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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

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The Lost 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of loss, grieving, death, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: nomad!Steve Rogers

Summary: You move into a shared flat and encounter a mysterious man.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You don’t eat breakfast, not that you ever really do. You buy enough food to have dinner when you get home and that’s about it. As the clock ticks on, stretched longer by a sleepless night, you count down to the inevitable. You have to leave that room eventually.

You dress in the convenience store button up, an ugly shade of mustard and pin your nametag on. Not wanting to risk running into your housemates, you talk yourself down to quickly brushing your teeth and tidying up. You won’t shower.

You listen through the door but hear nothing. Not like the night before when you heard everything. When you heard too much.

You bring your little canvas pouch of toiletries and lock your door behind you, just in case. You look left then right, heading down towards the bathroom. You stop as you find the door closed. Shoot. You hesitate, struggling to make up your mind. You should just go back and wait in your room.

Too late. The door opens and you jump in your shoes. You stumble back into the wall, unable to hide your fright. S emerges, his blond hair slightly damp as he combs it back with his fingers. The scent of his soap wafts out with him, warm bergamot cutting through the dingy air of the aged house.

“Sorry,” he leaves the door open behind him as he steps out, “didn’t mean to scare ya.”

You nod and wave him off, mouthing ‘it’s fine’ but unable to summon your voice.

“It’s all yours. Hope you weren’t waiting too long,” he hugs tighter the folded towel in his arm, curled around a leather zip up bag.

You give an ‘mhm’ but his timbre just reminds you of the threats that slipped beneath your door the night before. In your head, the unseen menace was a slimy little ghoul, waiting to creep up on you. You look over your shoulder as S passes.

“He hasn’t bothered you again, has he?” He stops and turns back to you.

You shake your head.

“Good,” his chest rises as he glances towards the far end of the hallway, “Guy’s a freak. On parole…” he faces you again, “not to scare you but you should know.”

You lower your eyes and squeeze your pouch tight. You bite your lip and turn to the bathroom. As you approach the door, he shifts on his feet, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight. You stop but can’t bring yourself to look at him.

“Thank you,” you squeak.

He doesn’t answer right away. You linger in the silence before he musters his response, “no problem. Girl like you, can never be too safe.”

You don’t have a chance to reply. His door opens and shuts and you peek over to find him gone. You keep your hand on the door handle as his words cling in your mind. A girl like you…

Is it so obvious that you're alone? Vulnerable? Afraid?

If it is, maybe it’s better that you have someone like him watching over you.

🚪

You arrive for your shift and take over after balancing the till. It’s quiet and you don’t get much more than the usual pop-ins. An old woman takes up close to twenty minutes playing the scratch cards and a group of teens come in to buy energy drinks and ten cent candies. It makes you wish you only worried about wasting your money on unwinnable jackpots and unhealthy snacks.

You spend your downtime doing the crossword in the newspaper Aziz left behind. The pencil lead dulls with each letter you press into the newsprint. The door chimes again and you peek up as a greasy haired man looks around. His eyes scan the store and finally land on you.

You stand up straight and greet him in your small way. Your voice crackles beneath the drone of radio DJs as they discuss their weekend follies. The man nods and diverts to the magazine rack. You tap the pencil and go back to the puzzle, glancing up periodically as he browses the shelf.

When at last he retreats from his perusal, he approaches and lays down one of the magazines shrouded in black film. You try not to show your discomfort as you flip it over to scan the bar code, overly aware of its more adult contents. He doesn’t show an shame as he leans on the counter and breathes loudly through his nose.

“They all got fake tits these days,” he snivels, “I remember my dad’s rags they used to have the natural girls.”

You blanch and hit total, reading out the amount owing. He snickers and reaches into his pants’ pocket, feeling around a bit too long before dragging his hand out. He chuckles and reaches into his jacket instead, taking out his wallet. Ew.

The door chirps, signalling another customer. You don’t look over. The man across from you searches his wallet slowly, fluttering his fingers over the bills inside. His tongue flicks out like a lizard’s.

“Is cash or credit easier, sweetie?”

The pet name sends a chill through you as his tone tickles your memory. That’s the voice you heard last night. That sickly, simpering slither. You can’t help but take a step back, even with the shield of plexiglass between you.

The other customer appears behind the man and clears his throat, “pay and get out.”

You look past the greasy-haired man as S looms behind him. His fist closes and opens, as if he’s holding himself back. You gulp as the other man rolls his eyes.

“Mind your business, meathead,” he deliberately counts out the bills. “It’s the handsome ones that are mean…” he tuts, “nice guys like me, well, we’re hard to find.”

“She doesn’t care. She’s working,” S snarls.

“You don’t own the store, guy,” the other retorts, “you don’t scare me.”

“I don’t gotta scare you,” S steps closer.

The other man bares his teeth but shrinks, just a little. He throws down the money and shoves it through the slot. You gather it up. It feels almost as slimy as he looks. You reach your hand under with his change and he grabs your hand, closing it around the coins.

“You keep that, sweetie,” he squeezes, “pretty girl like you earned it.”

“Don’t touch her,” S grabs him from behind, wrenching him away. The suddenness has your front hitting the counter before the strange man lets you go. “Take your stuff,” S snatches up the magazine as he holds the man by his scruff, “and go.”

He throws him against the door before whipping the magazine at him. You watch helplessly. The smaller man, much smaller than S, catches the porn rag and tries to look fearsome against his accoster. It’s a pathetic attempt. He seems to realise as he slouches down and tucks tail, pushing out into the street with a grumble.

S shakes his head and turns back, marching to the counter. He puts his single protein shake on the other side of the glass. You swallow and put the change down shakily.

“Those are two for four, sir,” you say, “if you’re interested.”

He nods thoughtfully, his throat bobbing. “Thanks, uh, yeah, maybe I’ll grab another.”

He draws away and walks down the center aisle. He stands before the cooler, pulling open the door, before swiftly spinning on his heel and coming back. He places a strawberry shake next to the vanilla one. You scan both and the till applies the discount.

“Sorry, er, to cause a scene. I just… he shouldn’t be pestering you. Especially at work.”

“N-no, it’s… it’s fine. It’s… nice,” you stammer out as you accept his five dollar bill. “You don’t have to… do that.”

“It's not about 'have to',” he shrugs as you count out his change. He takes it, then the vanilla shake. He doesn’t touch the other one.

“Sir,” you point to the strawberry.

“You seem like the strawberry type,” he steps back on his heel, “it’s for you.”

“I… I can’t–”

“You didn’t eat breakfast. You should,” he insists.

“Sir, really–”

“I’ll leave it here,” he says, “in case you change your mind.” He nudges it closer to the glass, “make sure you give it a good shake. The flavour settles at the bottom.”

He turns away before you can argue. Again, he ends the conversation with his departure. As generous as he is, you get the idea he’s not into negotiating.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #nomad!steve #drabble #the last #marvel #mcu #avengers #captain america #series

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wolfertinger · 4 months ago

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Lots of accusations coming from Wis here. Gonna go over every screenshot. Newest to oldest, but all within 3 hours of eachother.

-Obligatory "Fuck you Razzie".

-Some rape kink talk, for some reason. Which, once again, is called cnc. Get it right. Are you even an active participant in the kink community, or are you just a poser? Seriously, you should know what to call it if then. I don't even think the point of this post is to talk about cnc though, as it looks like she's throwing accusations of Razz sending Salem rape threats. Where is this? I'd like to see these screenshots. It's only fair that I ask since we share so many. Also implying that Razz is a groomer for dating a 19 year old as a 21 year old, which I'll go over again as it'll come up once more. I will say, it's funny to call someone dating an adult with a 2 year age gap a groomer, yet when Salem at 19 helps a 16 year old kid get away with posting nsfw publicly, or is even friends with him in the first place on his public 18+ account, he's not?

-The people here don't despise Razz. I think you're thinking of the wrong website. You wouldn't know though, because youre indefensible. Sorry you don't have people who care about you enough, I guess. Just because a few accounts here are faceless doesn't make all of the very real screenshots go away. Besides, the accounts who do post here with their full chest are sent weird anons by you, Wis, and are preemptively blocked. Of course people don't want to be in your line of sight, considering how far you go to call random people "stalkers" and "abusers", yet willingly hang out with both of those group types, but in your case it's the "right kind" of stalkers and abusers because they're your friends. So it's okay, I guess!

-"Transphobic, racist, ableist and frankly stupid piece of shit who thinks being latino and being oppressed stops you from having to acknowledge your antiblackness." COMICAL coming from someone who fucking does the SAME EXACT SHIT and defends his boyfriend who is genuinely infamous for using the fact that hes black, trans, disabled constantly to get out of shit. Fuck, one of his most famous iterations of this is using that he's "%2 mexican". Even funnier thay more recently, you were exposed for fetishizing Asian people, while your boyfriend did the exact same in the past, plus roleplayed as an Asian person. Yet you'll use your oppression as a sheild. We are not Kiwifarmers, we are (usually) queer poc Tumblr users who have first-hand experience with Salem. The motherfucker has been online for ages with over 100k collective followers and you really think everyone comes from that site because...? Okay, can we get proof on this "rape him and beat him up," thing on Razz to Salem? When has Razz made rape threats?

-I don't know what this thread is asying. I don't know what that screenshot she posted and scratched out the username has to do with, or even who that is. But she's accusing Razz of sending Salem rape threats again without proof. I'd like some proof here, Wis.

-Wis telling Razz to date someone their age as if Salem wasn't a consenting adult. Razz was 21 when they dated Salem at 19. If you really wanna play that game, Wis, why are you as a 25 year old white woman dating a 22 year old black disabled trans man who age regresses? YOU ARE ONE YEAR OLDER THAN RAZZ. Predatory much? Don't pull the "transphobic" accusation at me, this is solely a race/age thing. 19 years old isn't highschool age, unless you got held back. He talked about college at this time, even if it was a lie. You want to infantilize Salem for being racist at 19 to make people forgive him so fucking badly., Plus, Wis, let's add on a couple more things. This post here you made says theres nothing wrong with 18 year olds being sexually active and you even talk about being sexually active at 16. Also, your other main set of ocs are LITERALLY a 45 year old woman and a 25 year old woman. Is that grooming?

Anyways, give us some proof. We've given it to you.

