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flickering-chandelier · 3 days

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Will It Patch Your Broken Wings?

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel is feeling insecure one night and cheats on Reader. She is absolutely devastated and wants nothing to do with him, but he is determined to show her how much he loves her.

Inspired by the love triangle in Taylor Swift’s betty/august/cardigan

Based on this request! 🩷

Warnings: angst, cheating, swearing

Word Count: 6.3k

Betty, I know where it all went wrong

Your favorite song was playing

From the far side of the gym

I was nowhere to be found

I hate the crowds, you know that

Plus, I saw you dance with him

Azriel tucked his wing in tighter as you led him through Rita’s, your hand in his, a bounce in your step. You loved it here: the energy, the dancing, the music.

Azriel, on the other hand, really only went along because he loved you.

The music was pounding in Azriel’s mind, overwhelming his senses. He could normally block it out and will his body to be loose enough to attempt to dance with you, but today had been a particularly long day in which he had to… secure information from some traitors.

He didn’t let his memory go past that, not when he was with you. But it had been a day. A terrible day.

You were dancing now, like you were born to do it, like you didn’t care at all who was watching. You turned to him, a bright smile lighting up your face, and he couldn’t help but soften at the sight, feeling comforted by your effortless radiance.

He would never understand why you had chosen him. He was thankful of course, but he was willing to admit the two of you sometimes seemed like an unlikely pair. You were bright and bubbly, lighting up every room -- a direct juxtaposition to his shadows, his darkness, his tendency to be stoic and silent.

Watching him stay completely still in the middle of the crowd, your face fell, and you sidled up to him, craning your neck to look him in the eyes as you got closer, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Are you okay? We can go home if you want.”

Azriel smiled faintly at you, dipping his head to give you a quick kiss. “Long day. You can dance. I’m going for a drink.”

You nodded, but still eyed him warily for a moment, gaze lingering on his swirling shadows, before turning back to the dance floor.

By the time Azriel got his drink (the strongest they had), you were fully engrossed in a song that he realized was one of your favorites. He watched as you writhed on the middle of the dance floor, swaying your hips, a bright smile on your face.

A male came up to you then, taking your hand and twirling you under his arm. You laughed brightly before moving away from him, dancing on your own once again.

Azriel couldn’t stop his heart from plummeting. That’s the kind of male she should be with, he thought. The kind that goes to a normal job and comes home without shadows or demons to chase away in his mind. The kind that can dance and twirl and laugh with you without a care in the world.

He watched as you danced and danced, occasionally dancing with a random male for a moment before moving on.

She deserves better than you. She always has.

His breath was coming faster and faster now, the music pounding in his ears, through his skull, all that heat from so many bodies closing in on him. He had to get out, had to stretch his wings, had to get out.

Azriel shoved through the crowd and burst through the doors, out into the cool night, stretching out his wings and breathing deeply. He cursed himself. He was normally better than this, better at maintaining his emotions, his panic. By the Cauldron, he was the Night Court’s spymaster and he couldn’t handle an evening in a nightclub with his lover.

Pathetic. That’s what he was.

“Are you okay?” a light, sing-songy voice broke through his rumbling thoughts.

He turned to see a very pretty High Fae woman. She was dressed a bit like Mor, he couldn’t help thinking, wearing a thin red dress that showed off all her assets, her light brown hair cascading down past her shoulders.

She gave him a look that he hadn’t seen, or at least paid attention to, from a stranger in a very long time.

He blinked. “Honestly? I don’t think so.”

Her lips slowly curved up into a sultry smile. “Anything I would be able to help you with?”

No. No, you cannot help me. I don't think anybody can.

She watched him, her eyes sparkling with mischief, before she tilted her head for him to follow.

And Mother save him, he did.

---

And I can see us twisted in bedsheets

August sipped away like a bottle of wine

'Cause you were never mine.

Your heart had been pounding, your body trembling, ever since you realized that Azriel was nowhere to be found.

