October Moon

Sex, Drugs, Etc.

pt.7

Warnings: Talk of drugs/Drug use. Possible smut in the future. Emotional Numbness. SH. A lot of plot. EXTREME Canon divergence. Before Maddies time. Set in 2022. This is NOT meant to romanticize addiction or mental illness.

1.3k words

pt.6

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The sound of the bell ringing as you left the gym began to give you a headache. You’ve heard it repeatedly in life and the idea of it playing over and over again every hour for eternity adds to the list of things you hate about this place. Death is just one big loop, it's repetitive no matter how much Mr.Martin tries to make it feel more natural. 

“So I was thinking Rudy for tonight.” Again with Wally. He hasn't even questioned you on your weird behavior from earlier. You expected at least a little judgment but it never came. Golden fucking retriever. 

“If you want a football movie I'd pick Remember the Titans.” The memory of watching it for the first time in 8th grade history made a slight smile creep onto your face. You cried like a baby. 

Wally’s face lit up. “That is a great choice.” He seemed way too hyped to watch a movie he's probably seen a million times but then again this place makes the tiniest things feel like pure ecstasy and that's coming from personal experience with the stimulant. 

You didn’t know where you were going. Ducking and weaving through kids despite the others insisting there was no point because the living can't touch you. You feel somehow light as a feather but also like there are two fifty pound weights holding you down, giving you flashbacks to the pool where Wally still wants to teach you how to swim. You knew you couldn’t go back there, not after what happened so when he asked you changed the subject, dodging it like laced weed. That's what led you up to this conversation. 

“Do we set up in the gym?” It sounds like the worst possible place to watch a movie. The smell of sweat and body odor constantly sticking in the air from the boys who got way too hyped during dodgeball. 

“Yeah, we pull out couches and chairs and set up the projector.” Perfect, another few hours spent in that huge room that always felt somehow cramped. It was more of the idea of being surrounded by dead kids that made your skin crawl. It reminds you that you’re not the only one who has suffered in this hell hole. Kids, you’re all kids trapped in this place. Never finding out what you could have done for the world. 

Wally continued to ramble about movie night but you zoned out as soon as your eyes landed on her. Mags, she looks scared. The sight of Mr.Hartman talking to her with a serious sorrowful look on his face makes your heart sink. Kids are walking into class around her like nothing happened. This is it, she knows. She knows you’re not coming back. She knows this isn’t like last time when you ran away for a few days. She knows you're dead. 

The look of dread that consumes her, tears filling in her eyes, makes you want to scream. Just like that it’s back. Emotions turning back on like she accidentally flipped a switch without knowing it. They were just begging to burst out of you. To flood the school with your presents. To let everyone know you’re still here, that you can’t leave. Trapped, looking at her pitiful face because now she knows and it’s your fault. She’s hurt because of you. 

The sound of Wally’s voice pulled you back to reality, the ringing in your ears clearing as you realized there are silent tears flowing down your face. You don’t look at him but you know where his gaze lands, right on the girl with beautiful caramel skin and perfect tight curls. He doesn't say anything, just wraps one arm around your shoulder and pulls you in close to him. You don’t resist it, his comfort feels like needles because you don’t deserve it but the thought of pushing him away made you feel like you were gonna fall off the face of the planet. 

You couldn’t hear what they were saying and didn’t want to. You kept your distance, watching him walk her to the front office, probably so her mom, the woman you call your mother, can pick her up. This one felt like a stab through the heart, the blade twisting slowly as your blood sprayed, covering everyone in your pain. 

You didn’t speak as you turned to Wally, fully wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his chest. Your silent tears turned into ugly sobs as you held onto this poor boy like a lifeline. You were shaking, body feeling like it was going to go limp when he wrapped both his arms fully around you, holding you up so you wouldn’t sink to the floor. 

It didn’t feel real. Nothing did, all a fucked up fever dream that you were gonna wake up from any minute now, but you knew better than that. That would be mercy, something you don’t deserve. Hell you don’t deserve the boy gripping you tightly but yet here you are, taking more than you deserve. 

You didn’t want to leave his warm embrace but it felt wrong to stay put. The scent of his cologne daring you to pull away as you soak his shirt in your tears. Weak, you felt weak for putting yourself on full display like this. Your emotions raw and untainted by the voices in your head screaming at you to bottle it up. It felt nice, freeing, but the guilt was all consuming. 

Reluctantly you pulled away, keeping your head down to save yourself the torture of seeing what you knew would be pity written all over his face. You stood there with shaky legs, staring at your hand as you forced your tears to a minimum, not allowing them to flow into a river that would sink everyone around you. 

“Thank you.” Was all you said, voice shriveled and broken before you turned and ran. You could hear him start to say something then he cut himself off, knowing it would be no use. You were already gone, legs moving as fast as they could to escape whatever fucked up reality you found yourself in. 

You hid in the first empty place you could find, a supply closet. It was dark, cramped, and smelled like chemicals but it’s better than balling your eyes out in the middle of the hallway. Isolation was the safest option. The best way to protect your own sanity. 

-

“Are you ok-” The words died in Wallys throat as he watched you run away. It was a stupid question, of course you weren’t okay, your worlds distorted. It’s nothing new, death is a dark confusing thing that leaves everyone lost. He understands, he just wishes you’d lean on him more often like that.

The feeling of your warmth still clung to him. Nothing new, he’s felt the sad sorrowful touch before but something about yours bloomed a new feeling within him. He knew you weren't ready, the look on your face when you ran away said it all but he can’t help but be curious. He wants to hold you like that more, to tell you that it’s all gonna be okay, that you have nothing to be scared of. 

What an odd feeling. It left him wanting more, wishing for more. It sounds selfish but he wants to be the one to comfort you through your pain. He knows hiding won’t heal anything yet he let you go, watched you run away to drown in your own self pity. The memory of him locking himself in the locker rooms when he saw his mom for the first time since his last moments clung to the air. Self pity was all he felt, he understood but you wouldn’t allow yourself to open up enough to know that he knows your pain. 

Hell, maybe he doesn’t know exactly what you’re going through but he can grasp it enough to hold you one more time, that’s all he wants. The touch of another.

pt.8

Unofficial tag list: @gabbyygoo

October Sun

summary: you'd never told Xavier. not because he hadn't been a good friend, but because you'd kept a secret no one but you had known. only then, in the eye of the storm, you'd been forced to tell him: i can't remember.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

sorry for the delay, loves, work was overwhelming (it's busy season) and i'm sick and it was a lot 😩⚰️ ilyg 🫶

bon reading, frens

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OCTOBER SUN pt.25

In 1987, during the period Wally had still been reluctant to join the Afterlife Support Group, Mr. Martin had asked Bernie to ask Wally to help Mina Volkov transition from life to death. You're from the same decade—Mr. Martin's words from Bernie's mouth—she probably remembers you. Although, looking back, Wally wondered if it hadn't been a strategic play to get Wally to see the benefits of togetherness.

