you are of some importance to my cause.”

Rolling your eyes, you shifted your shackled hands once again, “you mean regaining power for the empire?” You scoffed sarcastically, “it isn’t happening, grand admiral.” The emphasis you put on his title caused one of the men to start forward, grabbing your arm painfully.

“Mind your tongue rebel scum!” He snarled candidly, “you will show the admiral respect.” At the gesture of Thrawn, the Storm Trooper unenthusiastically backed off, releasing your arm.

“You see, (y/n),” Thrawn started as he faced you again from across the room, “I am aware that Skywalker and Solo departed for a mission to aid Calrissian only a few days before we obtained you from the Millennium Falcon and while your capture does not suit my needs for gaining the power I seek for the Empire, it does satisfy someone who will help me gain that control.” So, you were just a pawn? Thrawn once again came to stand before you, his glowing eyes looking down his nose at you as the full weight of his power melted into your bones. “You will tell me everything about Skywalker that I need to know.”

“How do you presume I do that?” Your voice was less aggressive than you were hoping it would sound, but you met his eyes still. The glowing embers sparked with intelligence and wisdom piquing your curiosity briefly. “Do you honestly expect me to just give up someone I care about because you asked it of me?” It seemed as if directness surprised him for a moment because some of his severity eased. “I’m sorry,” you almost seemed genuine about it but, whether it was your exhaustion or your willingness to die for Luke without questions that calmed your nerves, you knew you weren’t going to give Thrawn what he was looking for, “but I’m not going to tell you anything about Luke.”

Thrawn was silent for a long while, gazing at your face, your features. Then he returned to his chair on the other side of his desk, calmly sitting down in the position you’d previously found him in. “Perhaps you can tell me a little about yourself then?” His voice was softer this time around, grabbing his datapad and scrolling through what you assumed were documents.

He was absolutely playing games this time, why on earth would he want to know anything about you? “Why? What do you possibly have to gain from wasting your time getting to know me?” It was becoming clearer that it was your exhaustion that made you apathetic to the idea of death now.

Thrawn peered up from his data pad slightly, the red peaking beneath dark lashes and the raising of the same one brow and he smirked at you, “call it curiosity, (y/n). I am a gentleman, after all. Since you will be staying aboard my ship for a while, I would like to know who I have in my barracks.” His eyes returned to the scrolling screen once again, “tell me,” he started, “are you someone I should be worried about breaking out?”

A short, self-deprecating laugh escaped your lips at his words. “yeah, I’m going to try to break out of my cell and do what? Fly out into chaos knows what by myself?” You shook your head, rolling your eyes, “I don’t think so. I don’t even know where in the galaxy we are. How would I ever have a chance of getting anywhere?” You shook the skirts of your dress as if to notify him of your compliance, “I’m not the fighting type, evidently.”

“Do not mistake me for a fool, (y/n),” Thrawn laid his datapad aside, sitting back into his chair, eyes stern again. “I am mindful of who you travel with and while you may not voluntarily partake in battle, you are proficient at self-defense. It would be unwise for Skywalker to not provide you with some manner of protection.”

You shrugged noncommittally, unnerved by his assumptions and how close they were to the truth. Luke had taught you many self-defense tactics and exactly what to do in case you were in trouble without him. Though it didn’t happen often, and you were always able to call for his help. “So I know a little self-defense to keep myself safe, do you think that’ll give me the confidence to fight myself free?”

“Then will you call for Skywalker's aid?”

Shaking your head immediately, you glared at him, “absolutely not.”

Thrawn smirked again, knowing you were catching on, “perhaps you would like to tell me why?”

“Because I’m not a fool either,” Thrawn smiled at your response- of course, you weren’t. He could already tell. “I’m not going to bring him to you. I’m not going to bring him straight into the heart of the Empire just to save me from you.”

“Interesting,” Thrawn mumbled softly, hand resting below his chin in thought, “you are intriguing, (y/n).”

It seemed as if it were the twelfth time you’d rolled your eyes at this guy, “I’m so happy you think so.” The sarcasm was getting difficult to contain anymore as you continued to go back and forth with Thrawn.

Chuckling, the Grand Admiral grabbed his datapad again, gesturing for the Storm Troopers to leave, “you shall return to your barrack and get some rest. Perhaps after you are well rested, we can continue this conversation.” He glanced at you once more before the troopers took you away, the stony gaze returning, “And you will tell me what I want to know.”