Something must have happened to him. It was the only explanation. He wouldn’t just leave you without a word.

But, what could have possibly happened to the shadowsinger, in Velaris, of all places?

Your hand shook as you raised it to pound on the door of the river house.

Rhysand was the one who answered, shirtless, hair a mess. He looked very unhappy to see you.

“I need you to find Azriel,” you nearly shouted before he could scold you.

He sobered immediately, noticing your distress. “What do you mean?”

You explained to him what had happened, that he had seemed off at Rita's, that he told you he was going to get a drink, then vanished. You had assumed that he had been lingering on the outskirts of the dance floor, and didn't notice for quite some time that he had left completely.

“I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation,” he said soothingly. “Did you check your apartment?”

You nodded. He wasn't there, at the home he shared with you. “And the townhouse.”

Rhysand's violet eyes were contemplative. Hesitating.

“Can't you just…feel for him or whatever?”

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Yeah. I can.”

“Then do it!”

Rhysand's eyes went unfocused after a beat, and when they widened again in surprise, you knew he had found him.

“What is it? Is he okay?”

“He's… at a random apartment. At least it's not one that I recognize.”

Your heart lurched. “What? Why?”

Rhys shrugged, his expression darkening. “Okay. Shit. Wait here, I'll go tell Feyre what's going on and take you to him.”

Rhysand came back a moment later, now in his normal black attire, and winnowed you in front of an apartment complex not far from Rita's. You had certainly never been here before. The silence was agony as you followed Rhys up the stairs, to the door.

He glanced back at you, a question in his eyes. You shook your head and he knocked, the sound rattling around in your skull.

You heard shuffling, giggling, and then.

Then.

A woman answered the door. A beautiful woman who was wearing Azriel's shirt.

A woman who was wearing your lover’s shirt and nothing else.

Your knees nearly buckled. You tasted bile in your mouth. You were going to be sick.

She cocked her head to the side. “Yes?”

Rhysand was deathly still, his power rippling from him, darkening the doorway. You remained behind him, but you had to know. Had to know for sure.

So you peeked around Rhysand's shoulder, further into the woman's apartment.

And saw Azriel, bare chested, lying in her bed, the sheets bunched up at his waist, his wings drooping on the ground, his hand tucked under his head, staring at the ceiling, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You barely had time to spin around before you entered your stomach in the hallway.

---

The worst thing that I ever did

was what I did to you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Az?” Rhysand's voice boomed from the door the woman had just answered.

Hearing such a familiar voice in such an unfamiliar setting was initially what shocked Azriel enough that he nearly fell out of bed.

Then it hit him.

Rhysand was here.

No no no no no no--

Azriel scrambled up out of the woman's bed, frantically searching for his pants and tugging them on.

“I-”

“Don't answer that.” Rhysand spat, and it was then that Azriel realized Rhys was holding you upright as both of you lingered in the doorway.

His heart stopped working. His mind stopped working.

He said your name, but it came out more like a croak.

You were trembling in Rhysand's arms, tears sliding down your cheeks.

What had he done what had he done what had he done--

Azriel took a step forward, but you recoiled, and he knew you would've fallen to the ground if Rhysand hadn't been holding you.

You looked… afraid of him. Not just hurt, not just disgusted, but actually afraid.

He said your name again, his voice and his heart breaking, but you turned to Rhysand and said in the smallest voice he'd ever heard, “Get me away from him.”

Rhysand shot you one last withering glance before he winnowed out of sight, taking you with him.

It was silent for a moment, until the woman said, “If I'd known you were such an asshole, I never would have done this.”

Azriel sank to his knees and wept.

---

You drew stars around my scars

But now I'm bleeding.

Back at the river house, Feyre was holding you as your body continued to shake, silent tears continued to fall, while Rhysand paced back and forth, rage radiating off of him.

“Azriel?” Feyre asked, wide eyed. “Our Azriel?”

“He's certainly not mine anymore,” you sniffed, and Feyre winced, shooting you an apologetic glance, holding you a little tighter.