For the first time since his death, Wally had felt useful, but it'd backfired almost immediately and had sent him into a tailspin of doubt and frustration that'd lasted another five or so years. Mina had simply yelled at Wally about a safety course and how she hadn't been responsible for who got what part, barking at Wally until he'd descended from the rafters with his tail between his legs. He'd tried a few more times after their first encounter to cajole Mina out of her roost, and he'd been chased away every time.

So, color him surprised when Mina quietly accepted the bouquet Maddie handed her, tempered, receptive, and willing to offer what she knew by lifting and dropping the stage's trapdoor.

"How did she do that?" Wally asked of Maddie, who'd done in a minute what he'd tried to do over the span of years.

"Maybe it has something to do with what your girlfriend mentioned," Rhonda said in long, bored strokes, "Maddie might have ghost powers that she can use to tame even the most stubborn dead stagehands."

Wally warmed at Rhonda's use of the word 'girlfriend', cheeks flushing and heart picking up speed. He hadn't given much thought to titles, but something inside him did somersaults at the idea that you and he were that kind of official.

"Stop that." Rhonda smacked him lightly in the chest with the back of her hand.

Wide-eyed and totally confused, "Stop what?"

"Your face," Charley explained, "It's gone all soft and pining." Then, to himself, "It's actually adorable."

Wally rearranged his expression into something less smitten as he, Rhonda, and Charley stood and followed Maddie through the trapdoor and down into the cellarage.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Time stammered to a stop, the walls closed in; lights dimmed, noise ceased, and all you could see was Xavier. His ice-wild eyes filled with fear and confusion, already positioned on the defensive, more disturbed than you'd ever seen him before.

"Zav?" You croaked as your heart thundered in your chest. "Are you—?"

"No." Xavier snapped, pacing a few steps forward and then back, "Don't. Just. Stop..." He deflated instantly, rubbed his eyes, and raked his fingers through his hair, and then he demanded, "Who was that guy?"

You couldn't deflect; couldn't say no idea what you're talking about, couldn't fake it 'til you made it or wait for him to think up some plausible excuse on his own that you'd glom on to and ride into the sunset. It was Xavier and you'd promised yourself years ago that he'd be the one person in the world you'd never, ever lie to. Dance around the truth for self-preservation? Sure. But outright lie to him? Your instincts screeched and cried against it, fight-flight-frozen in place as you watched his eyes dart around, the flurry of his thoughts practically spilling out of him for you to hear.

The years you'd spent curating an occult personality, touched by the same incandescent, bewitched spirit as every other boho-goth girly with a penchant for Halloween and horror films; the admissions you'd made of having a crush on a ghost at the school; the easy way you talked about what lay beyond the spiritual veil. The many breadcrumbs you'd dropped in the form of red herrings rose like a bloated corpse from the depths of a lake as he viscerally pieced together the truth.

"I know what I saw." He grunted, falling back against the wall and sliding to the floor, head in his hands, wide eyes staring at his feet. "You were making out with some rando and then he just...vanished into thin air." Xavier made a poof-gone burst with his hands, head panning in a crescent to scan the hall for signs of what he'd witnessed.

"Xavier, I..." Didn't know what to say and your inability to explain everything away seemed to strengthen Xavier's resolve.

He sniffed, dropping his arms to hang on his knees, face creased in a pain you didn't know the source of. "I know I can be a shit friend," He began, tone thin as wet paper, but before you could voice a denial, he continued, "I know that everything with Maddie has...has been hard and it's obviously triggered something for you, but..." And his voice scratched, "I thought I was your best friend."

"You are," You insisted, trying so hard to convey how true the sentiment was.

"Yeah? Then why don't you ever talk to me about Aidan?" A blade to the heart. "Why won't you tell me what the fuck actually happened to him? I loved him, too." The blade twisted, sinking deeper. "I know it wasn't an accident, May; I know you saw something; I know you were there." The nickname hurt for more reasons than one, and it took everything in you not to call Xavier out. "Why don't you ever share anything with me? And now you're buddy-buddy with Simon and handsy with a guy you can't. tell. me. wasn't Walker Clark—fucking Number 57 right on his jacket, DEAD high school legend." Xavier paused his tirade to note, "Jesus Christ, I sound fucking crazy," knocking his head against the wall and squeezing his eyes shut.

Your surprise bubbled out of you before you could reel it back in, "How do you even know any of that?"

Xavier slumped in defeat, shook his head, and confessed, "You always talked about him. How your mom fangirled after him worse than a K-pop stan." He snorted, "In sophomore year, when Eli asked you out? You wouldn't stop joking about how you thought a stupid ghost was more your type." He looked up at you then, gaze misty, brows pinched in anguish. "I wanted to see what the hype was about...so I checked out the '84 yearbook in the library. There's a whole spread dedicated to his memory, did you know that?"

You did. You'd been shown a printout of it along with the rest of Wally's dossier. "Yeah."

"I mean, I thought you'd just looked it up, too." Xavier laughed without humor, "Thought you were just bullshitting for the sake of some manic pixie dream girl vibe you wanted to try out because being a teenager's fucking stupid like that, but..." Again, his gaze met yours, held it briefly as he stared into your soul, and then skirted away, up and down the hallway before returning to fixate on the theater door. "Where'd he go, May?"

"Please stop calling me that." You said, hoarse, strangled, breath shortening as your lungs struggled to expand.

Xavier stood and strode forward until you and he were nose to nose, "Who was that?" He pressed, "Who just had their hands all over you and then disappeared just like that." The last word emphasized with a loud snap of his fingers.

"Zav, please, just hold on—"

He abruptly whirled around, stormed toward the theater door, and violently threw it open. You scurried after him, pleading with him to listen as he charged down the center aisle toward the stage, calling out for whoever you were to show himself as if to prove Xavier wasn't losing his mind. And he wasn't, you knew that, but how were you supposed to tell him without doing more damage than had already been done when you'd revealed yourself to Rhonda and Charley?

"Xavier, wait!" You yelled, panicked, divulging the only thing you thought might redirect his manic assault around the theater. "I didn't tell you about Aiden because I can't remember!"