And with that, you were returned to the bedless, steel prison of your barrack to replay the conversational meeting you’d had with Grand Admiral Thrawn.

Tags:

@blueberry-thrawn @myevilmouse @agenteliix @blackmonitor @coffeeorsomething-irl @torchbearerkyle​

[therealgchu]

WIP Wednesday - Surprise To the Shore Snippet!

late post for the day. woke up with a killer migraine, but still went to work. went home when i realized that looking at anything for longer than 5 seconds caused vertigo. came home. so, only been up and at it since 2:30.

i finished the next chapter in To the Shore! but, it won't be published friday, as friday is my 23rd wedding anniversary, and me and the husband are off on a little jaunt. this is the first time we're doing something like this. i'm terribly excited <3. i'll publish it on sunday.

so, today you'll get a sneak peek from the next chapter.

ok, enough of the numbered list. tagging the coemancer crew, as always. you peeps are the best!

branes are funny. Seven Days was begging to be written, and i have about 2/3rds of it done. and, something about working that made some things clearer for To the Shore.

if you want to read the whole thing, it's here on ao3.

if you want to check out Seven Days, it's also here on ao3.

sneak peek incoming!

It took about a week of intermittent work to get the camera in working order. Sam and Barrett helped set up a dark room in the basement of the Lodge, clearing out the spare storage room. Once the work was done, Cora started photographing everything and anything she could find. Walter, once again, was instrumental in assisting her new hobby, as he was her source for acquiring film. He felt it was a good investment as it “recorded Constellation’s endeavors for posterity.”

She had a good eye for composition, but it was quite the learning curve to understand the mechanics of things like aperture speed, film grain, and lenses. And, there was both a craft and an art to developing the film. It was a couple weeks before decent enough photos were produced, for which Cora showed off proudly to the members.

The first batch she showed to her dad, especially one photo of which she was particularly proud of, and thought he’d like. It was of him and Hwa aboard the Razorleaf, with Hwa holding onto his arm and laughing. 

“Oh, gum drop,” Sam said, a little choked up, “this is beautiful. My mom used to show me pictures like this. Can I have this?” he asked. 

“Of course. I can always make a copy from the negative.”

“Thank you so much,” he whispered to Cora, and hugged her tightly. He let her go, sniffled, and wiped his nose. “I want to get this framed. Have you shown this to Hwa yet?”

“No, I thought you’d like to show it to her.”

Sam smiled widely, “That I would. This is the best gift I think I’ve ever received.” He gave Cora another hug. “Do you know where Hwa is? Is she in her room?”

“No, last I saw her, she was downstairs working on her armor.”

Sam headed down the stairs, two steps at a time, and found Hwa was tinkering with the Mantis helmet, head down and goggles on, soldering servos. He walked over and put his arm around her waist when she stood up. Hwa jumped a little, but calmed when she felt him kiss her neck. “Cora’s first batch of photos are done. I wanted to show this one to you,” he said, and handed her the photograph.

She briefly glanced at it. Her body went rigid and her breathing stopped. She stared at it a couple more seconds, then dropped the picture. She removed his arm from her waist. and without a word, left the basement, leaving Sam flabbergasted.

It took him several seconds to register what happened, it was so unexpected. He picked up the photo and stared at it, trying to see what had affected Hwa negatively. It was just a photo of them on the Razorleaf. He thought he looked kinda goofy, as he was grinning from ear to ear, probably told some terrible dad joke that Hwa loved so much. And, indeed, she was laughing hard, hanging off his arm. There was nothing else in the photo.

He walked back up to see if Hwa went to her room. Finding it empty, he checked the rest of the Lodge. No Hwa. He paused for a minute, and thought about where she would be. He headed to the Waterfall Promenade.

[outstandingblue]

Promises to Keep

Five - Pinky Promises

recom!miles quaritch x fem!na'vi oc

part five! i started cross-posting this on ao3 if you prefer that platform find it here

| Masterlist | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine |  Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen |

A second promise is made - under much more hospitable circumstances. Miles has no clue what he's just gotten himself into.

content warning: none word count: ~3.2k

Waking up for the second time in the cold, sterilized, metal holding cell was slightly less traumatizing for Jiniraa. Her memories of recent events came through clearer and easier, reminding her that she had been taken prisoner by RDA. Her entire body was sore from remaining in a stagnant position, she couldn’t tell how long she’d been unconscious for, but it was enough to make her ready to fall back asleep, growing more tired by the second. 