"abuse a bunch of kids with pre frontal cortex not fully developed" ???

mari, was 19 years old when she raped. she was not a fucking child.

wis. mari was a legal adult. mari even commented to sawyer, she LIKED that sawyer was older. regardless, of the scenario.

right now all you are doing, is justifying and defending a rape, by claiming the rapist was the REAL victim. do you not fucking hear yourself.

a piece of runny dogshit, has more backbone and morality than you, wis.

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spicyseonghwas · 2 years ago

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confidence boost | choi san

pairing :: choi san x male reader rating :: 18+ ; sexual content genres/au's :: smut content warnings :: dom!top!reader x sub!bottom!san, heavy cursing, name calling, slut shaming, degradation, body worship, breeding, rough sex, kitchen sex (on the table), marking, choking, spanking, bulging kink, thigh fetish, possessiveness on san's part, slapping cus reader is extra, extra kinky word count :: 1,286 a/n i genuinely just have no idea how the security system works for backstage passes so bear with me :| requested by anon [ask] network tag@preciousillusions-net pt.1 ; pt.2

"l/n m/n?" the security guard asked. you nodded, giving him your id when he asked for it. he looked it over, passed it back to you, and knocked lightly on the door before opening it a crack to let san know you had arrived.

your heart started screaming in your chest the moment you heard san's voice calling you to come in, and the security guard gestured you inside before shutting & locking the door behind you. you spent nearly all your willpower to keep your face from turning impossibly cherry-red as you sat down on the couch per san's silent gesture.

awkward silence...

lots of very tense, awkward silence.

"so... three hours, huh?" san said, breaking the silence after a while.

"heh- yeah..." you giggled sheepishly, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly.

"i get you all to myself for a whole three hours..." he said in a quiet, almost worryingly chipper voice.

"i… y-yeah," you stuttered, turning away.

"c'mere, come play a dinosaur game with me." san said with a happy smile, patting the couch cushion to his left and waving his phone in the air.

"s-sure," you said, pulling out your phone and opening ark- assuming that was the game he was referring to. (a/n: indeed it was. ark is the only game i know a lot about so its ark. author's rules, shut up.)

the offer did make you blush, yes, but it was more so the words that came out of his mouth next that shook you to your core. the words that started the nagging in the back of your mind; that little voice that insisted that something was off.

you gave san your username and he invited you to a private server he'd created, and you and him played the game for about thirty minutes, the silence between you and the man of your dreams finally beginning to feel comfortable. until san rent it in two and left the pieces to rot between you and him.

"y'know, you're awfully quiet and shy for someone walking around giving off such a loudly pronounced aura."

you had nothing to say to this, so you shifted in your seat a bit and tried to continue playing the game, trying your best to ignore the fact that san was quite obviously a) hitting on you, and b) scooting closer and closer to you.

"oh come on, i know you have an answer to that." he sniped playfully, putting his phone down and shoving your shoulder gently with the strength of his.

"san, everything i have in mind to say in response to that would get me blacklisted from everything ateez ever does for the rest of my gay, miserable existence." you said back sassily before continuing your game once more.

"oh you like men, do you?" san teased, "am i your type?"

you stayed silent.

san leaned in and sent a shiver down your spine as you felt his breath on your neck.

"'cus you're definitely mine."

this is when you lost your last ounce of self control.

"god fucking damn it all, choi san, you and your fucking rizz." you spat, throwing your phone aside onto the floor- it was an iphone, and the case was pretty durable… right?

tossing aside every drop of dignity you had, you turned, looked san right in the eyes for a fraction of a second, and the pounced. your hands made identical beelines for san's chiseled face and your lips connected with his in what could very well have been a car crash, your tongue forcing its way into his mouth and your hands tangling into his soft black hair. you ate up the needy groan that ripped through his throat, tangling your tongue with his and feeding him a growl of your own as his hands went up under your shirt and began to roam your back and shoulders. a small whimper escaped your lips when he raked his nails down your shoulders and upper back without warning; he smirked smugly into the kiss and gestured impatiently for you to be rid of your shirt.

he wanted to see your body.

san yanked softly on your hair and leaned down to whisper in your ear.

"y'know, i could really use a bit of a confidence boost, little prince..."

you giggled into san's ear, gladly indulging in the things he was asking for.

"oh san, the things i could say... where do i start?" you hummed, "mmm... your jawline, first off. you could literally cut me with this bitch and i would pay to have it done again."

san chuckled, nuzzling into your neck and biting down on the skin there.

"keep talking and you might get something out of it, pretty boy." he purred into your ear, starting to leave bruises all over your neck.

you giggled again, leaving a bite mark of your own on san's throat before continuing your speech.

"and you're literally shaped like a fucking dorito," you snapped in a loud voice, "and for what? for what, san?? are you trying to become aphrodite?? 'cus it's working like a fucking charm..."

san's pride had already been flying through the roof (probably for no reason at all, honestly), but hearing you talk about him the way you just did honestly had him twitching in his pants. he put his hand over your mouth to shush you, immediately replacing it with his mouth and shoving his tongue into yours. he wrapped his arms tighter around your waist, leaving brand new, stinging, scorching hot scratch marks down your back and shoulders, and his eyes rolled back into his head when you growled hungrily into his mouth.

"f-fuck, san..." you whimpered, wrapping your legs around his waist.

san broke away from the kiss, rolling over into the back of the couch and nuzzling into your neck again.

"well," he said smugly, "i've got the confidence boost i wanted... but now you've given me another problem to deal with."

your eyebrows nearly disappeared into your hair.

"san..."

"yes, darling?"

"are... are you asking me to suck your dick?"

silence.

"yes." san decided after a couple moments. "yes i am."

"gimme."