Xavier stopped his search, still as an eerie pond in winter, and slowly turned to face you. "What?"

"I can't..." Fuck. You scraped your fingers over your scalp then shot your arms wide, "I can't remember." You revealed, voice cracking, "It comes back in bits and pieces that don't make...they don't make sense without the context and you're right, okay? I was there, but I can't remember. Not everything." The door, the farmhouse, blood, blood everywhere, a crowbar, and Aiden screaming for you, his Sissy May because your mother always called you her May child—her little baby girl a symbol of new hope and abundance that had nothing to do with Beltane or spring blessings or the month of May itself.

"What do you mean you 'can't remember'?" Xavier questioned, face scrunched up as if that was somehow crazier than the fact that he'd seen you and a literal ghost make out.

Tears streamed down your face, vision blurry, voice pitched and broken as the last thread of control you had on the situation split. "I don't know." Xavier shook his head in disbelief, compelling you to blurt out whatever you could to keep him calm, "I really don't know. Ms. Chung kept saying my brain was 'repressing the trauma' but I wanted to remember. We tried everything: Art therapy, guided imagery, fucking hypnosis, Xavier, and nothing worked. I can't...I can't remember anything after I picked Aiden up from school."

Panels of that drizzly afternoon read like a heavily redacted picture document. The short walk in the rain from the elementary schoolyard to the end of the block. The friendly smile on a face you knew you'd recognized but that now had a thick, black bar over the nose and eyes. The apple juice. The farmhouse cellar. The crowbar. The door. And then everything sped up from images to a movie reel when then-Deputy-Baxter had to wrestle you to the ground at the side of the dirt road while EMTs tried to resuscitate Aiden.

"I didn't tell you because there wasn't anything in here," You aggressively jammed your fingers into the side of your head as if attempting to unblock the memories, "to tell you. And it's fucked up and I'm sorry I didn't let you in, but I didn't know how. Half the time I didn't believe anything even happened because my fucking brain kept skipping over it."

Except you could remember one crucial detail: "Trust me, it takes four minutes before a person goes from attached to their earthen vessel to haunting the science lab." However, despite the awareness you possessed of having witnessed Aiden's death, your brain refused to evoke the visual memory.

You trembled, tortured by the fact that you hadn't been able to save your little brother, and you had no idea if you'd even tried. Ajay appeared at your side, his hand on your shoulder while his narrowed eyes were pinned on Xavier. As he prepared to say something, the trapdoor at the middle of the stage banged open and Wally climbed out, looking furious and ready for war.

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PART TWENTY-FOUR

note: Waiting for Godot is so stripped down that I disliked it immensely. also, please remember that time moves differently between the worlds of the living and the dead. so the 2 seconds it takes Xavier to lose his shit is, like, enough minutes in the metaphysical world for our ghost friends to find the forged receipt. like Narnia...it's been a thousand years O.o (iykyk)

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ABOUT THE TAGLIST: i'm afraid i am no longer updating or using the taglist. moving forward, if you'd like to keep up to date, please FOLLOW ME and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS. that thing took me to Hell and back, and we're no longer on speaking terms...😒

Alphabet Soup

summary: prompt fill. the journey of a clandestine love affair at several stages because Wally Clark craves what he can't have and refuses to keep his hands to himself. and you live for it.

pairing: grey!Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. AU - modern setting. romanticized toxic behavior. cheating. slice-of-life. egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

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Alphabet Soup - S

S is for the soft in-betweens. The silly, sweet, soppy moments Wally didn't expect to yearn for. Yet, here he is, coveting them like silver from the stars, stockpiling them in his heart beside childhood memories and first loves. Or, who he assumes are first loves, but the more time he spends with you, the less he's sure he ever experienced that.

Shit.

What he does know is that Janet is at Claire's lake house with the rest of the squad, a weekend away—no boys allowed, except Gabe because he makes the best blended margaritas—and Wally has the house to himself. His parents are in Michigan visiting Aunt Tal and your dad is busy with some lame staff retreat leaving you and Wally with nothing else to do but each other.

It's sybaritic, sexy, sensual, fucking supreme. First, he lures you into the house with the promise of snacks and a movie. Lowkey, innocent. He knows you know it's a scheme. Can see it in the way you stretch to expose a strip of belly and hipbone, the way you take your sweater off because it's, "too hot in here, Wally." Sure it is. And the seducer becomes the seducee because the next thing he knows you're on him, a strip-tease, a lap dance that leaves him panting, kissing him with intention. And, hell yeah, he likes this side of you. Bold. Bratty. Taking what you want when he doesn't give it to you at your pace.

He fingers you on the couch, eats you out on the coffee table, fucks your mouth at the island while the pizza burns in the oven and the smoke alarm shrieks. He can't get enough. Will never get enough. Shower. Bed. The jacuzzi tub in his parents' master suite after splitting a bottle of something worth more than his life. "God, baby, you need my cock so bad, don't you?"

It's after you and he break his fucking bed during Round Double Digits that Wally feels the shift.

You're lightheaded, wobbly-limbed and sticky from lube and come and salted-caramel drizzle, reaching for whatever article of clothing is nearest—Wally's shirt that falls to your thighs—and you say with uncertainty, "I need something to eat, if that's okay?" Like Wally wouldn't take care of you unless it's to make your body sing for him.

He's on his feet in seconds, boxers on, scooping you into his arms as you giggle and squeal in delight. He carries you toddler-style down the stairs to the kitchen, places you on the counter, and searches the fridge for something to throw together. You joke as he cooks, talking about this and that, and Wally laughs, responds, engages. You stimulate his brain, challenge him, tease him, and then he feels it. A tiny thing at first, warm, subtle, but it swells into holy shit, she's perfect so fast it makes his head spin.

You're witty and smart and confident. Wally never let himself notice that before, and now he can't un-notice it. He wants to learn more, know more, gobble up every piece of you he can until he's satisfied.

You eat his food, compliment him, snuggle into his side for the movie he puts on to fall asleep to, his hand stroking your hair, back, side as his eyes droop. He doesn't mean to do it, is hardly aware of himself, but he nuzzles into your hair and kisses your forehead. Softhearted and tender. Like a boyfriend.

Half-asleep, you sigh contentedly and burrow closer, but now Wally's wide awake. Staring at the ceiling, freaking the fuck out because this wasn't supposed to turn into something more than an easygoing, no-strings way to blow off steam.

Double shit.

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MASTERLIST

also available on AO3!