She silently sat up on the table, finally realizing she wasn’t alone in the room. Her wide eyes found Quaritch leaning against the wall, reading through a holopad. As she twisted her body, hanging her legs off the table, his eyes shot up to meet hers. 

Although Miles had been in her holding cell for close to an hour, he hadn’t been able to take in her full appearance till now. Her eyes were a darker hue than his own - closer to a forest green found on Earth. He had already noticed how her body was thicker and softer than the typical member of the Omaticaya clan. Her limbs were still long, but they had more weight to them, more muscle, more softness. Rather than an eerily slim torso, Miles took note of the plump nature of her stomach and breasts. She looked soft. Too soft to be in a place like this. Around people like him. 

“Ah, awake again.” He slid the holopad into one of his many pockets, softly clapping his hands together. “How ya feelin’, sweetheart?”

She didn’t have the energy to put on a snarky front. Her head was already beginning to pulsage, quickly growing to become a migraine in the making.

“Like I was shot out of a tree then tortured to the point of falling unconscious.” She brought the heel of her hand up to rub her eyes, trying to alleviate the pressure mounting in her skull. 

Miles hummed and moved across the room in two quick strides, sitting himself against the table next to her. He was shocked how she didn’t try to distance herself away from his body, but in reality she was in too much pain to worry about that right now. 

“Well, I got two options for you, kid, it’s your choice what you pick.” He paused as she opened both her eyes to look at him. “Option one: I hand you back to the lab coats and they keep doing that over and over until your brain is mush or you give up answers.”

Her ears flattened against her face and he chuckled the slightest bit, “yeah, I didn’t think you’d like that one. That brings up to option two - you ride along with me and my unit. Now, I won’t ask you to betray Sully or your people, just help us learn a bit.”

She looked down, tail swishing. Neither option was perfect. She knew he was right - they’d turn her brain to mush without second thought to try and get information. Maybe even kill her. On the other hand, she definitely didn’t want to help Quaritch or his unit in their mission. Even if she wasn’t leading them directly to Sully, any assistance she offered would indirectly further the mission. 

“I don’t know what’s goin’ on in that head of yours, but this may help you decide. Spider already agreed to option two. You do the same and I’ll make sure you two stick together.”

Jiniraa’s gaze returned to Miles, but she didn’t say anything yet. That basically sealed the deal. She’d be stupid to choose option one - they both knew that. This really wasn’t even a choice to make. Still, she paused. 

Miles waited impatiently for Jiniraa to voice her opinion. What he didn’t expect was a small blue hand raising up between the pair, pinky outstretched. A finger she technically shouldn’t even have.

“What’s this, sweetheart?” He laughed a little bit.

“A pinky promise,” she began, her voice unwavering, “Jake told me how they’re used in promises between people. If one person breaks their end of the promise, the other gets to cut their pinky off.”

“And what’s the deal we’re makin?”

“I will accept option number two. I promise to help you and your little group with Spider.” She paused. “And you will promise me not to hurt any of the children - Spider and the kids. That is all that matters to me.”

Miles contemplated the bargain for a minute. It was useless to ask him to spare Jake, so she didn’t even try. As for the children, they were innocent in all this. They had no place in this war. Miles admired how much she cared for these children; he’d seen it in the forest days ago, but this reaffirmed it. She didn’t even ask for anything for herself, only the safety of the kids. Looking into her hardened eyes, it was clear how much this meant to her.

“It’s a deal.” He wrapped his pinky around hers, sealing their promises to each other.

●●●

It was impossible for Jiniraa to track how much time had passed since she arrived in her bland holding cell. The artificial lighting and cold walls made it difficult to sleep, so she couldn’t rely on her internal body clock either. It’s not like she was sleeping anyway. 

The deep circles under her eyes were enough proof. Back at home, Jiniraa was used to sleeping around people all the time. People who had each other's backs and looked out for one another. Here, she was all alone. Sleeping put her in too vulnerable of a position. She’d only sleep when her body absolutely gave out on her, but those restless sleeps only lasted twenty minutes before she’d jolt awake again. 

She’d also been refusing to eat - both on principle and because the food was disgusting. When Miles threatened to force feed her if she continued on her hunger strike she ate just enough to get him off her back. 