that was the only answer san needed.

~~~

"fuck..." san whimpered, "fuck, right there, YES, FUCK--"

"yeah?" you cooed, slapping san's face softly and listening happily to his high-pitched whining as you continued dicking him down into oblivion. "you like that, bitch? you're such a nasty slut, you like this, don't you? you like being slapped around..."

"y-yes sir," san whimpered, "f-fuck, it feels so good- fuck, right there, please-"

"such a pretty little fucking slut..." you growled, wrapping your hand around his throat and squeezing as hard as you could.

"m-m/n, fuck, right there, yeah-"

"what was that, bitch? what'd you say?"

"fuck, sir, right there..." san corrected himself in a high-pitched voice, as quickly as he could through the fog that was taking over his brain.

"good boy, that's better." you purred, laying down on top of him and speeding up your ministrations as fast and hard as you could without hurting yourself. san made a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a high-pitched whine as the tip of your dick hit his already-abused prostate.

"fuck, fuck, FUCK, sir, right there, shit- breed meee," san groaned, burying his face in your shoulder and let the feelings of you fucking your load into him hit him like a subway train. he groaned into your neck and bit down as hard as he could, screaming into your neck as his orgasm took him and flew away into the clouds with him.

"you're such a pretty boy," you praised, "you took my dick so well..."

#chaece.exe 🌑#fever.dreams 🌑#cacaokpop #preciousillusionsnet #ateez #san #choi san #ateez smut #san x male reader #ateez x male reader #ateez x male reader smut #choi san x male reader #choi san smut #male idol x male reader #sub!idol #sub!ateez

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cilil · 8 months ago

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feel free to ignore if this is too personal a question, but i’m curious- what does the username cilil mean / why did you choose it?

Heh! Good question, anon, I'm actually surprised nobody asked that yet (not on here at least), so let me tell you a fun little story.

cilil - or Cílil, if we want to be grammatically correct - is technically just that: A name. It's Sindarin and means "renewal" (cîl - renewal plus feminine suffix -il).

Since I know some have been wondering about this, I want to take the opportunity to add that Sindarin c is always pronounced [k], so it's "kilil", not church Latin style "silil"; though don't worry about it, since it's just my username and the latter version sounds like "seal-il" I don't get my panties in a twist about it or anything :D

I made the name Cílil many years ago, years before I showed up here or talked to anyone in the Tolkien fandom. It was supposed to be given to a Maia who is wandering Middle-earth on her own to experience life and be part of creation, unaligned with both the good and evil Ainur - just on her own and serving no Vala.

At the time, however, I didn't really "do the OC thing" - not trying to be shady or act like I'm "better" of course, I've grown to love OCs, have a few of my own and support them, as you all know. It was just what my modus operandi and level of comfort was at the time; I still had cringe culture to kill, plus being in other fandoms and whatnot, so the idea was shelved for the time being.

Then, years later, I came back to the Silmarillion fandom and it suddenly occurred to me that the username(s) I was using at the time were rather specific to my old fandom that I wished to leave behind. To make matters worse, I had just joined a Discord server and was now sitting in front of my laptop, mildly panicking like "girl think quickly now and rename yourself before people know you under a name you no longer want".

Cílil was the first that came to mind. And I liked it - not just the sound of it, but also because it was so fitting. Renewal. That was exactly what I was doing. Closing a chapter, going somewhere else, beginning a new one, starting from scratch (most notably this blog). It was poetic in a way. And so I took it. Just put it in lower case because I liked that aesthetically and some sites like Tumblr and AO3 don't allow the í, so there.

As for the Maia whose name I stole, I also kind of stole the whole persona to turn it into a sort of bit for me to play, this funny little meta side joke that I am a Maia who's hanging out with the mortals in Middle-earth and spilling all the tea and sharing all the stories I collected over the years. It's just a thing I do with all my online personae for shits and gigs and running gags with friends, pretending I'm part of the universe in question in some silly (dare I say sill-il? :P) way.

The character, though I never introduced them on this blog, has since been revamped, remade, remixed, remastered and most importantly renamed, but they keep "Cílil" as one of the many alternate names they were given in Middle-earth, just as a sort of easter egg. They would've required a Quenyan name as a default anyway, so that all worked out nicely.

So yeah. This is the lore of Cílil/cílil/cilil. Hope you all enjoyed the ancient lore :)

#asks #cílil answers #the lore of cílil #i also know many people just call me cílil in general which is of course absolutely fine since it is an actual name even :D #y'all can pick and choose between it and what's in the bio

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harshnirmal · 1 month ago

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mybones537 · 1 year ago

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Time Chapter 9

Moriarty the Patriot x Fem reader

This is posted under the same username on the pad of the watt aka wattpad.

Pietermaritzburg, KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa 17 April 2024

3rd person p.o.v

It’s been 5 months since (Name) disappeared, no one knows what happened. There have been multiple investigations launched to try to figure out what happened. No one knows what happened.

The detective in charge was Detective Theo Gundani.He was a seasoned detective, he had solved many cases in his time, most of them no one thought they could be solved. He solved all his cases except one.Theo was an older man, he was in his early 50s, his hair was greying at his temples. His face was always stoic, you would never see him smile. The detective had known (Name) since she was sixteen. He was also the detective in charge of (Name’s) family’s case, he had to determine if it was an accident or not. The man was fond of (Name), he had taken her under his wing, taught her everything he knew. Theo taught her how to deduce people, how to pick up on things, self defence, how to handle a gun and how to handle wrist blades. Thanks to him, (name) was a very observant and independent person.

He was determined to find out what happened to (Name). The whole situation didn’t make sense to him or anyone else. Most people thought Waydon McNamara had something to do with it. He had been questioned multiple times, as was Lwandle Zungu who was a first responder on the accident.

Another detective who was recently added to the case was Tahlia De Beer, who was a junior detective from Johannesburg. She was pretty well known as a detective, so it was hoped that she and Theo could work together to figure out what happened. She was in her mid-20s and she dyed her hair black. She was casual about everything, a bit too casual, but she got things done.

Both of them worked alone. One knew (Name) and the other didn’t. One had years of experience and one was new to the job.

They met up for the first time today at SAPS Pietermaritzburg Police Station to discuss the case, and immediately Theo didn’t like her. Tahlia didn’t seem like she cared about anything, which infuriated Theo.

They were now sitting in Theo’s office going over the case file that Theo created. Tahlia read over the file multiple times.

“This doesn’t make sense! How does someone go missing in a few seconds from when she was last seen, in a sealed ambulance that the fire and rescue responders had to break open” Tahlia said as she scratched her head in confusion.

“This isn’t just any old missing person’s case. You need to think differently for this one, forget everything you know about being a detective. Your mind needs to be open to all the possibilities.” The older detective said.

“Even Time Travel?"

#moriarty the patriot #albert james moriarty #louis james moriarty #william james moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty #james moriarty #sebastian moran #mycroft holmes #moriarty fanfic #sherlock #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fandom #sherlock holmes

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blazehedgehog · 2 years ago

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Thoughts on EGS basically locking games to it exclusively by throwing obscene money at them because otherwise it's a garbage service and basically Chinese spyware?

Listen, I don't really like EGS (that is, the Epic Game Store) but you don't have to sound so... borderline racist about it.

In truth, it's almost a little worrying how pretty much impossible it is to topple Steam's control of the market. Epic gave it pretty much the best shot anyone has ever given it, pouring millions, possibly even billions of dollars into giving away HUNDREDS of free games and tying dozens more up in exclusivity deals. They played hardball in the press, calling Valve's practices out, and providing developers a better, more profitable deal.

And the needle barely even budged. There are a growing number of stories of developers who finally release their games on Steam only to see orders of magnitude more customers than they ever had on EGS. And thanks to the lawsuit with Apple, it's been revealed in pretty black and white terms that all those free games they give away do not necessarily translate to sales.

Because let's be fair here: Valve may not exactly be a very great company? Even in a best-case scenario, they are difficult to motivate because of their explicit company structure. Though Valve eventually produces some of the greatest games ever made, their mantra when it comes to managing and maintaining the health of certain parts of their company is often one of "eh, good enough." You have to rock the boat pretty hard to get them to take real action.

That's not me rallying around EGS. Or Origin (sorry, "The EA App"), or Battle Net, or anything else.

I go out of my way to avoid those applications when I can. Spyware or not, they just suck to use, and I don't need yet another username and password to keep track of, or another client sitting dormant for 99% of my computer's uptime. The only non-Valve storefront I like is GOG, and GOG's client (GOG Galaxy) isn't very good and may actually be making their service worse, given they route all game installs through Galaxy now instead of just giving you a regular PC installer.

But it is hard to be a fan of a company like Valve who, at least publicly, seems to be so indifferent to the people who built their throne.

Their development mantra almost feels like hedonism at times. Like Gabe Newell is splayed out on couch somewhere wearing a toga, an olive branch crown adorning his head, being fed grapes like "Left 4 Dead 3? Ehh... whatever."

They are basically what happens when an indie studio has infinite money. There's no incentive to do anything for anyone because there's zero external motivation.

It would be nice if somebody, at some point, lit a fire under their asses and actually got them to focus up and try for once, again. Instead of decades of dead end experiments, most of which probably never even make it into the public view. I love Valve, but that affords me the ability to say that being a Valve fan has sucked big time over this last decade and a half.

And the fact that Epic could burn all that money, all that effort on EGS, and not even scratch them? That's scary.

And now Epic has just revealed their brand new terms to publish games on EGS: for the first six months, you get to keep 100% of your revenue. Which would be great, if not for the fact that, y'know, as I established in this very blog, nobody is really buying tons of games on EGS. This just means Epic gets to have more exclusives but now they don't have to pay for them anymore. They aren't even getting that launch window revenue anymore.

Epic isn't just falling on their sword here, they're bending over backwards to do it, in the hopes of shaking someone, ANYONE off of Steam. But Valve is just that entrenched.

#questions #Anonymous #epic games #egs #valve software #half-life

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samimasen · 6 months ago

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4 month HRT-versary, day late cause yesterday was a doozy.

Where do I even start? This was undoubtedly the most stressful, emotional, and anxiety-inducing month I've ever been through with so many emotions peaking at heights I've never experienced.

Started the month by ordering a new phone, only to have to return it cause my dork ass installed a custom OS only to find it doesn't work with 4/5g network due to some samsung proprietary software bs. I even ordered a case for it, which is now useless.