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

Calling any and all Ethan Landry writers, I have a request. I need, deeply in my soul, an Ethan Landry fic that is dark romance-esk. Like he's obsessed with reader in a stalker way where he follows her around, steals little things from her so he can always have a piece of her with him, and does everything to protect her during the ghost face killings.

Now I know what you're probably thinking, there are plenty of fics out there like that. I might have not found the right ones because all the ones I found involve Dub-con and or Non-con which is an instant no for me.

I do remember reading one a while ago that was like this but I don't remember where I read it, who wrote it, or what the tilde is. If you write, have written, or find one like this please lmk. It will heal my soul. Thank you 😘

(Why the fuck did I write this like an email?)

This is canon

Boyfriend Simon Elroy (NSFW)

prompt fill. (request)

Simon Elroy x fem!reader

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Simon is exactly the type of romantic who takes your favorite color or favorite movie or favorite holiday very fucking seriously. Everything you tell him, he commits to memory. Tattoos it on his brain so he'll never forget. You only eat the green M&Ms? He'll pick them out of every bag and hand them to you like treasures. You hate it when the sauce touches your spaghetti before you can mix it yourself? He'll replate everything over and over again until you smile.

Simon is exactly the type to be sarcastic, wields his dark sense of humor like a test—none shall pass—but knows when to brighten himself up if you need a boost. He'll defend your honor against anyone, disguising sharp remarks behind a smile as he cuts down the passive-aggressive idiots who try to make you rethink your values. He's soft words in harsh tones; observations collected over hours spent together; always studying you, always learning, always finding new ways to make you feel like the sun.

Simon is exactly the type to keep a hand in your back pocket and kiss your neck after he walks you to class. Yeah, he knows you're independent, but he doesn't give a shit, gimme your bag, babe, or suffer the consequences. He isn't into soft affection for the sake of it, but he'll find reasons to touch you. Funny enough, despite that quirk, he does like to roughhouse at the drop of a hat. Grab you around the waist and bodily move you where he wants you. Throw you over his shoulder when you suffer decision fatigue and have been standing in front of the squishmallows for twenty minutes.

Simon is exactly the type to make the little moments significant. Celebrates every achievement like it's the cure for cancer. He'll put together backyard picnics under the stars because he can't afford a restaurant. He'll set up a blanket fort around his bed to watch scary movies in the dark after you admit you've never seen The Ring. Even secretly calls your phone right as the end credits start to roll and cackles when you jump a foot in the air. Bundles you up and rocks you, kisses you until you say you forgive him.

But Simon is also the type to get obsessed. He isn't controlling, just wants to make sure his girl is okay, taken care of, happy at all times. Because if she isn't, there will be hell to pay and Simon will gleefully be the one to unleash it. He would go to the ends of the earth for you, no questions asked. You want sushi from that place in Milwaukee—an hour and a half away, and closed on Sundays—Simon WILL make that happen. He's the first one there and the last to leave, helps clean up the basement after everyone exits Game Night. Doesn't expect anything in return. You know that if you get hurt, he'll nurse you back to health, a bit of a helicopter mom, and that he'll also fucking murder whoever's responsible. (You've never seen the school patch a crack in the pavement so fast...)

Simon is also the type who doesn't get jealous. He isn't territorial. He doesn't worry about you if another guy decides to make his move; watches in amusement because he knows dickhead Dom Sawyer can't do what Simon does for you. He simply raises a brow at the guys who try to pretend Simon doesn't exist. It's only if and when you get uncomfortable that Simon intervenes, "You okay, beautiful?" and extricates you from the situation, a protective arm around your waist.

Simon is exactly the type who makes promises he doesn't break. If he swore to make you scream his name, that's exactly what you'll be doing, no matter how long it takes. "Come on, beautiful, I know you can be louder than that..." He's methodical, thorough, has done the research and gathered the evidence, your honor, this is what word to spell with his tongue to make you squirt. And Simon loves to make you come as many times as you can take, groaning as he tastes you, his lips and chin dribbling, his eyes rolled back in his head as he tries to get his tongue deeper. He listens to you, knows your limits, won't cross them even when his curiosity is begging him to. Giving you pleasure gives him pleasure, and sometimes he won't even have to fuck you to get off. He doesn't get embarrassed, is sure of himself, just gives you a wolfish smirk and starts all over again. Makes you taste yourself on his tongue before he decides to use his fingers this time. "You want to come again, love? Say it. Tell me what you want."

Simon is definitely the type to fuck slow when he does have you beneath him. He's traditional in some aspects. Prefers missionary to anything else because he needs to see your eyes, to gaze deeply into them as he rocks into you, angled perfectly to tease you. "You feel amazing, beautiful girl," he murmurs as he kisses your neck and pinches your nipple. "You're so perfect, fuck, I'm so lucky." And then, finally, he'll position himself just right to hit your g-spot, ram into it until you and he come together.

Simon isn't vanilla. He'll secret you away to a bathroom at the arcade or have you ride him behind the Peddie's barn when there's a tailgate. He just knows what he likes and that's all there is to it. But if there's something you want to try, he's more than willing, "Anything for you, love."

Simon is exactly the type who knows how to laugh during sex. He's silly and doesn't take himself too seriously. Honestly, he just loves the way you sound when you giggle, he doesn't care what's happening when you do. Simon doesn't get drowsy after, either. He gets hype; wants to play; loves to tickle you into submission and then snuggle the shit out of you as he talks to you about plans he's made for you and him to travel to New York Comic Con. He tucks your hair behind your ear, blushes at his own gesture—like he can't quite believe he's allowed to be that intimate—and then smothers you in kisses so you won't notice how red his cheeks are.

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also on AO3!

This is a girls Roman Empire

October Sun

summary: truths had been spilled before anyone had been ready to hear them and the consequences of actions had finally been justly served.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

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

bon reading, frens

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OCTOBER SUN pt.26

Wally had just handed Maddie the receipt when he'd heard the commotion from the theater above. Your voice chased Xavier's as his heavy footsteps clomped around. Stopped. Then your voice again, splintered and tight. Your misery rallied Wally's rage and he was off like a shot.

"Hell no," He announced, barely giving Maddie a look of warning before he barreled up the stairs—two at a time—and pushed the trapdoor open. Its back hit the stage with a bang that ricocheted through the empty space. He propelled out, jumped from the stage to ground level, and took an offensive position between you and Xavier.

He was fucking done with this dipshit.

"What happened, baby?" Wally asked, canted his head slightly to catch you in his periphery while he maintained sight of Xavier. "What did he do?"

Maddie scrambled onto the stage, quickly followed by the others, "Is everything okay?"