Each day, Miles would come in with food. It was the same routine: he would offer her food and then sit against the opposite wall, trying to coax information out of her. She refused to give up anything major, but she did agree to teach him the language.

Deep down, she hoped if he kept learning the language, she wouldn’t have to speak as much in English. She spoke English much more fluently than other members of the Omaticaya, primarily because of how much time she spent with the human scientists, but it was still tiresome to keep translating things in her head. 

“Sa’nok.” Their language lessons had been pretty basic, Jiniraa was teaching Miles the same way she taught children of the village. She would never tell him out loud, but he was the slowest learner she’d ever had. 

“Say-nook.” Miles tried again. 

“Not even close.”

“I said it exactly how you just said it.” Miles argued back. She didn’t respond, only raising an eyebrow. Miles grumbled, “sa’nook.”

“Better. Again - Sa’nok.”

“Sa’nok,” he correctly enunciated. She raised her hands in triumph, a little excited noise escaping her throat. Miles sat up a little straighter, proud of himself. 

“Now, what does Sa’nok mean?” Jiniraa quizzed.

“Not a single clue.” Miles deadpanned back, completely serious.

Jiniraa fell backwards against the cold floor with an exaggerated sigh. She brought a single arm up, shielding her eyes from the blinding fluorescents.

In the days since Miles and Jinraa sealed their pinky promises, he noticed her gradually opening up, showing the tender and gentle sides of her personality. Jiniraa was becoming more comfortable in his presence. 

“Do you pay attention to anything I teach you? It means mother.” Jiniraa responded, speaking directly up at the ceiling. She continued to lay flat against the ground.

“That’s exactly why I don’t remember. How is knowing Mother in Na’vi going to help my mission?” He crossed his arms, pouting like a toddler. Miles fully expected her to shoot a snide remark back, but she remained silent. The slow rise and fall of her chest was memorizing, utterly calming. 

They remained quiet for a few moments, both basking in the peace. Miles decided to test that peace, see how far he could toe the line before getting his head bit off. Poking the bear could be fun. 

“Are you a mother?” Miles asked as he began to grow uncomfortable in the silence, but instantly regretted the question he prompted. 

She didn’t flinch on the floor as she processed the question. If she had, Miles certainly would’ve seen it. His eyes were glued to every little movement and minute twitch. 

“In Na’vi and I’ll answer,” she wanted to see just how badly Miles wanted the answer. He rolled his eyes, even though she couldn’t see it. 

He translated in his head for a few long seconds, the tension in the room continued to grow as more time passed. Right as Jiniraa opened her mouth to make a sarcastic comment, she was cut off. 

“You are Mother?” Miles’ broken Na’vi made her ears and tail twitch. A movement his eyes caught immediately. He swallowed as she lifted her arms off her face, rolling over to look at him.

“You butchered that, but it was a decent try.” Miles watched, entranced as she sat back up on her knees. “But to answer your question, no. I am not a Mother.”

“Not even that little one? From the forest?” Miles watched as her eyes fell to the ground, images of that night were flashing in front of her. The mourning spread across her face was like a punch to the gut. 

“Her name is Tuk, but no. She’s not mine.” Miles grew used to her longer than necessary remarks and sarcastic jokes. This matter-of-fact and to the point talking was not something he was used to.

For a moment, Miles contemplated his next options. He could let the conversation end there or see how much more he could get out of her. See exactly where her threshold was.

“You gotta husband?”

“Do you actually care?” There was a fire behind her eyes as they rose back to meet him. 

“Not particularly,” he was trying to play it cool, “just need to know if I should expect an angry Na’vi comin’ after me lookin’ for his woman.” 

He brought the respirator up to his face, suddenly feeling like the air was sucked out from his lungs. 

“First, we have mates. They’re more than a spouse. Second, you should speak more highly of women. We are not property. We are equal to our mates.”

He had more questions, but he didn’t want to ask. Not today at least. He could practically feel the anger radiating from her body. That seemed to be her threshold. Enough poking the bear for a day. 

Over the past week, he also found himself actually interested in the Na’vi way of life, looking forward to the time he spent with Jiniraa and Spider one-on-one trying to absorb as much information as possible. He didn’t want to seem actually interested in the Na’vi way, well aware of the dozens of eyes watching from the one way glass and cameras stationed around the room. 