As much as I've been trying to get involved with the local trans community I keep making missteps and running up against people's boundaries and just making a fool of myself at every turn. Though I was aware my username has alt-right connotations and hated that, I was actually confronted on it when joining a server and it opened my eyes to the fact that I've probably been under scrutiny all this time without knowing it. So, alas, I'm currently thinking of a new handle to go by, as the idea of being judged preemptively is too uncomfortable to bear.

I looked after a cat for a week from the 19th which ended up being a huge mistake. She got out by scratching through the fly-screen door and was missing for 1 1/2 days. I was so worried I couldn't eat, sleep, and was vomiting from stress. And god, when the neighbours told me they'd found a dead cat in the bushes, FUCK! I was hanging by a thread. Thankfully it wasn't the cat I was looking after, and soon after she showed up at the front door mewling for food. Palpable relief. But, I think I'm traumatized from owning pets for life now.

The holiday period has always been a melancholic time for me, with this year being no exception. Thankfully I was invited out on Christmas and NYE but still couldn't get all my regrets out of my head. Better than spending it alone though, would've just been rotting in bed otherwise.

And then, finally, my birthday/coming out day. Not a day passed by without me thinking about it. The amount of prep it takes to host an event like this alone is insane. Food, seating, music, activities, and the everything that comes with the announcement of "I'm a trans/autistic/lesbian" to people I've known for nearly half my life. Of the 7 invited, only 4 were able to make it, the 4 closest thankfully. When they arrived, I switched on Dancing Queen, swung open the door, and walked down my steps wearing a modest fem outfit with my trans flag as a cape. Trepidation fell over them as they wondered if this was a bit or not, but after tearing up a bit while introducing my new self they caught on and promptly started congratulating me! There was a lot of questions asked, compliments made, and support given, and though it remains to be seen if it continues, I'm happy to mark this as a W for the cis. And a W for me for pulling off a perfect NY party!

Uuuugh, the relief I feel at this month finally being over is wonderful. It took so much effort to move past every hardship along the way, and I'm really proud of my mental fortitude that I was able to surpass it intact. As much as I'd like to use this next month to decompress there's still too much to do in the fallout of coming out. And I'll no doubt have to explore the emotions I felt this past month as they were too powerful to continue ignoring. But, I guess it's preferable to rotting away in bed like I was doing for most of my 20's.

I think I'll pickup a new hobby this year...

#samanthoughts #hrt-versary

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growinstablog · 1 year ago

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How to (selectively) hide Instagram Stories like a pro

Welcome to TNW Basics, a collection of tips, guides, and advice on how to easily get the most out of your gadgets, apps, and other stuff.

Instagram Stories are a handy way of sharing fleeting moments from your life without immortalizing them on your feed. But sometimes you might want to shield those ephemeral experiences from certain followers – family, partners, bosses, groups of friends your other groups of friends don’t know about, you name it.

Well, there’s a simple way of picking and choosing who can see your Stories. No, scratch that, there are three simple ways of doing it:

Directly from the Stories menu

The quickest way of doing that is directly from the Stories menu. Indeed, Instagram first introduced this feature two years ago.

Once you’ve posted a story, click on the ‘More’ option

Select ‘Story Settings’

In the ‘Story Settings’ menu, you should see the ‘Hide Story from’ segment

If you haven’t used this setting before, it will say ‘0 People’ (the number will depend based on how many people you’ve hidden your stories from)

Click on ‘0 People’

This should pull up your list of followers as well as a search field where you can filter them by their username

Select the people you want to hide your Story from and click the ‘Tick’ sign at the upper right corner

Boom! You’re done

A quick heads-up: once you’ve hidden a story from a certain user, your next stories will remain invisible to them until you update your Story Settings.

Hiding Stories from certain profiles

Now, while the previous method works just fine, it only works with people that already follow you. This still leaves your Stories open to random people that come across your profile.

Fortunately, Instagram also lets you hide Stories from profiles that don’t yet follow you.

Head to the profile of the person you want to hide your Stories from

Click the “Burger” menu in the upper-right corner

That should pull up a number of options, including one to ‘Hide Your Story’ from that account

Click ‘Hide Your Story’

Confirm you want to do so by clicking ‘Hide’

Done!

Show your Stories only to a small batch of pre-selected ‘Close Friends’

There’s one more way to hide your Stories from select people: by building a list of ‘Close Friends‘ pre-approved for screening your Stories.

Go to your profile and hit the “Burger” menu in the upper-right corner

Select ‘Close Friends’

This should open a list of suggested contacts you can add as ‘Close Friends’

Click the ‘Add’ button to include users in that list

When you’re done adding ‘Close Friends,’ head to Stories and chose an image you want to post as usual

Post the story by clicking the ‘Close Friends’ button – this will only send that Story to your pre-approved list

Done!

That’s it, now you know three different ways to selectively choose who can see your Stories.

And in case you’re getting sick of seeing other people’s Stories – here’s how to block them from appearing on your feed.

https://growinsta.xyz/how-to-selectively-hide-instagram-stories-like-a-pro/

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porkchop-ao3 · 1 year ago

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A Thrill I've Never Known (Chapter 70)

Losing Oursleves

Hey guys! I don't think you were expecting regular updates from me, but it's been over a year and I can't quite believe it. A lot has changed (I'm a married woman now!) and this year has gone so fast. But I'm determined to finish this story. So here's a new chapter (a naughty one hehe). I'm thinking there's only one or maybe two chapters to go :) it's all planned out, just gotta write it!

(All chapters tagged as #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

A number of weeks had passed since everybody went their separate ways. Arthur and I had made it to the remote and desolate wilderness of New Austin. We moved from place to place each day, always out in the middle of nowhere, sleeping with the armadillos and the iguanas, and even on one occasion coming face to face with a panther. That was a moment during which I'd caught myself beginning to miss the days of living in a camp with a dozen other people, always someone on guard to protect from not only human intruders but also those from nature.

Waking up to a panther sniffing at the wagon and making off with a day's worth of freshly hunted goat meat was exactly the push we needed to find a better arrangement for storing our meat overnight. We were lucky, the animal didn't seem all that interested in us, only casting a glance at us when it realised we were watching it, frozen on our bed rolls, Arthur with his gun trained on the thing and ready to shoot. He would've done so if it hadn't immediately ran away, and we realised it was probably a youngster. Had it been an adult, it might have preferred its dinner warm and still with a pulse. Yes, we were very lucky indeed.

Life in the desert certainly wasn't fun. I think I preferred the muggy, soggy swamp, alligators and all. But maybe I was biased, touched with some kind of nostalgia for my childhood, which made those gloomy conditions seem somewhat comforting. Especially in comparison to the sharp and unwelcome atmosphere I tended to get from the desert, sharp in very much a physical sense as well as metaphorical; everything was sharp. From the unrelenting brightness of the sun which assaulted my eyes, to the scratch of the cacti each time I unknowingly brushed up against one or found a stray needle in my bedroll.

But then there was the evenings, when the sun was setting and the temperature dropped, and the sounds of the place came alive. Insects chirping all around from every direction, birds of all sizes and kinds flying overhead, calling out to one another as they prepared to find a spot to roost for the night, and the quiet whistle of the wind whipping through the dry grass and across the arid land. There was something, dare I say, peaceful about it.

There was definitely a love-hate relationship between the desert and I. I hadn't spent much time there at all in my life; I'd visited a few times as a child – my mother had cousins living nearby, though all since long dead – and of course I had been in Blackwater when my brother passed. I never liked it much as a child, and that didn't change much as I aged. But now? The desert became paired with a new association. One of freedom. Of course, I still couldn't say I enjoyed being there, but I enjoyed being away from everything the East had put us through. It felt like a fresh beginning.

So, Arthur and I spent our days in the wilderness, staying mostly out of the way of other people. Most days we didn't see another soul besides the animals, and those certainly felt more abundant than they had anywhere else. However, I figured it felt so just because there were less places for them to hide.

When I did see other people, it was when I headed into Armadillo to visit the store, where I'd buy supplies for us. I didn't speak more than necessary and always kept my head down, I was alone, with Arthur needing to stay out of sight in case someone recognised him. It was the second time I went there that something caught my eye in the store. A little notice pinned to the wall by the door. It read:

FOR SALE. Seaworthy steamboat. Roomy interior with comfortable living quarters. For information ask for Pete at saloon.

It was a simple poster with a hastily yet nicely drawn sketch of a long steamboat with a raised interior section protruding from the deck. I paused on the way out of the store to inspect it, leaning in and narrowing my eyes. A flicker of interest lit up my chest and I considered things for a moment. A boat. A boat with living quarters? How convenient, I thought. Perhaps it was a ridiculous idea, and I was just influenced by my slowly building desire to get away from the desert.

Or perhaps it was genius?

I left the store with my groceries and headed back out of the settlement of Armadillo to meet with Arthur, who was waiting by our wagon. When I arrived I loaded the things I had bought into the back of the wagon, and floated the idea out there.

"How'd you feel about boats?" I asked.

"Boats?" Arthur scoffed. "I think I recall telling you I'd never set foot on one again, after Blackwater, that poker job in Saint Denis, Guarma…" he laughed, snapping me back to reality. Oh yeah… I remembered his words from what seemed a lifetime ago now. Every time I set foot on a boat, at best I get wet and at worst I almost die.

"Oh, right," I nodded, tutting to myself. I climbed up onto the wagon beside Arthur, and noticed he was looking at me, waiting.

"Why?" He eventually asked.

"It don't matter," I told him, chuckling dismissively.

"Must've mattered a minute ago, was the first thing you said to me when you came back," he said. I shrugged my shoulders.

"No, I just saw there's one for sale nearby. Apparently it has living quarters inside, I wondered if it would be good for us but you're right, you were never that lucky when it comes to boats," I explained.

Arthur kept looking at me, his brow furrowed in thought. "How much?"

"It didn't say, but there's a feller named Pete apparently, frequents the saloon."

"Hm," he grunted, before letting it go. Then we headed off, back into the empty wilderness.

–

Just a few long days later, there was an incident. One that shook us up and reminded us of just how many ears the tales of Arthur and Dutch's Boys' crimes had reached.

We had moved further west, towards the little town of Tumbleweed. I remembered the place from my childhood, during the times I had visited family nearby; it had been a lot more substantial back then, bustling with new business and new inhabitants, it seemed it would become quite the hub of the West. But in the subsequent years, the success of Armadillo was becoming increasingly noticeable in the downfall of Tumbleweed. Businesses and people moved out, passers by rarely looked twice, what remained was a small collection of stragglers who refused to stop beating the dead horse it embodied. It was becoming a mere smudge on the map and so we figured Arthur might not be recognised there.

We both desperately needed to bathe and buy a fresh set of clothes, since the harsh days in the desert – and even less access than usual to clean water to wash them – had taken its toll on the small amount of clothes we had. So we stopped by the general store and chose from their small range of clothing and paid their up-marked prices without complaint, and without incident. The saloon seemed like our most promising hope for a place to take a bath, and so we headed there next to enquire.