“I can't believe it,” Rhys said, still pacing in the spare room where they had set you up for the night. “I cannot believe him.”

There was a knock on the door of the house and you froze. You all knew who it was.

You looked at Rhys, your eyes pleading.

“I won't let him in,” he said, his expression softening as he turned to you. “I'll ward the fucking house against him if I have to,” he growled, mostly to himself, as he retreated to send him away.

You leaned further into Feyre, grateful for your friends.

For his friends, you realized. His family.

They were on your side now, but you knew where their allegiance would ultimately lie.

In losing Azriel, you would lose your family, too.

Sobs racked your body then, and Feyre held on tight, settling her cheek on the top of your head.

You thought of all the walls Azriel had broken down around your heart, all the promises he had made about love and forever. All the broken pieces of you that you had let him see, that he had helped you heal.

But it was all a lie.

You couldn't stop seeing it -- the woman, naked except for his shirt; Azriel, naked in her bed.

You wept and wept until there was absolutely nothing left of you.

---

A friend to all is a friend to none

Chase two girls, lose the one.

Azriel had come to the river house twice a day for the past three days.

Each time, Rhysand opened the door, molten hot rage in his eyes, and told him to leave, that you weren’t ready yet. Azriel couldn’t blame him.

He knew there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say to make it better. To make you better. He could try to explain what he had been feeling that night, but it wouldn’t matter, not really. It was all excuses, and he knew it.

Azriel had destroyed everything. And now he just had to watch as his world burned down.

Letting out a shuddering sigh, he knocked on Rhysand’s door, expecting to see his pissed off brother again, but it was Feyre who appeared.

He had never seen his High Lady look so disappointed. He hated that it was directed at him.

“How could you do it?” she said, crossing her arms, leaning against the doorway.

Azriel felt tears prickling his eyes, and willed them not to fall. “I never felt like I deserved her,” he said quietly.

“Well you definitely don’t now.”

He winced. “I know. I just -- I want to see her. How is she?”

Feyre furrowed her brow, furious. “How is she? She hasn’t left her room since she got here. Elain’s been forcing water down her throat so she doesn’t shrivel up and die, that’s how she is.”

Azriel swallowed, trying to steady his shaking hands. He felt like he was drowning. He wished he would, if it meant that it would make you stop feeling like that. “Do you think she’ll talk to me?”

She studied him, her mouth a hard, thin line. Finally, she turned, heading inside and he followed her, his knees wobbling.

When they made it to your door, she knocked softly, saying through the door, “He’s here.”

Azriel held his breath until the door opened, slowly.

And when he saw you, he couldn’t breathe. You looked… devastating. Your eyes were red and swollen, you were pale, your hair was a mess.

It was his fault. He had done this to you. He felt sick.

Your eyes were hollow when you looked at him, like you didn’t feel anything at all.

“Do you want me to stay?” Feyre asked you quietly.

You shook your head, your eyes darting away from Azriel. Feyre shot him a warning glare before she reluctantly went down the hallway.

You turned, moving to sit on the bed that looked like it hadn’t been made in days, every movement you made looking wary, exhausted. Destroyed. Your eyes were fixed on your hands in your lap, unwilling to look at him.

Azriel lingered just inside the room, feeling uncomfortable in his skin. He longed to hold you in his arms, to kiss your pain away.

He said your name, willing you to look at him. You flinched.

It felt like a punch to the gut. Azriel wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

“I am so, so sorry,” he rasped.

You shook your head, not looking up. “How could you do this, Az? How could you do this to me?” Your voice cracked when you said his name.

Tears started to fall down his own cheeks as he said, “I… don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I saw you dancing with those males, looking so carefree, and I didn’t feel like I fit into that part of your life. I’ve always felt like you deserved someone better than me, someone… easier.”

Finally, you looked up at him, and he wished you hadn’t. Your eyes were full of fury. And hurt. He had never seen you like that before. “You cheated on me because I danced with some guys for two seconds?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Azriel tried.