Behind him, Wally heard you steadily beginning to panic, repeating expletives like a prayer while Xavier stared through Wally at you with a belligerent expression. Fuck every last thing, Wally had had enough. He'd wanted to grab that asshole by the collar and shake him until he passed out since Maddie had revealed what Xavier had done behind her back. And as much as Wally had wanted to protect you from the hurt of learning your BFF wasn't all that, he couldn't do it anymore.

He took a step toward Xavier, fists balled, teeth bared, but just as he raised his arm to take a swing (who the hell cared if nothing happened, Wally would feel better for it), Maddie threw herself off the stage and used her whole body to halt the motion, her slender arms clamping around his to pin it down.

Simultaneously, he felt you band around his waist, soft yet solid, forehead pressed to his spine. "Wally, it's okay," You tried to assure him, but your voice was so little, so broken, that it only served to fan the flames of his rage higher. Of course, that rage hiccupped momentarily when Xavier swiftly jerked backward, stumbled over his own feet, and fell on his ass. His eyes round and petrified, a choked "holy shit" coughed out of him when he landed.

You and Maddie released Wally the second Xavier hit the floor, Maddie pressing herself against the stage while you cautiously padded around Wally to look at Xavier, head cocked in confusion.

Alarmed, "Where'd he go!?" Xavier heaved.

It seemed to dawn on you in increments what had transpired and you glanced up at Wally, mouth agape. "Fuck me," You breathed, tone stressed, and all he could do was stare back at you in question. Slowly, you took Wally's hand, laced your fingers through his, and watched Xavier carefully. Again, Xavier made a punched-out sound of fear, pressed his palms into his eyes, and then dragged his gaze up the length of Wally's body from feet to face. Although Wally's anger still blazed red-hot in him, he was fairly taken aback by the fact that:

"You can see me?" He asked Xavier, who nodded weakly in response.

You untangled your fingers from Wally's, letting go entirely. "How 'bout now?"

Xavier returned with a stuttered shake of his head. "The fuck is going on, May?"

You bristled, brows furrowing, jaw locking. Wally hadn't seen you angry. Frustrated, perhaps; perturbed, maybe; but not angry, and it both shocked and aroused him. Straight back, dark eyes, a menacing expression on your face as you glared at Xavier as if he'd done you as dirty as he'd done Maddie.

"I asked you to stop calling me that, B." You said, words pressed through your teeth, and, yeah, yep, Wally flushed crimson, the slightest bit turned on at how commanding your tone was. Something he would explore later when he didn't have a dozen eyes on him.

Xavier finally managed to get back to his feet, rounding on you, annoyed and over it, "Are you serious right now? A fucking dead guy keeps teleporting in and out of existence and you're getting pissed at me over that?"

Without hesitation, Wally strung his arm around your waist and pulled you into his side. "Don't talk to her like that, asshole," He warned, a satisfied smirk on his mouth when Xavier clapped a hand to his chest in fright. Wally softened like butter when he felt your hand smooth over his heart, sweet marbled eyes gazing up at him in apprehension. He took your hand and lifted it to his lips, kissed your knuckles to comfort you before he whipped a hard, threatening stare at Xavier. "You don't get to make her the bad guy here."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Xavier said in mock apology, "I'll just forget the fact that she's been lying to me forever about being a necrophiliac!"

You choked on a breath, wheezed, "I am not a necrophiliac," to which Wally had to grin down at you playfully, tilting his head with a casual shrug.

"I mean..."

"No 'I mean'!" You shot back, flustered.

Sat on the edge of the stage to observe the proceedings, Rhonda wearily explained, "No, superstar, in order for that to be true, you would've had to..." She swirled her lollipop in the air, "You know." Beside her, Charley made a circle with his fingers and stuck his opposite index finger through it repeatedly, a visual representation of the point Rhonda insinuated. She rolled her gaze to Xavier, "He's thinking necromancer."

"Which I'm also not!" You sustained through a grimace and then repeated for Xavier's benefit, "I'm not a necromancer."

Xavier did a double-take, spinning in an uncoordinated circle to survey the theater, "Are there others!?"

But you ignored him, your mind clearly elsewhere because, when you next spoke, you whispered to Wally in distress, "Oh my God, the maintenance guy."

Wally took a moment to recall that unwelcome interruption, how the maintenance man had appeared to be looking between you and something else. The man's awkward demeanor had caught Wally off-guard, though, at the time, he'd chalked it up to the odd position you'd been in. But...if he really thought about it...the man wouldn't have been able to see you from where he'd been standing.

He bit his lip bashfully, trying and failing not to reveal how positively gleeful he was that someone in the living world had witnessed you two together and knew who you belonged to. In the least possessive way possible, of course.

"Face," Rhonda, Charley, and, damn him, Ajay chorused about Wally's shift in expression. He cleared his throat and once more adjusted his features into something appropriate for the circumstances; menacing, off-put, downright hateful. Complete with heart-eyes, who was he kidding?

Meanwhile, Xavier crept toward you, a man against an untamed horse, hand out and shoulders drawn, "May, I need you to be honest with me, are there other dead people in here?"

Again, you scowled, "Stop. Calling me that."

Though he didn't understand why the nickname seemed to bother you, Wally bristled on your behalf, telling Xavier, "You should listen to her, man, or, believe me, I'll make you."

Out of frame, the others, including Mina, gawked at Wally's uncharacteristic behavior, Charley putting a hand to his collar in the manner of pearl-clutching. Rhonda regained her composure quickly, smirked around the stem of her lollipop like a proud mama lion that's cub was about to strike its first kill. Ajay tiptoed over to Mina and put his hands over her eyes so she wouldn't have to witness possible manslaughter being committed.

"And what are you gonna do, huh?" Xavier challenged, trudging into Wally's space with aggressive intent. "You're a ghost. You can't hurt me." He paused, glancing at you to ask, "Can he?"

Wally poked a vicious finger into Xavier's shoulder, shoving him back, "You bet I can."

"Jesus, that's enough!" Maddie swooped in, totally aggrieved, "We have bigger things to worry about than whose dick is bigger." She pushed Wally out of the way, inadvertently forcing him to release his hold on you which made Xavier pitch backwards. Whether because Wally had turned into the Invisible Man again or for another reason, Wally wasn't entirely sure, but he made a point of watching Xavier closely.

Maddie handed you the receipt Wally had found in the cellarage, "I think that money we found in Mr. Anderson's classroom is from this." As you inspected it ("Where'd that come from!?" Xavier squeaked) Maddie explained, "He has a whole operation under the stage. If we're right, he's been stealing money from the Booster Club."