There was no bath, unfortunately. There was however a gentleman who recognised Arthur, even less fortunately. He was reasonable enough not to shout it on sight and instead waited until we were outside, heading back to the wagon. He followed us, confronted us, and shortly after was laid to rest somewhere North of Gaptooth Ridge.

Arthur had been quiet for hours after that. He'd shot the man point blank in the chest with very little hesitation, but I could see from his tight, grim expression that lingered well into the evening that he was chewing over the guilt. I let him have his time before I mentioned it over the campfire that night.

"You okay?" I asked him, and he merely grunted. "Arthur."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to say. You shouldn't have seen that, today."

"I've seen worse," I scoffed.

"But all this talk, all this crap about changing and doing the right thing from here on out. Didn't exactly last long, did it?" He rumbled, his voice almost just a vibration that reached my thudding heart before my ears.

"That's different."

"How?"

"You weren't left with much of a choice."

"You sure?"

I sighed and rolled up onto my knees and shuffled towards him on the bedroll we were sitting side by side on, below the stars. "I'm sure. He'd have gone and told somebody and then the law would know we're out here, and we'd be up shit creek without a paddle faster than you could've pulled your pistol if you'd hesitated for a second longer."

"Or I could've paid him off, threatened him, I don't know," he grumbled, shaking his head. I put my hand on his shoulder and turned him to look at me.

"But why take the risk?" I asked.

"So I wouldn't have to kill another innocent person," he met my eyes and they were pained. I leaned down and kissed his forehead.

"Okay," I accepted, "but he knew who you were, what he was getting himself into when he confronted us alone. It weren't too bright of him. He could've kept his mouth shut and ran to the Sheriff. At least now we know he took it to the grave."

Arthur didn't say anything, he dropped his eyes to my chest and kept them fixed there.

"The other day you were telling me to let go of guilt, to not beat myself up. You should take your own advice sweetheart," I told him, cupping his cheek in my hand and stroking the highest plane of his cheekbone with my thumb. He closed his eyes and softened, his lips parting just slightly.

I pressed my lips to his and he jumped, not expecting it, but he responded quickly. His hands reached for my waist and he turned to me more, facing my body completely. He broke the kiss just for a moment, his breath sucking in quickly and sharply in realisation.

"Let's buy that boat," he whispered.

"Seriously?" I questioned, and he pulled me back to kiss me again, his hands insistently gripping my waist like he wanted something he was too afraid to ask for. I climbed onto his lap, straddling his hips

"Seriously," he affirmed. "Might finally feel like we have a home."

"But you hate boats," I huffed a laugh.

"Not as much as I hate all this looking over our shoulders," he said.

"Right," I breathed, nodding as I kissed his forehead. He tilted his head up and connected our lips again, kissing me for a few short moments before I felt the warm press of his tongue against the seal of my lips. I eased, letting him run the wet tip along the underside of my upper lip so lightly it tickled. Then I heard a needy whine escape him, his hands squeezing hard into my hips urging me to put my full weight onto him, and I felt his desire firm between my legs.

It'd been a while since we made love. Our circumstances had hardly been ideal for it, but I'd noticed in Arthur's demeanour that he had wanted to, in the press of his hips into my backside when we laid side by side in our bedrolls. He'd stay there for a few moments until he got hard, and then he'd roll back. I knew he wouldn't ask me for it out in the open, he wouldn't want to take the risk of anyone seeing. Our tent was buried somewhere in the wagon, an oversight during packing, and frankly we'd been too lazy to dig it out.

I regretted that now, as he kissed me, unashamedly showing me his desire in the rough and hungry way his lips worked against mine, and the tight grip of his hands on the soft flesh of my hips.

Suddenly, with the buildup of my own arousal reaching a precipice, I didn't care who saw.

"Let's do it," I whispered harshly against his lips.

"Wha- here?" He balked, hesitancy in his actions as he readied to peel himself away from me. I ground myself against him to stop him.

"Do you wanna?" I asked.

"If someone sees–"

"No one's gonna see," I giggled, lifting my skirt and shifting it out of the way. I took his hand from my hip and guided it down, slipping it through the layers of fabric until it reached me. His fingers cascaded over the slickness, between the folds, sinking inside. He shuddered out a sigh and nipped at my jaw and my neck.

"I wanna," he breathed, rocking his fingers inside me, closing his eyes as he imagined something else disappearing inside the warmth.

He pushed them deeper, finding my favourite spot with practiced ease, rubbing it until my breath became laboured.

"I missed this feeling," he told me, "you feel like heaven, I imagine."

"You imagine," I repeated, puzzled by his choice of words.

"Well I ain't got much chance of seeing the real thing, so I figure I'm getting my taste of heaven here on earth now," he chuckled, his voice a honey smooth buzz clouded with lust.

I reached between his legs too, unbuttoning his jeans and the lower part of his union suit until his stiff length sprang free, the tip already glistening, having left a wet spot on the new clothes we'd bought just that morning. I took him into my hand, coating my palm with the slick and using it to lubricate my strokes.

Every tense muscle in his body seemed to ease at my touch, his shoulders sagging and his ministrations on me temporarily stuttering. I smirked a little, rocking my hips to bring his attention back. His eyes flashed open, cheeks flushing as his fingers restarted their dance inside me; it was short-lived, however, and he withdrew them. I was feeling deprived for less than a second before I realised they were heading for his mouth. He tasted me.

"I'm gonna need a little more of that," he rumbled, wrapping his arms around me and rocking back, then forth; the momentum rolling him onto his knees and me onto my back.

He flipped my skirt up and buried himself underneath, keeping my body hidden from the world so he was in a little one man tent. I laughed, dropping my head back against the bedroll, jumping and gasping when wet heat engulfed my nether regions. His tongue explored, circling my most sensitive spot before moving down, slipping just inside my entrance. I moaned quietly, my fingers clawing into the fabric of my skirt wishing they could tangle in his hair instead.

I squirmed on the bedroll, tilting my hips and pressing against his mouth, and he encouraged my motions with a moan that vibrated through me. But it wasn't long until the emptiness felt unbearable and the desire to have him inside me was more of a need.

And I told him so. "Arthur, I need it."

He reappeared from underneath my skirt, his lips glistening and hair tousled.

"You need it, huh?" He repeated, his smile growing. He glanced around and pushed my skirt up when he was satisfied the coast was clear.

"I need it," I reiterated with a nod, twitching as I felt his thumbs move to my folds, parting them as he looked down to admire the view. I looked down at his cock, twitching and leaking where it jutted out from his clothes. I imagined how the round head of it would feel pressed up against my entrance, pushing forward until my body yielded, letting him in. An involuntary whine left me.

"Now," I'd never sounded so demanding, and it caught us both by surprise.

"Yes ma'am," he chuckled, sitting back on his heels and picking my hips up, dragging me closer to him down the bedroll until my hips were raised onto his thighs.

My hand wrapped around his length and I helped guide him, rubbing the head of it against me, revelling in the hot firmness. I savoured it as he nudged my opening, and let him press forward slowly so I felt every single inch. We sighed in unison as I took him deep, until our pelvises were flush.

"Lord have mercy," he murmured, his face slack, almost comical. He pulled back slowly, and rocked back in quickly. It sent fireworks into my lower belly, and he repeated that slow-fast motion a number of times, the slow part becoming faster and faster until his rhythm settled into a quick one that wasn't gentle. Gentle wouldn't cut it then for either of us.

I let my knees fall apart and he caught my legs, his palms cupping the crooks of my knees as he bounced me back and forth, his cock drilling in and out of me in a way that was so satisfying, it was like drinking a tall glass of cold water on a hot day. My eyes practically rolled back in their sockets and I moaned his name, my head dropping back on the bedroll.

Arthur's eyes darted from between my legs, to my face, to our surroundings. He was never one to let his guard down completely and I allowed myself to let go and put my trust entirely in him. I didn't think about where we were, our vulnerable position out in the open. I just focused on the pleasure, the slick and rhythmic motion as he entered and re-entered, pressing something deep inside me.

My hands found their way to his knees, and I held onto them for support behind my hips, squeezing my fingertips into his thighs. My touch encouraged him, he fucked harder, and the angle of my body changed. Disoriented for just a moment, my calves ended up on his shoulders, his face peeking out between them as he wrapped his arms around my legs and shifted upwards. His cock was tilted forwards, pressing the most sensitive spot inside me. His arms squeezed my thighs tightly together and it changed the nature of the pleasure, it felt even nicer this way, and I knew he'd undo me quickly.

I wondered how it would feel to have him burst inside me, filling me with what he usually painted my stomach with. I wondered if it would feel good; hot and satisfying, adding to the slick, or if I'd notice at all until he pulled out and allowed it to drip from me. I imagined him failing to stop in time, losing himself in a way that Arthur never does, and chasing his orgasm unthinkingly, spilling into me before even realising what he was doing. The mental image did things to me that surprised me and made me gaze into his face, imagining it over and over, almost willing it to happen. Now I was losing myself.

My orgasm built off of that image and I didn't try to stop it, didn't try to make things last any longer, I let it take over. I felt it, really felt it in an all-consuming way, my heart racing as I climbed to that precipice, and crying out involuntarily as I leapt off of it. My goodness, it felt good.

"I'm coming!" I gasped out, a plea for him to keep going, never stop. Arthur obliged, turning his head and pressing kisses into my inner leg, dancing his lips across my scars as I enjoyed him.

Shortly after my come down, Arthur pulled out, rubbing his cock between my thighs with that unchanging rhythm, and released with a grunt. It was powerful, shooting past my shoulder and partially onto my face, which prompted him to pull back harshly and soil my inner thighs with the rest. I giggled in surprise.

"Shit, I'm sorry Princess," he huffed and puffed, shakily releasing my legs down either side of him and leaning forwards, thumbing away the gift he'd bestowed upon my cheek. I caught his hand, and tongued his fingertip to clean it away. He kissed me roughly, lips pinching mine between them and pulling, sucking until they tingled. It was like he wanted to devour me.

"It's okay," I chuckled when he let me speak.

"That was an accident, I didn't expect it to shoot that far," he apologised.

"Me neither," I smirked, cupping his face in my hands.

"Should'a known, it's been a while," he breathed, leaning back and looking down. He tutted at the state of himself, his trousers stained by what he'd left on my thighs. "Jesus," he said, humour clear in his eyes.

"We need a place where we can do this without ruining our clothes," I noted.

"That boat of yours got enough room?"

I laughed, "I think so."

"Perfect," he smirked.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #reader insert #atink

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zepskies · 1 year ago

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Oh my God, starting off hot and strong in the opener here. 🥵 I was not prepared loll!

Beau's hands, my lord does he have talents. 😩 "Lazy early morning" smut is one of my favorites to read, tbh.

But aww he got her a coffee maker!! Love it. 🤣

And this case is getting more and more interesting. I genuinely have no idea who the killer is yet, but I'm very intrigued to find out more. All the more intrigued that she's a woman, but concerning that she's seemingly got a focus on the reader. Her and Beau didn't cheat, but I'm curious if the killer will target them at any point and throw the nuances out of the window lol.

He gasped in disbelief. “They wrote that on the internet? Why would they do that?” “You’re such a guy,” Cassie teased him with a chuckle.

LMFAO Oh, sweet Beau. He really doesn't have a clue about the true depths of the interwebs. 😂 And "femmefatale187" -- of course that's the suspects user loll. I love all the little details you're weaving, like the meaning of 187. I know you've told me already about your original fiction, but here I can further tell that you're invested in crime thrillers.