“You think I wanted somebody like them? Somebody easier?”

Azriel opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I thought--”

“I wanted you,” you spat, and he recoiled at the hurt in your voice, at the pain in your eyes that he had put there. “All I ever wanted was you.”

He couldn't breathe. His voice came out weaker than he had ever heard it, “I'm sorry. It was a mistake, I'm a miserable, miserable fool. I want you. You're all I want.”

You laughed, but it was a hollow, bitter sound. “How can you even say that after what you did?”

“I know, you’re right,” he sighed, raking a scarred hand through his hair, his shadows dancing around his arms. “It doesn’t make sense, what I did. It was stupid and awful, and the worst thing that I’ve ever done, and I am so so sorry,” he said, taking a step forward, reaching his hand out to take yours.

“Don’t touch me,” you spat, wrenching your hand away.

He blinked, taking a step back, his heart in his throat.

“You said you loved me,” you said, your voice now barely a whisper, as if all your energy had been completely drained. “You said you wanted to be with me forever. Did you ever mean any of it?”

“Of course I did,” he said softly. “I still do. I love you. I want you.”

You sniffed, putting your head in your hands. “Well. You should’ve thought of that before you fucked her.”

He blanched at your tone, at your language. He didn’t think you’d ever said that word before, at least not around him.

“Please,” he said, his voice breaking, as he knelt down in front of you, trying to meet your eyes. “Please, what can I do? What can I do to fix this?”

Your eyes rose to meet his. You took in the sight, the shadowsinger kneeling before you, begging for your forgiveness. “You can’t fix it,” you said, seething. “You left me. You abandoned me at Rita’s. Do you have any idea how that felt? I thought something horrible had happened to you!”

Azriel tightened his jaw. He hadn’t known, hadn’t even thought about--

“And then to see you. With her. In her bed,” you broke off, looking at the ceiling, trying to keep the tears from falling, he knew.

“I’m sorry.” It was all he could say. His tears were flowing down his cheeks now and he hastily wiped them away, not wanting to take his eyes off you for fear that you would vanish.

After a long moment, you leveled your gaze on him again. “Would you have told me? If I wasn’t worried sick, if I had just gone home, and waited for you to stumble on in, would you have told me? Or would you just keep acting like everything was fine, knowing that you had just betrayed me?”

Azriel swallowed hard. He thought about the guilt he had felt immediately, how he was contemplating what the hell he was going to tell you as he was staring at that ceiling before Rhysand had knocked. “I would’ve told you,” he said, his voice husky. “I was going to tell you.”

You scoffed, shaking your head, looking anywhere but him. “I don’t even know why I asked. How can I trust anything you say?”

“I don’t know. But it’s true,” he said, shifting on his knees, wishing he could reach for your hand.

Hiding your face in your hands, you said, barely audibly, “I hate you. I hate you for doing this to me and making me feel like this.”

Azriel’s heart finally shattered completely. He knew he would never be able to put the pieces back together, as long as he lived. He had done this to you, his beautiful, bubbly, happy love. Reduced to this. To hating him. And he couldn’t even blame you.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you.”

“Stop saying that,” you cried.

“It’s true. It’s all I’ve got. I won’t try to make excuses, I’m just … I’m sorry. And I love you. I’ll never stop loving you.”

You sniffled, and took your hands away from your face, looking to the ceiling once again, like you were steeling yourself to say what you were about to. “I never want to see you again,” you said, weakly. “You can have the apartment. Elain and Nesta are packing my things right now.”

Azriel shook his head, his panic rising, “No, no, you don’t have to--”

“I do,” you cut him off. “It’s done, Az. We’re done,” you rose off the bed and went to the washroom, looking unsteady on your feet. “You can go now.”

You shut yourself in behind the closed door, and it was five hundred years of will and training that carried his legs out of the river house, and out of your life forever.

Azriel took to the sky, flying and flying, the wind biting at his skin, at his eyes. He kept picturing your heartbroken expression, the words you spoke to him.