"Which means we have something that'll help Simon." ("What will help Simon!?") A broad smile swept across your pretty pink lips, your whole face brightening for the first time since the debacle between you and Xavier had started. Wally felt himself melt, that time ignoring the refrain of face from everyone onstage. "It's Friday, right? So, there's a staff meeting after school."

Maddie built on your idea, "We'll get Simon to take the evidence to everyone. They'll have to believe him."

"I'll text Simon and let him know."

However, on the cusp of ballistic, Xavier demanded, "What. Is. Happening!?"

You cleared your throat and handed the receipt to Xavier, relayed what Maddie had just told you. "It could get Simon off the hook," You said quietly, somewhat wilted, unable to look him in the eye.

Xavier examined the receipt and nodded, but he seemed distracted, his breathing labored, eyes again sweeping the theater for evidence of—"That's awesome," He struggled to say, turning desperate and afraid, "But could you tell me why the fuck I just saw Maddie?"

Your head shot up, "You did?" while Maddie sagged under the weight of what appeared to be every emotion she'd ever felt toward Xavier all at once. You panned to her, unsure, gaze flicking between her and Xavier in silent question to which she nodded sadly and held out her hand for you to take.

Wally knew the moment Xavier could see her, bewildered, guilty, his pallor paling to a sickly grey. It looked like he didn't know what to do with himself, caught between moving toward her and giving her more space. You watched them both with puzzlement; waited for someone to explain why Xavier was acting cagey instead of how most people would respond when they had the chance to behold a dead loved one (Maddie's not-death notwithstanding).

Ragged, Xavier stammered, "Do...Did you know...?"

And Maddie answered with a hum and a curt nod, "Yeah. I heard what you said to your dad on Monday before the vigil."

"Oh fuck, Maddie, I'm so sorry." Xavier sunk into one of the seats, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, body trembling. "I'm so fucking sorry."

Out of the loop, you asked Maddie, "What's he talking about?" and Wally's heart almost broke for you despite his earlier vehemence that you be told what Xavier had done. This was the moment. This was how you discovered the truth.

"It's fine." Maddie lied, avoiding your gaze, "I'm over it." She wasn't, and Wally wondered who she was hoping to convince.

"Over what?" You pressed as you looked at Xavier, "What are you talking about, Zav? What are you sorry for?" Wally heard the thread of fear in your voice as your mind flooded with too many grim possibilities.

Wally decided to take the onus off Xavier to reveal himself for who he really was, returning to your side and winding his arm around you to hold your hip. He wanted Xavier to see him when he said, "He was cheating on Maddie with the head cheerleader. Claire or whatever."

"Wait...what? No. No, Xavier wouldn't..." But Xavier would and you understood that the second you laid eyes on him, "You wouldn't," And then, devastated, "Oh my God...all those texts about band practice you made me send you..."

Xavier rose and attempted to approach you, hands up, "I didn't mean for—"

You snarled at him, "You made me help you!" and dropped Wally's hand. That time, no one leaped from the stage. No one called out or pulled you back or intervened in any way. You stomped up to Xavier, reeled your arm back, and decked him squarely in the mouth.

💀___________________________

PART TWENTY-FIVE

note: fun fact: i'd toyed with the "ppl can see Wally when Reader touches him" reveal for some time, initially thinking i'd do it at the Homecoming Dance. but. plot happened so...yeah no, it didn't work anymore 🤷‍♀️ also, i would've had to account for Nicole, Claire, Mathilda, Hana, Eli...everyone. possibly teachers. all the ghosts. i love writing ensemble scenes, but that is too many moving pieces.

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ABOUT THE TAGLIST: i'm afraid i am no longer updating or using the taglist. moving forward, if you'd like to keep up to date, please FOLLOW ME and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS. that thing took me to Hell and back, and we're no longer on speaking terms...😒

Not sleeping all night just so I can read each part was worth it

October Sun

summary: Xavier had been tormented by many things since Maddie's disappearance, Simon's distrust and hostility at the top of the list. but there'd been other things that'd kept him up at night as well, and for a much longer time. I know we don't talk about it, he'd said, but maybe we should...

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: panic attacks. eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

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OCTOBER SUN pt.20

Xavier stood in front of the closed door, wary, unsure if he was allowed to open it. He knew what was behind it, knew you were in there because you hadn't been in your room when he'd gone to check on you after he'd heard the pipes shudder and the water stop.

He'd spent the last thirty minutes with Abigail—your grandmother—in the kitchen, their conversation skirting around the topic of your panic attack as if admitting what had caused it would conjure another episode. Abigail had fed him cookies and chocolate milk like he was still the little boy she'd been introduced to years ago, all scraped knees and peach-fuzz hair, adult teeth too big for his smile.

A massive tupperware of spaghetti and meatballs waited for him on the bench in the foyer where he'd kicked off his shoes and hung his jacket upon entering the house. Abigail always fretted over him. Hugged him and held him like her own. Xavier adored her. Adored your whole family, really; profoundly grateful to be accepted as part of it. Especially after his own had dissolved into something he couldn't hold together no matter how much he'd tried.

Still, being accepted into your family didn't mean Xavier had access to every corner and cranny. Some things were off-limits, private, For Our Eyes Only, and the room he lingered outside of was one of them. But, fuck it, he'd already missed his Bio test; had skipped last period to get you home safe, and he needed to make sure you were okay before he left.

With a grounding breath, Xavier summoned the courage and opened the door.

The room was daytime-dark, curtains drawn, the stars tacked on the ceiling glowing an eerie, phosphorous green. He could easily make out the child-height furniture. The shelves of picture books and action figures. Spiderman sheets, sleeves of Pokémon cards, and a stack of VHS tapes Aurora had insisted on playing whenever she'd been forced to babysit—"This sucks, Rory, we want Netflix!"—"Shut up. This is so much better!"

The air smelt stale, stuffy, and there was a thick film of dust on every surface but the bed. A shrine untouched in the years between Then and Now.

Xavier's eyes fell to where you sat on the floor, knees up, head tipped back to rest on the low, single bed. He wanted to turn around. Leave. Being there felt intrusive. But, you didn't yell at him. Didn't tell him to fuck off. Didn't throw something at his head. You barely acknowledged him apart from patting the ground beside you in behest.

He dropped down easily; accepted your weight when you slumped into his side, head on his shoulder, damp hair soaking a wet patch into the collar of his shirt. He rested his elbows on his knees, hand clasped around opposite wrist, and pressed his cheek into the top of your head. Glancing down the length of you, he noticed the stuffed lion in your arms. A long, gangly thing with a round face and button eyes, features sewn in black thread on a corduroy canvas.