What if you weren’t ready to hear it? What if he wasn’t ready to say it? What if the guilt in his heart, mind, and soul was right all this time and you were never his to take? What if you would never belong to him at all?

Ahh all of these flashbacks (both smutty and angsty) are shading in their past with more and more devastating clarity. 👌🏽

“Our best bet is the IP address of the username. Until that, we just gotta sit tight, I guess.” “I hate that.” Beau sighed in frustration.

Ahh yes. Beau's a man of action. 😆

Oh Goood, that flashback with Carla was painful! And gave me a sense of foreboding for what flashback you'd likely cover next. 🥲

“You do that a lot?” Beau scratched his throat, tucking his lips between his teeth as he found himself curiously cocking his head, hoping the gesture hid the worry underneath well enough. You shrugged. “Sometimes. Not as often as I used to,” you confessed and ignored the drops of guilt that oozed from your heart. “He was a part of my life for a decade. I can’t pretend he wasn’t.”

I'm glad you covered this, because that's another healthy bit of realism to this situation. 👌🏽 But I also loved that he's finally planning on taking her for a proper date! It's about effing time lol.

But Jeezus that last flashback was painful. 😭 I knew you'd cover it at some point, but didn't mean my heart was ready for it. (Lol your little disclaimer at the end that this was indeed a flashback, and they're in love and properly together in the present. -> It doesn't hurt to remind people. 😂)

Truly, you're a wonderful storyteller. I'm very excited for you to come back next week! I'm finally posting some more Tracker stuff as well next week too.

I hope you're getting all the rest and that the kiddo is (safely) tearin' around now that he's crawling. 💕

Polaris – Chapter 5

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, angst & some hurt, more murder mystery and flashbacks

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: Thank you guys so much for all your comments on the last part! They really make my day 🤍 We'll take a small break next week, but hopefully, the spice in this chapter keeps you afloat 😉

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 5: Illicit Affairs

You felt his lips ignite your skin, a trail of love down the back of your neck and shoulder blade as the sun filtered in through the trailer’s blinds behind you. You sighed blissfully, a smile dancing on your lips as you stretched your limbs in his embrace.

Your hand wandered above you, finding his full head of hair, fingers carding through the dark blond and soft strands. You could feel him grin against your skin before you felt his bulging erection pressing against your butt, causing you to push further into him on instinct.

“Mornin’,” he chuckled against the shell of your ear, his hand wandering to your front and diving between your legs. His fingers ran through your slick and stroked your sensitive bud.

“Oh God,” you whimpered and bit your bottom lip harshly. Your pussy throbbed at his touch, already feeling yourself fall over the edge. Beau could tell as well.

“Jesus,” he groaned with a gentle bite of your shoulder. “Someone’s ready.”

When his other hand snaked around your body from underneath and pulled you flush against his own like the lightest feather, his palm cupped one breast roughly, fingers playing with the pert nipple.

“Fuck me,” you mewled deliriously, your cunt screaming to be filled as his hands teased you to the brink of existence.

“I believe that’s what I’m already doing, darlin’,” he drawled, chuckling.

“Beau, please,” you begged, pushing even more against him as you searched for friction.

“Alright.”

Abandoning his teasing, he flipped you onto your stomach and straddled your thighs, prying your legs apart. His fingers did the same with your asscheeks before he threaded the aching tip of his cock through your arousal and nudged at your entrance. With one thrust, he pushed inside you till his pelvis met your cheeks. You moaned out in ecstasy when he stretched your walls with a pleasurable burn.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned into your ear, his beard scraping your cheek.

One of his hands gripped the headboard above you while the other one steadied you at your waist. His hips rolled slowly as he slid in and out of you, his cock stroking your cunt at a lazy early morning pace.

It still was enough to tip you over that sweet cliff of pleasure, especially when the hand on your waist traveled to your clit and gave it a few skillful rubs with his fingers. His thrusts then gained speed, hearing his ragged breaths in your ear. Your screaming climax was muffled as you buried your face in the fluffy pillow, fingers fisting the sheets tightly.

Beau’s hips came to a stuttering halt as your cunt pulsed around him. With his last stroke, he pushed into you as deeply as he could, burying himself to the brim. His cock twitched inside your velvety walls and filled you with his warm release. He cried out and let himself drop on top of you, breathing heavily into the crook of your neck until his orgasm passed.

You could’ve easily drifted back into sleep now, your eyelids heavy as he slipped out of you with one last wet kiss to your shoulder and rolled onto his back next to you as best as he could.

The bed was small, barely fitting two, and pushed against the wall at the very end of the trailer. But it was cozy, and you liked the tight space, considering it practically forced you two to cuddle all night.

“Guess I can save the workout this morning,” Beau said, and you could hear the grin in his voice.

You chortled. “As if you would’ve actually worked out.”

“You have no idea how much I’ve hiked this summer, alright? Those mountains are no joke,” he quipped.

“Actually, I do know ‘cause Cassie told me, and she said you weren’t all that impressive,” you retorted teasingly. You could feel him rise onto his forearms behind you as the mattress dipped, looking down at you with an arched eyebrow.

“‘Scuse me, I think I just showed you impressive,” he countered, making you laugh. Chuckling himself, he pecked the top of your head. “Got a surprise for you this morning.”

“I think I’ve already gotten your surprise,” you teased and rolled onto your back, smirking up at him.

He smiled down at you. “Hilarious. But I actually think you’ll like this one even better.”

“Better than your dick? Consider me interested.”

Beau nodded with his chin to the little kitchenette. “Look over there. It’s on the stove.”

You acrobatically rolled yourself to the edge of the bed, one hand touching the floor as you stretched your neck enough to spy his little surprise for you.

“I always knew you were flexible, but damn, girl, where’s that move been?” he joked behind you. You playfully slapped his arm, Beau tickling your sides in revenge.

“No, no, no tickling!” You squirmed through your giggles and tried to fend off his attack, almost plunging out of the bed before his arms caught you and pulled you back in. Then, you finally spied his surprise. “Aww, you got me one of those Italian coffee makers for the stove. I love those!”

“Oh, I know. I remembered you have one of those at home,” he said. “Figured it’d save you some gas before you bolted to the next town over for coffee.”

“Thank you.” You grinned broadly and showed your gratitude with a deep kiss, your hands cupping his cheeks.

“You’re welcome, although you can’t keep kissin’ me like that,” he said, smiling against your lips.

“Why?”

“‘Cause if you do, you and I are gonna be very late for work,” Beau quipped, but his palms already slid up your sides, pulling you closer to him.

You only smirked in response and draped your arms around his neck. You repeated the same deep kiss and straddled his thighs, pushing him back into the mattress.

“Guess we’ll be very late.”

September 2021

A beam of light hit your eyes as you groggily blinked awake. Your skin felt sticky under the thin layer of sheets, close to burning as if you’d slept next to a radiator all night. The digital alarm clock on the nightstand read 7:03AM and 80.3°F, and it took you a strong arm tightening around your middle to realize where you were, what happened, and why you were so goddamn hot.

Beau’s breath felt like a welcoming breeze against the nape of your neck, a cool draft of air that tickled your skin. His little snores in your ear made you smile, a serene and steady lullaby that could rock you to a peaceful sleep. Something you could get used to.

Your eyes then focused on the hands that held you. Massive and calloused. Reliant and durable. Protective and safe. Your fingers found themselves mindlessly playing with his, interlocking as if they refused to ever be separated.

He stirred, and you took a deep breath to inhale his scent and memorize it, scared he would take it with him when he decided to leave. Somehow a part of you knew it wouldn’t last. It was too complicated, too intricate, too messy. It was illicit, clandestine, and sinful.

It was everything you shouldn’t want but wanted.

“Hey,” Beau rasped behind you, his voice heavy with sleep and the great unknown.

You rolled onto your back, careful and slow as not to disturb the arms that held you. You didn’t want them to retreat. “Hey,” you said in a shaky whisper, your voice jittering in rhythm with your heart.

Yet, you couldn’t help the smile that rose to your cheeks when you looked into his eyes. There was a flicker of something in them that made your whole body rejoice.

An apprehensive swallow caused his Adam’s apple to bob as if he had to will himself to choke out these next words. “Any regrets yet?” he repeated last night’s question, the look on his face anticipating you to break his heart with your answer.

Tears crept to your eyes, but you did your best not to let them fall. You’d spent over a year crying out of sadness, never believing you’d find it and feel it again. But here you were, with tears of happiness stinging your eyes, falling in love all over again.

You cupped his cheeks, fingers carding tenderly through his beard. He watched you with a curious, hopeful, and awaiting look in his eyes, unlawful glances as your noses were so close they could touch at any forbidden heartbeat.

When you shook your head, you could feel his heart expand with relief. “Mm-mm, no. I don’t regret it at all. Not you, not anything,” you assured him.

His mouth twitched to a smile, his lips quivering against yours when he kissed you so criminally ardent you thought the world might be ending outside.

And yet, you ignored the warning in your heart, foreboding this love affair between you wouldn’t end well.

It was another long afternoon as you, with the help of Jenny, Cassie, and Beau, went through tons of files, looking for a connection between the victims. You’d been at it for a week now – and that was only the time you’d spent in Montana.

The whole case had already dragged on for months and several states, each new victim making you feel like a failure. The past months were strenuous, and you were growing tired of running in circles.

You were glad about the new helping hands and fresh eyes, though.

When Beau and Jenny had to work on other cases, it was just you and Cassie. Sometimes even Denise stopped by the station to help sort through the stacks of documents and make sense of them. Most of all, she would bring a little sunshine and make the dark days feel significantly brighter.

Denise would even bribe you with baked goods if you were willing to share some intimate details about her favorite sheriff, or in her words – the big details.

Cassie threw her a scolding look at that comment, whereas Beau gave you one when you sold him out for a deliciously homemade apple pie. The taste was well worth every inch you revealed.

However, aside from the few jokes that were shared between all of you, the case itself demanded long hours, a lot of brain cells, and an abundance of strong caffeine and greasy junk food.

While the victimology was clear, you still didn’t know how the killer found out about the cheating. Every partner had been pretty discreet about their infidelity, as were the women they cheated with. No one blasted their illicit affairs over social media. After all, what sane person would?

Most of them didn’t even bring their closest friends into the loop. Some workplace liaisons were even so hush-hush not a single co-worker knew about it until a screaming wife showed up.

There was no pattern in the furtive relationships, either. Some were classics like banging the secretary, the nanny, or the hot divorcee neighbor. Some were star-crossed love affairs that started with innocent meetings in cafés, in parks, or in elevators.

Not a single thing connected each of them.

So, how did your killer pick their victims and know for sure they had the right ones?

“I think I’ve found something,” you said on the eleventh day of research and narrowed your eyes at your laptop screen as the others around the table looked up from their stack of files and glanced curiously at you.

“What did you find?” Beau asked first and got up from his seat to stand behind you, leaning his hands on the backrest of your chair. Sometimes, it felt like he wasn’t ashamed to use any excuse to be close to you, and it made your goddamn cheeks blush, your knees weak, and your heartbeat faster.