He didn't stop flying until he made it to the depths of the Illyrian mountains, where he knew he would be well and truly alone.

Spotting a flat section nestled between several mountains, he landed in the snow, barely stopping long enough to punch the mountainside. It was stupid, he knew, he was more likely to break his hand than blow off any of this steam, but he had to do something to stop this pain, this panic, this despair that he could blame on nobody but himself.

He had lost you. He had lost the love of his life forever because he couldn't overcome his fears. He had been so scared that he wasn't good enough for you that he made sure that it was true.

Grunting, he punched the mountainside over and over again until his knuckles bled, and then he punched it some more. Tears froze on his cheeks, the wind chilling him to the bone.

Az was dimly aware of someone landing behind him, so hard it shook the ground beneath his feet. He kept punching.

“You're not going to solve your problems out here,” Cassian called to him.

Finally, Azriel halted, turning around to face his brother. “You know, we have better things to punch,” Cassian added.

Azriel scowled, sinking into the snow, exhausted.

Cassian strode over to him, plopping down a few feet away, hissing at the cold now sleeping through his pants. He studied Azriel, seemingly waiting for him to speak.

“She hates me,” Azriel whispered finally. “She said she never wants to see me again.”

Cassian sucked a breath in through his teeth. “Fuck.”

Azriel could only nod sadly.

“You know she didn't mean it. At least not the second part. She loves you.”

Sniffing, wiping at his eyes, Azriel groaned. “I don't know if she does anymore.”

“She does,” Cassian said quietly. “I know she does.”

After a beat of silence, Cassian asked, “What are you going to do?”

Azriel shrugged, watching his bloody hands start to heal. “Well. I could either hang around, keep apologizing, and piss her off more, or… leave her alone…”

“And piss her off more,” Cassian added.

A dry laugh escaped Azriel. “Exactly.”

Cassian was quiet for a moment, seemingly pondering how to help him.

“I’m not giving up on her,” Azriel finally said, with more conviction than he felt. “I just… I don't want to make it worse.”

“Az, I hate to tell you this, but I don't think it could get much worse,” Cassian said, grimacing.

Azriel just sighed, stretching out his wings behind him.

---

I knew I'd curse you for the longest time

Chasing shadows in the grocery line.

Seeing Azriel again, seeing him beg on his knees for your forgiveness, seeing how hollow his eyes looked, how his shadows were so unrelenting around him, had absolutely wrecked you.

It was another few days until you had the courage to leave the river house at all.

Azriel had come back to the river house several times, but you had your friends send him away. You couldn’t bear to see him again.

Feyre and Rhysand had checked on you frequently during your stay at their house, consoling you, cursing Azriel’s name right along with you. Rhys had even loaned you what you needed to get your own apartment, on the other side of Velaris from the one that you once shared with Azriel.

That part seemed to make it final, somehow. You could almost convince yourself it had all been a dream until you made your way to your new, empty apartment, without a trace of the love that used to be yours.

That empty apartment wrecked you all over again, and as you looked around it for the first time, your body folded in half, arms wrapping around your stomach as your body racked with sobs.

You had started to regret insisting that you do this part by yourself.

It was really over. Azriel really cheated on you and it was really done.

You knew it was time to start distancing yourself from Azriel’s family. They had undoubtedly been on your side this whole time, but even Rhysand and Feyre were starting to change their tune slightly. You know he loves you still. You know he’s a good male. You know he’s so sorry.

You understood where they were coming from, really, you did.

But that didn’t make it hurt less. What you needed was to hate him. It was the only way you could ever bring yourself to move on, to start living your life again.

You had been solemnly unpacking for a few hours when there was a knock on your door. You stiffened immediately. Rhysand and Feyre had said that they wouldn’t tell Azriel where you lived, but maybe he had figured it out?

“Relax sweetheart, it’s me,” Cassian said on the other side of the door, and you did relax, if only slightly. You hadn’t seen him since before this all started.