Aidan had toted that thing around like a limb, Xavier remembered.

It hurt everywhere to think of the little boy who'd inserted himself into the sleepovers and hangouts you'd had in elementary school. Afternoons and evenings spent shooing him away only to give in within minutes because neither you nor Xavier or Hana had the heart to say no to him.

"Sissy~, I want to play, too!"

A lump formed in Xavier's throat, pressure behind his eyes that he ignored to ask, "Are you okay?" He kept his voice just above a whisper, the way people spoke in church. Afraid to disturb the spectral peace that pervaded the room.

After several beats, you finally admitted, "I don't think so," and held the lion tighter.

Xavier didn't know how to respond, the agreement you'd both made six years ago—no questions asked—weighing his conscience down. He wanted to respect the promise. Had always respected it just as you had done for him. However, things felt too heavy not to at least broach the subject.

On a shaky exhale, Xavier ventured, "I know we don't talk about it, but...maybe we should."

"Zav..."

"No, listen, you freaked the fuck out back there and it scared the shit out of me. I haven't seen you that bad in years." He nudged you off his shoulder with a minute shrug, shifting to prop his head against the bed. You studied him, thick lashes starred from your shower, and eyes glassy. The misery miring your expression was visible enough through the dark that Xavier felt guilty for saying anything. He said anyway, "Please don't shut me out."

His mother had very little interest in him; his dad treated him like an unbroken animal. And Maddie...he'd fucked that up so much that, even if she came back, he wouldn't be able to look her in the eye. And yes, yeah, he'd done it to himself, okay? He knew that. He'd always made sure not to let himself get too comfortable. Kept people at arm's length because, if he didn't, it would hurt so much worse when they eventually left.

But you were different. You'd been there since he'd pushed Harrison Levi out of the sandbox in kindergarten and split the kid's eyebrow open. The only one in the class who hadn't been afraid of Xavier after that, and had shared your crayons and glue during crafts period.

Xavier needed you like a lifeline, the one person in the whole damn world who saw him for who he was and hadn't left him in the past. You'd stayed through the angst of his parents' separation; through a childhood filled with inappropriate humor and distasteful comments. Through above-average forgetfulness and outbursts he couldn't control.

He felt the warmth of your breath on his cheeks, smelt peppermint toothpaste and vanilla shampoo; faces close, sides pressed together in a soft line. An intimate bubble of privacy and safety.

"I saw Ms. Chung in the hallway before class." You said at last, as if that explained everything, and okay, sure, Xavier could work with that.

Kind of. "Who?"

"The grief counselor that Principal Hartman brought in on Monday." You elaborated. "She, uhm...She was the counselor I saw after..."

Xavier understood what you couldn't say. Nodded and smiled gratefully at you for having shared that much. He filled in some blanks himself, "And, I guess, this whole thing with Maddie is hitting pretty close to home, huh?"

You snorted, "Yeah, it definitely has the whole 'someone you think you can trust ends up betraying you' thing going for it."

Xavier's blood ran cold.

It would occur to him later that he didn't fully understand how your comment related to your trauma. It was the one police file his dad had ensured Xavier couldn't get his hands on and snoop through.

For now, he was blindsided by fear. Because who the fuck else had Maddie been meant to trust and was instead betrayed by? Sandra, perhaps, but you didn't know that. Did you? Had you also been to see her? No, that would be weird as hell. You and Maddie were friends-by-extension. Xavier didn't think you even knew where Maddie lived. Thus, as far as Xavier knew, he was the only one who fit the profile, which meant that, oh God no, you knew about Claire and this was the moment you banished Xavier from your life forever. He wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to be entirely alone, not yet, please, not yet—

"What does that mean?" He fished, tone even, though inwardly he was losing his shit.

Your focus went distant as you seemed to think carefully about what you wanted to say. With his heart in his throat, Xavier listened as you told him, "Simon and I think Mr. Anderson had something to do with Maddie's disappearance."

And he almost cried in relief. Until a certain part of your statement sunk in.

"You and Simon?"

You leaned back, looking at Xavier like you were mentally fitting him for a dunce cap. "Really? That's what you're concerned about? Zav, you went on an adventure with his only other best friend yesterday. He didn't have anyone else to talk to, so yeah, I'm happy to help him follow whatever leads he finds."

"At least Nicole doesn't hate me." Xavier hissed, "Simon dead-ass accused me of hurting Maddie in front of everyone."

"Okay, a) I made sure to get it through his skull that you're innocent. And, b) Simon doesn't hate you." You stopped, appearing somewhat hesitant to continue before you went on in sympathy, "He's just obviously in love with Maddie and you're the guy she chose instead."

As if Xavier hadn't been painfully aware of Simon's big, fat crush on Maddie since the fledgling days of their relationship. Simon had been a looming presence; had viscerally attempted to hold back glaring daggers at Xavier across the lunch table or over your and Mathilda's heads at shows, or movies, or tailgates.

"We're all trying to figure out where Maddie is." You said, bringing the situation to order. "And it seems like we've all been doing a better job than the cops because you and Nicole found boot prints and a ticket, and Simon found a stash of cash in Mr. Anderson's classroom. Plus, after talking about it last night—"

"You saw Simon last night?"

You talked over Xavier, the volume of your voice rising marginally, "—he and I think he's hiding something in the theater, too."

Xavier hung his head, cracked his neck, and rolled his shoulders, trying to calm the wave of conflicting emotion cresting inside him. You were his best friend. Yet, you'd buddied off with Simon Creepy Possessive Elroy to—

"Wait. Anderson has money in his classroom?"

You rolled your eyes, sporting a sardonic smile, "Yes, Officer Baxter, welcome back to the point. You done being weird?"

"I'm sorry, okay?" Xavier apologized sincerely, ducking to catch your eye. He swiveled to rest his side against the bed and face you more easily. "That was a lot of information to digest. I didn't mean to get weird about you and Simon being close all of a sudden."

You playfully shoved a hand into Xavier's face, "Aw, Zav, don't worry, I'm still all yours," and winked before dissolving into a merry cackle.

Xavier reached across the narrow space between you both and slung an arm around your neck, dragging you close to ruffle your hair. It didn't have the same effect as when your hair was dry, tangling and teasing it into an 80s starburst, but it was close enough. You squealed and giggled, laid Aidan's lion on the bed, and then wrestled Xavier off you. In retaliation, he banded his arms around your torso and pulled you into his chest, fingers dancing along your sides.