“So, apparently, some of our victims visited a site called ‘doublecross(dot)com.’ It’s a website where people who’ve been cheated on can exchange stories and seek comfort. Sixteen of our twenty-four victims all made an entry on the site’s forum. Some of them even went into great detail about their spouse’s supposed escapades.”

“What kinda detail?” Beau questioned more out of curiosity than anything else.

“‘His secretary still had his cum on her lips when I visited him at the office last week. Guess it’s a new chapstick trend no one told me about,’” you read one entry and glanced over your shoulder to catch Beau’s scrunched brow behind you. “That’s from a victim in Wyoming, Margaret Davies.”

He gasped in disbelief. “They wrote that on the internet? Why would they do that?”

“You’re such a guy,” Cassie teased him with a chuckle.

“Various reasons,” you answered his question. “Some wanted to rant, some just wanted listeners, some comfort, revenge ideas, advice… You name it.”

“Did all the victims post on the site?” Jenny asked next to you and leaned closer, looking at your screen.

“I haven’t checked them all yet, but so far, yes. The four victims in Montana did. As did two in Wyoming, four in Texas, and three in Utah and Colorado each,” you said.

“There were five victims per state, right?” Beau spoke up and mused, “We’re at four right now, so how long we got until the fifth?”

“She takes a victim every five weeks. Ten between states,” you told them.

“Alright, five victims, five states… So we’ve got three weeks left to find her,” Beau concluded with a determined nod. “What’s next?”

“First, we should find out if the remaining vics made accounts on that site as well. Then, we should crosscheck all the comments and replies on each entry and see if we have a common denominator. Maybe there’s a user who talked to every victim. That could be our killer,” you explained the next logical steps.

“Everyone takes four victims, and we cross-reference?” Cassie proposed, and everyone nodded in agreement. “Meanwhile, I’ll tell Denise to check if the other victims were on the site as well.”

“Fine.” Beau sighed dreadfully behind you and sauntered back to his seat. He hated paperwork. He was more of a “go in, guns blazing” kind of cop.

“We should keep this under wraps for now,” you advised. “Closest circle only. If I’m right, the killer is watching us. They can’t know we’re onto them, or they might spiral.”

“What about the DA?” Jenny asked.

You nodded. “I’ll meet with Newton next week and can clue her in. Let’s hope we find something till then.”

July 2022

A thin layer of sweat covered your entire body, your hair damp from the summer heat, beads forming in the nape of your neck and running down your spine. Your hand left a print behind on the fogged car window as you adjusted your grip. You always thought that was a movie cliché, only to be stunned and find out that it was indeed true.

The glass was cool for a brief moment, giving you the sensation you had craved as the heat made your head dizzy. It was not just insanely hot but downright sweltering.

“Fuck, I love that angle,” you sighed breathlessly as your cunt stroked his cock, rising your hips till he almost slipped out before you slid back down.

“Me too,” Beau groaned and smirked up at you.

Massive hands cupped your tits and held your waist as he fucked into you. Your thighs straddled him, one palm on his heart as you met him thrust by thrust. With one last roll of your hips, you came, your orgasm shaking your entire body to the point of passing out. An animalistic scream rocked the car.

Beau’s climax hit right behind yours as your pussy milked every drop of his. Pantingly, you dropped down, your hands finding better rest on his broad shoulders. He kissed your lips firmly and passionately as you both came down from your highs, his fingers dancing up and down your spine.

“Fuck, it’s hot,” you noted in breathless exhaustion as you laid your head on his chest, bodies sticking together.

“Yeah, I mean, I always knew we’d do it in the car at some point, but that even exceeded my expectations,” Beau said.

You laughed a little and grinned at him in amusement. “I meant the weather.”

“Oh.” His brows rose in realization, and he chuckled. “Yeah, that too.”

“I can’t believe this is our last night here,” you said with a quiet sigh. Your voice sounded almost sad. Probably because a part of you was.

While the circumstances of your Mexican stay were arguably the worst, you’d still miss it. The last one and a half years felt like a welcomed escape from reality. From your grief. At home, there was nothing and no one waiting for you anymore.

And then, there was the man who was currently underneath you, inside you, and kissing your lips. You didn’t know what you and Beau even were. You’d been entangled in bars, cars, and under stars in motel rooms for ten months now. Was it casual? Was it serious? Was it misguided friendship? Was it love?

You never said the words out loud or talked about your feelings, but there was always a certain heaviness in the air between you two. It was never loud. It always came in quiet moments, when you were kissing in bed and laughing and staring at each other for hours.

It felt like the two of you were caught in a bubble floating through time and space. A bubble, which was about to burst.

Could your relationship survive the reality back home?

“You okay there?” Beau had grown quite accustomed to your facial expressions and their different meanings. At this point, you were an open book to him, and he could read you flawlessly.

“I’m fine,” you replied and forced your best smile onto your lips.

Beau saw right through you. “Yeah, I’m a little sad, too,” he admitted and assured you, “Nothing’s gonna change, alright?”

Not trusting your voice, you simply nodded in response and hoped he’d stay right.

Beau debated whether he should be honest about his feelings, but it seemed too soon. Too soon after his divorce. Too soon after Randy’s death. No amount of time ever seemed to be enough.

What if you weren’t ready to hear it? What if he wasn’t ready to say it? What if the guilt in his heart, mind, and soul was right all this time and you were never his to take?

What if you would never belong to him at all?

After wiping the station’s whiteboard in the conference room clean, you wrote one single username on the surface.

femmefatale187

All of you had narrowed it down to that user. Denise had confirmed that the other eight victims had made accounts and written entries as well, which brought you to a total of twenty-four posts. And that particular user was the only one who had engaged with every single victim without fail.

Not only that, the comments even suggested a deeper relationship forming with all of them. The killer acted like their friend before a knife was aimed at their backs. If that user was indeed the killer, as Beau liked to remind you.

The four of you then had the tedious task of reading through every comment that account had ever made, going back years and several hundred user interactions. The one that piqued your interest the most, however, was the very first entry that had started it all.

“Does the number mean what I think it means?” Beau asked as he stared pensively at the whiteboard.

“Pretty sure. 187 is the code for murder in the California Penal Code. It’s gotta be. Otherwise, it’d be a weird coincidence,” you mused as you put the cap back onto the marker. “The name in general is pretty obvious. I don’t like any of this…”

“What d’you mean?” Cassie looked at you with a questioning brow.

“I mean she literally put ‘murder’ in her username. It’s too easy. It almost seems like she wants to be caught,” you explained.

“Like writing ‘redrum’ on the wall,” Beau muttered, and you pointed an eager finger at him, nodding in agreement.

“Exactly,” you said and sat back down in your chair. “I already gave everything to our tech analysts at the FBI. If she is as smart as we think she is, she hid her IP addresses and used VPNs, torrents… If they do find a name and an address this username is connected to, we should assume it’s a trap.”

“You said the first entry gives hints to her backstory,” Jenny spoke up and leaned forward in her chair. “Can we use it to track her down this way?”

Nodding, you rose from your seat once more and grabbed the marker, writing down some bullet points as you talked.

“Apparently, she was married and trying for a baby, but without any luck. She then caught her husband cheating but forgave him when he assured her it was a one-time mistake. Turns out he was actually sleeping with tons of women during their entire relationship and got five of ‘em pregnant. Meanwhile, she also discovered he’d been slipping her birth control pills in her coffee every morning.”

“Well, that guy probably won’t win ‘Husband of The Year,’” Beau quipped, chuckling, earning him a borderline scolding look from all three women.

“It’s probably why she chooses victims that ended up going back to their partner,” Cassie speculated.

“She’s punishing women that made the same mistakes she made,” Jenny concluded. “You think the husband is still alive?”

“Honestly? No,” you replied. “The username suggests she had already made up her mind when she started posting. I believe her husband and maybe the women he cheated with were her first victims.”

“Maybe we can find her that way?” Beau pondered.

“Would be a long shot. We don’t even know what state she’s from, when she was married, her husband’s name…” you explained. “Our best bet is the IP address of the username. Until that, we just gotta sit tight, I guess.”

“I hate that.” Beau sighed in frustration.

September 2022

When Beau’s lips left yours, you whined, your hands trying to keep him pressed flush against you, pulling him back into bed.

Beau chuckled. “We have to get up at some point.”

“Do we?”

“I have to get to work, and so do you,” he reminded you with a smile and pecked your lips once more. “How about you hop into the shower, and I get the coffee started, huh?”

“Fine. I guess I can be persuaded to leave this bed for caffeine,” you relented playfully. “Hey, uh, I was thinking maybe we could get dinner tonight? There’s this new pizza place I wanted to try.”

Beau swallowed, his head bobbing with a scrunched brow. Your heart twisted, only knowing too well by now what that expression meant.

“Yeah, uh, do they have take-out?”

“They do, but I figured we could go out for a change. Leave this apartment every once in a while,” you pressed.

Maybe you were being pushy, but you were getting tired of hiding. Ever since the two of you had left Mexico almost two months ago, you had been hauled up in Beau’s apartment and barely ever left. And whenever you did step out, you could tell he was nervous, always looking over his shoulder. He wouldn’t hold your hand or even touch you. The idea of kissing you in public would’ve probably sounded downright insane.

“Uhm, I don’t know. I don’t think it’s such a good idea,” he replied as expected and averted his green eyes to the floor.

“Houston has over two million other people, Beau. It’s very unlikely we’ll run into someone we know,” you argued calmly and tried to sound understanding of his feelings. It wasn’t like you didn’t get his inhibitions at all, but it still hurt your heart all the same. “If it’s Carla you’re worried about, maybe we should tell her, you know? It’d make things easier. It’s not like she’s still hung up on you. She’s been dating Avery for a year now.”

“Yeah, no, I know. We’ll get to it. I promise, okay?” Beau assured you with a smile and pecked your forehead, but his voice sounded far from convincing.

Ever since you came back to Houston, he’d been withdrawn, moving further and further away from you. You had a feeling, though, it had actually little to do with Carla and more with the guy both of you had loved.

Everywhere you went reminded you of him, his ghost still lingering around. But while you welcomed that feeling, like Randy was still watching over you, you knew Beau hated it.

He still blamed himself for what happened, no matter how many times you told him he shouldn’t. And now, the guilt of being with you had entered the equation as well.

As Beau brewed some coffee, a knock on his door forced him to leave the kitchen and answer it. As he opened it, he almost turned as white as the ghosts he was running from.

“Carla, what-, uh, what are you doing here?” Beau’s wide eyes probably showed his surprise. She’d never visited him here before in all those weeks since he’d been back. Emily was always dropped off by the building’s entrance, so he had thought himself safe here. Clearly, it’d been a false sense of security.

“Oh, Beau, don’t look so surprised. I’m not here to yell at you for having your laundry lying around,” Carla huffed in her annoyed voice. He knew that one well. “I’m not here to disturb your bachelor pad. I just need to talk to you about something important, okay?”

“It’s not a–” Beau started to argue and defend himself, but then stopped, figuring it was no use. They were already divorced. “We can talk, alright? But I’m running a little late for work. Can we do this tonight or something?”

“Alright, sure, I’ll call you at lunch,” Carla accepted, but then the sound of the shower turning off made her head tilt past him. Her brow furrowed before she let out an annoyed sigh. “Are you having someone over? Is that why you don’t wanna talk right now? Look, I don’t care if you’re seeing someone. We’ve been divorced for a year now, Beau. If we could just do this now, you’d both save us some time.”