Jiniraa was stuck in her own thoughts, pulled out as Miles rose from the ground. He took a moment to stretch his arms, his body was sore from being on the ground so long. She knew he was ugly on the inside, so she hated admitting how physically attractive it was. She tried to hide her intrigue, watching him from the corner of her eye as his muscles flexed under the green tank top.

Miles was well aware he had her full attention, even if she tried to hide it. Over the past few days, he learned to read her body language pretty well. He made sure to stretch a few seconds longer than necessary, reveling in her attention. 

“I think that’s enough language class today.” Miles stopped stretching, putting his hands on his hips. Jiniraa looked up at him, rolling her eyes.

“You didn’t even learn anything.”

“That could be the fault of the teacher.” He offered back, enjoying the banter.

“Or an ignorant student,” she quipped back, only to realize he was holding his hand out. “What?”

“Let’s go. You need to stretch your legs. I have something else planned today.” She tried not to seem overly excited - it would be the second time she’d left the holding cell. Then she recalled what happened the first time and worry filled her eyes, afraid of being put back in the interrogation room. 

Miles could basically smell the worry radiating off the woman. He softened his eyes, offering his hand again. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fun. I promise.”

She didn’t respond or take his hand, but he watched as she began to stand. Using the wall as support, the sound of joints popping and cracking filled the room as she returned to her full height. Even standing completely upright, she barely reached the Recom’s chin. 

Eyes falling shut, she stretched her arms above her head, fingertips almost brushing the ceiling as she rose on her tiptoes. She shivered as she reached her full stretch. Miles had been aware of her gaze as he stretched, but Jiniraa was oblivious to his watchful eye when it was her turn. Rolling her shoulders back, she opened her eyes to see MIles standing with a cocked hip and one large hand resting on his belt, a slight grimace on his face.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but Na’vi bodies aren’t supposed to make sounds like that.”

“No, they aren’t.” She didn’t offer any additional detail, returning the cold and guarded persona from earlier. She tried to change the conversation, “so what exactly do you have planned for us?”

A wicked smirk rose on Miles lips, pulling back to reveal a sharpened canine. 

What have I gotten myself into? Jiniraa thought to herself.

●●●

“When you said you had something fun planned, this is not what I expected.” Jiniraa found herself standing in a large training room, set up with obstacles, weights, mats, and shooting targets. Before Miles had a chance to respond, Jiniraa had turned her head at the sound of a door opening. 

For the first time since the forest, she saw Spider. He was surrounded by a few of the Recom Marines, most notably Lyle who held him by the upper arm. She could already feel the tears accumulating in her eyes.

“Spider!” She yelled out, grabbing the attention of the teen. 

“‘Niraa!” Spider replied, quickly pulling away from Lyle’s grasp. The Marine didn’t resist much. The training center was locked anyway, it’s not like they were going anywhere.

Spider ran to Jiniraa. She took a few steps away from Miles, she bent down to the ground, waiting for Spider to reach her. When they reconnected, Spider wrapped his arms around her as best as possible, burying his face into the safety of her chest.

Jiniraa held him close. This is real. Spider is here. She kept telling herself over and over, afraid he would dissolve from her grasp. After her heart slowed, she peeled Spider away, holding him at arm's length as she checked him over. 

“Are you okay? Were you hurt? Did they hurt you at all?” She asked quickly in Na’vi.

“Hey - English,” Miles scolded from behind them. Spider hissed as she rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I am okay. I was hurt in the forest, but they treated me. Just little scrapes and bruises now. They did not hurt me.” Jiniraa didn’t believe the teenager. He had a habit of understating his injuries, often embarrassed of his human qualities and afraid of being treated as weak by his Na’vi friends. Jinraa continued checking him over, still not completely convinced this was real. 

“‘Niraa, I promise I am okay,” he laughed. She pulled him into a tight hug, this time to comfort herself. Tears began to fall from her eyes, she didn’t do anything to try and stop them. 

The rest of the Recom unit had migrated behind the reunited pair, standing around the Colonel, awaiting further instructions. No one noticed how Miles repositioned himself to keep Spider and Jiniraa within his line of sight. 

“What about you, are you okay?” Spider pulled away. Jiniraa smiled and wiped a tear from her face.

“I am okay, sweet boy.” Spider narrowed his eyes at her as she laughed, lightly pushing his shoulder as she stood back. Miles noticed how she kept Spider slightly behind her as they approached the group again. Before they stopped, he could hear Spider whispering to Jiniraa.

“You’re limping worse than usual, you liar.” He hit her in the thigh. In retaliation, her tail hit him in the back of the head.