It was fun, silly, something neither of you had been in what Xavier felt had been forever. Your laughter brightened the room, pushed the melancholy shadows into the corners, and made way for a cheerful lightness that hadn't existed in the space for too long.

"You're an ass." You wheezed, squirming out of Xavier's grasp and settling back against the bed, one leg held close and chin propped on your knee.

"Yeah, but you love me," Xavier teased.

He was loathe to ruin the moment—you beaming at him with dimpled cheeks and crinkled eyes—but his phone started to buzz in his front pocket. He dug it out, saw who was calling and glanced at you for confirmation that he should answer.

At your nod, he accepted the call, "Hey Tilda, sorry for not calling before, but—"

"SIMON, DON'T SAY A FUCKING WORD UNTIL MY MOM GETS THERE!" Mathilda shrieked on the other end of the line and then, into the phone, "What the fuck, Xavier, I tried calling you three times already!"

She had? Xavier hadn't felt his phone vibrate before then...Of course, when he was hyper-focused on something, everything else fell away, muffled by the void until he poked his head out of whatever rabbit hole he'd tumbled down. And, when it came to taking care of you, nothing else penetrated until he'd exhausted himself putting a smile back on your face.

Something he'd just succeeding in doing, damn it.

You pounced forward, grabbing Xavier's phone out of his hand and putting the call on speaker, "What's going on?"

"The cops just dragged Simon out of the school." Mathilda relayed, harried, clearly on the move. "I called my mom, but she won't be in town for another hour!" You and Xavier shared a look before Mathilda pulled attention back to what was unfolding on her end, "They're putting him in the back seat! That's bad, right!? XAVIER!? Is that bad!? What the heLL IS GOING ON!?"

"It's fine, Tilda," Xavier reassured firmly, eyes fixed on yours. "Unless he's in handcuffs, they aren't arresting him. They probably just want his statement on the record."

"His statement for what?" Mathilda sounded ready to go to battle, "They already asked us about Friday!"

Oh shit, you mouthed, the money.

Xavier muted the call to ask you, "Would Simon call the cops on Anderson?"

"I mean, he stole the man's phone. If he found something, he definitely wouldn't wait."

"Simon stole his phone?" Xavier almost clutched his proverbial pearls like a maiden aunt. The unhinged act of devotion to Maddie made him reconsider what it meant to care.

Simon was on the warpath, no fucks left to give, ready and willing to throw himself on the sword if necessary. Was that the kind of love Xavier had been meant to summon for Maddie? He had a lot of big feelings for her, most of them overshadowed by guilt now that she'd taken off without a backward glance, but none of them had inspired him to burn the world down in pursuit of her. There were—maybe—only two people he'd ever felt that kind of feral protectiveness over, and one of them was dead. The other...

He glanced up at you carefully, saw the distress in your eyes as you worried over Simon. "If they're taking him in," Xavier said, putting a hand on your knee for comfort, "they didn't find the money in Anderson's class."

"Then Anderson moved it." You choked. "Simon wasn't lying, Zav. If you'd seen how Mr. Anderson was acting last night, you'd know it was true, too."

"Hello!? Are you still there? Xavier!"

Xavier unmuted the call, both you and he chiming, "Yep, here!"

"Can't you call your dad?" Mathilda demanded and Xavier could picture her perfectly with her hand on her hip, brows furrowed, eyes ablaze, about to scold him like a mother hen. "He's the Sheriff! He could make them let Simon go!"

"Not necessarily, Tils. What if Simon knows something we don't?"

"Like what? He was at the APEX with us last week when Maddie took off. I saw him with my own eyeballs, Bax, he didn't know anything." Mathilda argued.

"Guess she's not pissed at him anymore," You commented quietly, more to a general audience than Xavier specifically.

"Alright, how's this. I'll go see what I can get out of my dad. You've already called your mom, she's on her way," He stated in a measured cadence, "There's nothing else we can do."

Begrudgingly, Mathilda agreed, closing the call with a semi-threatening, "Call me immediately, babes! I want to know why you weren't in Bio," directed to you, and then, "Love you both~!"

"I wasn't in Bio, either," Xavier grumbled, pouting at the white call-ended screen, "I don't count?"

You didn't indulge him, instead asking, "What should I do?"

"What should you do about what?"

"Tilly called her mom, you're going to sniff around your dad's office. What should I do? I can head back to the school and see if there's anything in the theater."

Immediately Xavier was on edge. The idea of you going back to the school and getting caught—possibly by Mr. Anderson who was, if as guilty as you inferred, absolutely going to be on alert now that the police had been called—didn't sit well with him. Not after what had happened to you earlier.

"No." He said, authoritative, stiff, "That's...no."

"I have to do something. What if Mr. Anderson hurt Maddie, huh? What if that money ties him to her somehow? And now he's going to get away with it because the police are focused on Simon."

Xavier grabbed you by the back of the head, angled your face so you had to look at him when he told you in no uncertain terms, "You're not going back there, kiddo. Not without me, okay? You've been through enough today, you need to rest."

"But—"

"How about this," He reasoned and dropped his hand to your shoulder, "We go in tomorrow morning before class and take a look around. Together."

You deflated, "And what about Simon?"

"There's literally nothing we can do about that right now, okay?"

An unhappy silence followed as you chewed over the alternatives Xavier offered. He was gearing up to sling you over his shoulder, carry you back to your bedroom, and lock you in your closet until he came to get you in the morning. Completely dismissing that you had a whole family who would hear you trying to escape and then very likely sneak you into the school themselves just for shits and giggles.

Color him surprised when you actually seemed to acquiesce.

"Fine." You said, audibly pissed that you were being benched, but, hey, Xavier was being sensible for once, the least you could do was humor him for one night. "But you'd better be here at dawn, Xavier."

Xavier traced an X over his heart, "I promise."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Of course, Xavier really should've had you promise to do as he'd said because, as soon as the coast was clear, you snuck out of the house, once again donning Uncle Andrew's hoodie and your mom's black jeans...

💀___________________________

PART NINETEEN

note: all i kept picturing is this teeny-tiny madwoman glaring ferociously at the squad car as she drives after it to keep an eye on Simon. a crazy, over-protective witch just yelling profanities out of her window at the cops the whole way to the station. Mathilda is a delight.

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Bau group chat + reader - pt.1

Read pt.1 from the story Bau group chat + reader by MentalHealthCrisis with 41 reads. spencerreid, criminalminds, emily...

show it some love yall