Beau had tried several times to interrupt her, but he’d always been unsuccessful with that endeavor in the past. It was hard being married to a lawyer, especially a good one like Carla.

“Carla, no, I-… Can we please just do this tonight? I have to tell you something, too, okay? But I don’t wanna do this here right n–”

“Hey, by the way, we’re out of Pop Tarts,” you called out as you casually strolled out from the bathroom with only one of Beau’s button-ups covering your naked body. “We should go to the store la–”

As you passed the front door on your way to the kitchen, you stopped – both talking and walking. You stared at Carla like a deer in headlights and felt like Bambi’s mother shortly before she got shot.

The divorced couple stared right back at you. Beau’s eyes then closed as Carla’s lips parted in shock – and anger. She definitely looked furious.

“Carla, hey.” You forced a jittery smile to your lips, although all color drained from your cheeks. You almost choked on the giant lump in your throat.

Her eyebrows raised in disbelief before a scoff followed. She shook her head as if she wanted to shake the image of you, half-naked in her ex-husband’s shirt, in his apartment, out of her mind.

“You gotta be kidding me…” She smacked her lips with a seething glower aimed at her ex. “I’ll take it back. I do care who you’re fucking seeing.”

“Carla, listen–” Beau tried to calmly interject and keep the peace, even though he knew it was too late for that. He knew what she was thinking. They had several talks about it. Fights, actually. Fights you knew nothing about.

“I knew it!” Carla exclaimed and felt almost validated. “All this time I knew… I knew you two hooked up in Mexico. I asked you several times if there was something going on, and you kept denying it.”

“And I’m still denying it,” Beau maintained with the same firm anger she was showing. “We didn’t start dating until after the divorce.”

“Oh, and I’m supposed to believe that? How stupid do you think I am?” she snapped. “You know, I came here to talk to you about Emily’s future and give you the courtesy of having a say in the decision, but now I don’t think you should. Not after the shit you pulled all year! I put up with a lot from you – the drinking, the spacing out, the disappearing to another country for months… But I draw the line here!”

“Carla, wait–”

But for once in his life, Beau couldn’t speak fast enough as she bolted down the hallway to the elevator and was soon out of earshot. He glanced back at you, his look halfway asking if you were okay after witnessing all of this, and partially asking if he could follow his ex-wife to clear things up.

“Go,” you told him and nodded in understanding. But your heart twinged as you watched him leave.

When everyone had filtered out of the department and the night shift arrived, you knocked on Beau’s office door to announce your presence before peeking your head inside.

“Hey.” You smiled softly when his crinkled green eyes found yours with the same loving look on his face. “Ready to head home?”

His palms drummed on the table, one last glance at the files on his desk before he rose from his chair with a keen nod. “Uh, yeah, let’s go, darlin’.”

As you approached his desk, you chuckled a little, picking up the familiar football, a myriad of memories flooding your brain. “I can’t believe you still got this thing. Same one?” You doubted he’d thrown it away but found yourself still wondering.

“Course, I’d never toss this old thing out.” He smiled and caught it when you playfully threw it at him. His palms pressed into the leather. “I still do it, you know? When I’m stuck on a case, I grab the ball and pretend I’m still throwing it around with Randy, spittin’ theories.”

Your lips curved into a gentle smile. “Yeah, I still do it, too… talk to him.”

“You do that a lot?” Beau scratched his throat, tucking his lips between his teeth as he found himself curiously cocking his head, hoping the gesture hid the worry underneath well enough.

You shrugged. “Sometimes. Not as often as I used to,” you confessed and ignored the drops of guilt that oozed from your heart. “He was a part of my life for a decade. I can’t pretend he wasn’t.”

Beau swallowed at your words, his brow braided into soft crinkles. He struggled with the truth that festered in his heart like snake venom. The guilt of having you was one thing, but the shame of always wanting to have had you was another. If he had seen you first, if he hadn’t been married when you’d met, if he had asked you, would you have picked him?

“I know. And I don’t want you to think you can’t talk to me about it… him.”

You closed the distance between you, taking his hands in yours and interlacing your fingers. You squeezed them reassuringly. “He’d want us to be happy,” you reminded him and then snorted a bit in amusement. “Maybe not with each other, but the dead don’t get a say in it anymore, so it doesn’t matter. He’s my past. You’re my present… And probably my future?” Bashfully, you bit your lip at the end of your question, a smile carved into it.

“Actually about that…”

Playfully, you raised your brow and laughed. “Uh-oh.”

Beau cracked a laugh, too. “No, nothing like that. Never like that again, alright?” He cupped your cheeks in his warm and safe hands, looking deeply into your eyes as he uttered those words like an unbreakable vow, his raspy voice imparting a comforting promise.

You nodded in his hands and stretched up to kiss him, searing and slow. “So, what do you wanna tell me, Sheriff?”

“Date,” was the only word he said at first. A smile formed on his face that reached his eyes. “I wanna do it right this time. Go out, do stuff, live life. That was my biggest regret when it came to you. I don’t wanna make the same mistake twice,” he shared. His lips claimed yours, adventurous and decisive. “So, you and me ain’t going home. We’re going out. Whatever you’re in the mood for, darlin’.”

With mischievously pursed lips, you pondered your choices for a moment, although only one truly came to mind. “Mmmh, Mexican.”

“Ah! I knew it.” Beau grinned broadly. “I know a great place. Amazing Quesadillas. You’re gonna love it.”

September 2022

Beau hadn’t spoken to you in almost two weeks. After chasing Carla down to the street and having a public argument on the sidewalk that turned several heads, he eventually convinced Carla that nothing had happened during their marriage and calmed her down enough.

Then, they talked for another hour, where his ex-wife informed him of her engagement and her impending move to Montana. She also made it quite clear that he had no say in the decision, especially after that particular morning.

He wasn’t delighted about it by any means, but he accepted it. As long as Emily was happy and taken care of, he didn’t care what Carla did. But the fact he wouldn’t be seeing much of his daughter killed him.

As he trudged back to the elevator, he came back to an empty apartment, however. You were gone, only leaving a note behind that said you had to get to work. He couldn’t really blame you for leaving. The morning already hadn’t started well, and then his ex showed up with a package full of drama on top of that.

Beau constantly felt like he was failing and disappointing you. He knew you were unhappy since the two of you had come home to Houston. But it was hard for him being back here. He fought his feelings for you every minute of every day. And then, the anniversary of Randy’s death rolled around, and he felt himself even more spacing out and withdrawing from you.

He never tried to compare himself to Randy, because any attempt to live up to him would’ve been futile. But Beau felt like the second choice. Like he didn’t deserve you. Like you weren’t truly his and never would be.

You never said or did anything to make him believe that. On the contrary, the way you looked at him made his heart melt every single day. You treated him like one in a million. You cared for him, listened to him, and even though you had never said it, he knew you loved him on some level.

You made him feel like he was the one.

Beau knew it was all in his head, but it felt like a lie. Because how could that be after everything he’d seen? After everything he knew? And in the brief moments when it didn’t feel like a lie, it felt like the biggest betrayal.

No matter what, he couldn’t win.

For two weeks, he was plagued by indecision, guilt, confusion, the need to do the right thing, and his feelings for you.

Beau loved you like he’d never loved anyone before, but it felt like a slow poison that rotted him from the inside.

He called and texted you every day, never sure what to say or do, though. He almost felt relieved whenever you came up with an excuse for why you couldn’t see him. That was his first warning sign that things needed to change.

And by the end of the two weeks, the indecision faded, and he’d arrived at a conclusion.

That final night, Beau had called you, and you told him you were working late at the office. That wasn’t true, though. He could see the lights of your apartment were on when he stood on the street outside. So, he knocked and found your surprised face in front of him before you averted your gaze in shame.

He didn’t fault you for that either, though.

“Beau, I-, uhm…”

“It’s fine,” he said gently, knowing you were about to apologize for your little white lie. And it was fine. He knew why you’d been avoiding him. “Can I come in? We need to talk.”

He hated saying those words. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what they meant. It was universally understood. And by the look on your face, he knew that you were aware of why he was here.

You let him inside with a crestfallen nod of your head, crossing your arms in front of you like you were trying to hug yourself as you prepared for the worst. The two of you then stood silently in your foyer for a minute, the air between you punishing.

“So this it, huh?” your voice bitterly broke the silence. The hurt in your eyes and the coldness in your face tore his heart apart.

As soon as he looked at you, he started to doubt his decisions again. Was this really the right thing to do? Would he regret it? Would he hate himself for it?

His best guess was yes.

“Look, uhm, this is hard. I didn’t make this decision lightly,” he started.

“Just get it over with, Beau. Spit it out,” you bit.

Nodding, he scratched his scruffy throat. “Carla’s getting married and moving to Montana. I can’t be this far away from Emily. I wanna see her grow up,” he explained earnestly.

“Makes sense. So you’re moving,” you deduced. “What d’you want from me?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” he said. That was where the lie came in. His heart pounded against his ribcage, demanding to be freed from its prison, but Beau kept it cuffed and jailed until it broke. “I’m still in love with Carla. I have to get my family back before it’s too late. It’s just-… It’s the best for all of us, you know?”

With a harsh swallow, you nodded, your gaze glued to the floorboards underneath your socks. “Yeah, no, I get it. You should go with your family. ‘S okay.”

“Y/N–” Your name fell from his lips in a pained sigh.

“No, really. We’re good,” you tried to assure him, forcing a tight-lipped smile to your doleful face. “It was nice while it lasted, but now it’s over. I get it. We were just each other’s rebound. It didn’t mean anything, right?”

Your look was full of bitterness as you stared at him, your features haunted by agony and hardened by resentment. It broke his heart all over again.

Yet, there was no turning back.

“Yeah,” he choked out, swallowing the tears down that fought to escape. “It didn’t mean anything. It was just a distraction. For both of us.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” you said with all the remaining power left in you.

Beau tried to compel a smile to his lips, but it was only a sorry excuse of one. “Hope we can stay friends.”

“Sure.” You held the same unconvincing smile as you uttered your lie. Then, you strolled to the still-open door and leaned your back against the wood. A gesture that told him it was time to leave. “You should go now. I might have lied about the office, but I still have a shitload of work to do.”

With his head low, he walked past you, each step of his lethargic, heavy, and reluctant. As soon as he crossed that doorstep, he spun, his eyes finding yours one last time. Every ounce of him wanted to grab you and kiss you till you both stopped breathing.

But he didn’t.

Silently, you closed the door, a piece of meaningless and unforgiving wood between you that both of you stared at for several relentless heartbeats. You waited till you heard his footsteps recede farther and farther away from you. Till there was just empty space.

As the harrowing silence consumed the air in your lungs and the love in your heart, you fell to the floor and shattered. Sobs wrecked your body like an incurable disease, and you knew at that moment you could never caulk the cracks again and return to who you were.

Chapter 6: Curses And Cries – JUNE 12

Whoop, probably a good time to remind y'all that this last scene was a flashback and that they're happily together in the present 😇

We'll be back soon! Decided to take a little break since I can't keep up with all things tumblr these days, no matter how hard I try. Hopefully, this will give me some time to catch up properly. Love y'all 🤍

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