“I’m fine,” she waved a dismissive hand to the human, who then turned his attention directly towards Quaritch.

“You bastard, have you been keeping her stuff from her?”

“What-” Miles couldn’t even get a full question out before he was cut off. 

“Spider, enough.” Jiniraa narrowed her eyes on the teen. A few of the Recoms swallowed, standing a little straighter at the tone she used. Miles himself included. 

Miles and Jiniraa made eye contact and he raised a brow. Care to explain written across his face. She acted like she didn’t see.

Miles cleared his throat and turned to the rest of the unit, clapping his hands together to get their attention.

“Alright, listen up. We’re just gonna run a few drills and exercises inside today. See what these two can do and see which one is gonna be the bigger liability. We have time for everyone to limber up. You have ten minutes. Go.”

Everyone but Lyle turned away from the Colonel, spreading out throughout the large room. Some of the Recoms partnered up, chatting as they stretched while others went solo, already sprinting a lap around the perimeter.

“What’s the goal here, boss?” Lyle crossed his arms over his chest. The Marines looked to the pair in front of them. Spider and Jiniraa were in their own world, conversing amongst themselves in Na’vi. It was pointless to try and make them switch to English.

“Just demonstrate to these two what our unit is capable of. If we’re going out into the field with them, they need to be a little afraid at least. Plus, we need to see if they’re capable of anything themselves. The kid had a bow, he’s probably decent at that. She doesn’t seem like the fighter type.” Lyle snorted. “What?”

“She brought Ja to his knees in the forest.”

“Is that so?” Miles focused on the woman laughing in front of him. His language was rudimentary at best, but he was pretty sure they were mocking him. Something about his ears. Lyle took his leave, jogging over towards Mansk.

“Hey, knuckleheads!” Miles called to the pair. “I suggest you two at least stretch as well. You aren’t just gonna be spectators today.”

Next: Six - Meeting the Team

[queenofbaws]

i had SO hoped to be able to post a lil somethin for ud's bday but ALAS. i ended up getting a surprise migraine last night and things didn't go that way.

if anyone would like an(other) itty-bitty sneak peek of what i've been working on, feel free to glance down below that readmore. i decided this is going to be my "be the change you want to see in the world" project, and one of the many changes i want is moRE MATT AND ASHLEY BEING BESTIES* AHHHHHHHHHHH

*and maybe MORE? 👀

“I’m sorry,” Ashley said again, walking alongside him as the lodge came into view.

He took a deep breath, let it out, and did his best to push past it. For the moment, that was. Tonight was going to be hard enough on its own; he didn’t want to make things any worse than they needed to be.

Not for Ashley, anyway.

“I’m not,” he lied, flashing her a smile. “Guess I’m glad to know what I’m up against, if that makes sense. I’ll…I’ll figure it out. I mean, it’s better that I don’t get my hopes up, right? Keeps me from looking like some kind of oblivious idiot later.”

She sighed and crossed her arms, looking down at her boots as they crunched their way through the snow. “I’m still sorry,” she muttered, her voice small and sad, “I’ll totally get it if you hate me for showing you. Or for almost not showing you. Both were pretty crappy choices.”

“Hate you?” he snorted, surprised enough that he stumbled a step and had to catch himself from faceplanting. “For what? You didn’t do anything, Ash! Why would I hate you?” He regretted it as soon as he said it, his earlier thoughts about Josh and Hannah and the prank rising up to fill the silence between them. He stumbled again, scrambling to catch himself in a different sort of way. “Besides, I don’t know about you, but I haven’t forgotten about that pact we made in seventh grade.”

“Oh God!” She cupped her hands over her ears, blocking him out. “Shut up shut up shut uuup!”

“If I hated you, who would I marry if it turns out we’re both still single at thirty? I’d have no one! So I guess we have to be good forever. No hating allowed, all right?”

That got her. A surprised laugh fogged the air on her side of the path as they walked, her head dipping into her hands for, again, different reasons. “Of course you’d bring that up…of course you would! We were twelve!”

“I’m just saying,” he kept joking, relieved to see that lifting her spirit was buoying his own, “things are looking a little shaky for me right now! So unless Chris finally got the message and started making moves—” one glance told him Chris had not, in fact, done either of those things, “—I think we need to stay on friendly terms, you and me! I’ve heard thirty sneaks up on you, you know.”