Reluctantly you let him in. He was sauntering, wearing that easy smirk he always donned. You couldn’t decide if it was comforting or annoying.

Cassian whistled as he looked around. “Nice place.”

You settled on the couch, tucking your feet underneath you. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes softened as he walked closer to you, then perched next to you on the couch, not quite relaxed. “I wanted to check on you.”

“You can report back to Azriel that I’m just as pissed as ever,” you grumbled.

“He doesn’t know I’m here,” Cassian said quietly.

Skeptically, you turned to face him. You were sure he would be the most likely to take Azriel’s side.

After a moment, Cassian said, “If it’s any consolation, he hates himself probably about as much as you hate him right now.”

“I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse,” you admitted.

Cassian sighed, leaning back into the couch. “Did you mean it? That you never wanted to see him again?”

You shifted, hugging your knees to your chest. “In the moment I did. Thinking about seeing him now… it breaks me apart. But, thinking about the rest of my life completely without him…”

“That breaks you apart too?” Cassian offered.

You nodded, tears stinging your eyes.

“Okay, look,” Cassian said, turning so he fully faced you. “I’m going to tell you something. You’re my friend and he’s my brother, and I love you both, so I need you to know I’m not trying to convince you of anything, I am merely giving you information. Okay?”

“O-kay…”

He took a deep breath, seemingly gathering his thoughts, before he continued. “Azriel has always felt like he was inferior. The way he was raised… he carries that around more than a lot of people think. He often thinks that he isn’t good enough for people, but especially you.”

“How do you know?” You knew that Az still dealt with a lot from his childhood, but he wouldn’t often voice those things to you. He had mentioned something about not feeling good enough when you saw him, but you weren’t sure what to make of it.

“He mentioned it to me a few times, that he didn’t feel like he was the kind of person you should be with. You’re so bright and bubbly, he felt like you deserved somebody who was the same.”

You rested your cheek on your knee, trying to digest the information. “But… he must have known I never actually felt like that, right?”

Cassian shrugged. “On a good day, maybe. But deep down I think he always had it in the back of his mind: that fear that he wasn’t right for you.”

“He should’ve told me,” you said quietly.

“I agree. And I’m not saying that it excuses what he did, but that day…it was a hard one for him. What he had to do in the Court of Nightmares.”

Your stomach dropped. You hadn’t even thought about that.

“Well, he should’ve told me that too.”

Cassian nodded. “Yes. He should have.”

You groaned. “I hate this.”

“I know,” he said quietly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. “I’m sorry.”

Cassian let you cry on his chest for a long moment before he said, “hH wants to come see you, you know. He doesn't want to give up on you.”

When you didn't respond, he said softly, “Just think about it.”

Days later, all that Cassian had said was still ringing in your ears, even as you walked through the market when it was the busiest.

Despite everything, it hurt your heart to think that Azriel had ever felt like he wasn't enough for you. And you were still so hurt at what he had done and what you had seen, but it at least made more sense now.

You hated this feeling of loneliness that followed you around wherever you went now, rooted so deeply in you that you were scared it would never go away.

Azriel had been so good to you for so long. Was one mistake really worth throwing everything away?

Every time you had the thought though, you remembered the sight of him in her bed and wanted to scream or cry or kick something.

Suddenly, as you were nearing the edge of the market, you swore you saw the wisp of a curling shadow out of the corner of your eye and stiffened. This hadn't been the first time that you thought you glimpsed Azriel's shadows or wings in public since it happened.

But, no this time it was real. And he saw you too.

You willed your feet to move, but they wouldn't. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him, from this man who had loved and hurt you so completely.

Azriel approached you like you were an injured animal he was trying not to scare away. Your heart thundered in your chest.

“Hi,” he said in what you knew was his gentlest voice.

You couldn't bring yourself to speak. Still, after everything, you missed him. And seeing him now… it was too much to bear. Yet, too much to walk away.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly, his eyes swimming with pain and affection. His shadows were on full display, despite the fact that they usually shied away from the sun.

“You've already said that,” you murmured, still rooted to the spot.

“I know. And I'll keep saying it every chance I get. If I knew where you lived, I'd send you flowers or a book or dinner from that restaurant you love every day and I'd tell you I'm sorry and that I love you.” His voice was shaky in a way you had never heard from the shadowsinger.

“You would not,” you said, trying to sound angry but it just came out weak.

“Of course I would,” he said, risking a step closer to you. “I would do anything to take your pain away. You have to believe that.”

You did. You did believe that he meant it. But you didn't know if it would be enough.

For a moment you let yourself gaze at the man you once trusted with your whole heart. He looked thinner, like he hadn't been eating enough. His eyes were still hollow, dark bags beneath them. Even his wings drooped slightly. He might look even worse than you did.

And yet, you could still see the beautiful, sweet shadowsinger you had fallen in love with so long ago.

Finally you said quietly, “I'll tell Rhys he can give you my address.”

Those hazel eyes sparked with hope. And love. Definitely love.

---

The only thing I wanna do

Is make it up to you.

When you went out the next morning, there was a book left at your doorstep with a note attached.

It was the newest from one of your favorite authors. Your lips formed the tiniest smile.

The note read:

I couldn't start my groveling with something too cliche, so I went straight for your romance novels.

I've never told you this, but I always love when you tell me about the books you’re reading. Your entire face lights up when you do. And you know I love a fairytale ending.

I hope you have a good day today.

I'm so sorry for what I did. I'm so sorry for hurting you.

I love you so much. I always will.

-Az

You couldn't help but laugh a little by the time you got to the end. As if anybody else would be writing you this note.

The next morning when you stepped out your door, there was a pastry from your favorite cafe in a to-go bag. On the bag was a note:

I'm really hoping you'll find this in the morning so it's still good.

If not, you just come let me know and I'll drop everything to get you a fresh one.

I miss you.

My life is a nightmare without you.

I'm so sorry.

I love you.

-Az

And so it went. Every morning, rain or shine, Azriel would leave something that he knew you would love, with a note, always ending in some version of I'm sorry. I love you.

It did warm your heart that had turned so cold. The dedication alone was enough to prove to you that he really was sorry for what he did.

Yet, every time a note would make you laugh or cry so much that you wanted to run to his arms, you were always stopped by that image that plagued your mind. By the fact that he did what he did and no amount of little gifts would change it.

Months passed, and to Azriel's credit, the gifts, and more importantly the notes, kept coming. Your bedside drawer was completely full of them. And there may have been a night or two when you missed him so desperately that you would read them over and over again until your eyes burned and you had no choice but to cry yourself to sleep.

You would sometimes lay awake at night, picturing him coming up to your door. Several times you wanted to wait up for him, to listen for his footsteps, to pull him into your apartment, forget everything that happened and just be happy again.

But you never had the nerve. You were terrified of going through it all again.

Until one day, there was no gift at your door. No note. No sign of him anywhere.

Your heart plummeted. Had something happened to him? Was he hurt? Injured on some mission Rhysand sent him on?

Or had he finally given up on you?

It wasn't until that moment that you were willing to admit to yourself how much you had been relying on those notes, those little pieces of him.

You went through your day in a daze, devastated all over again.

It was early in the evening when there was a knock on your door. For a moment, you hoped it would be Azriel. You hadn't actually seen him for months. But you quickly realized it was more likely to be one of your friends, who still came by, despite what you had initially thought.

So, the breath was knocked completely out of you when it was indeed the shadowsinger waiting on the other side of the door.

His handsome face, his soft expression, on his face made you want to weep. You missed him so much.

Azriel smiled somewhat shyly as he gazed down at you, holding a paper bag in his hand. “I'm sorry it's late. Rhys has got me scouting out some things, and I didn't get back here until now. I brought dinner,” he said, holding it out to you.

You recognized it from your favorite restaurant. With shaking hands, you took it from him, spotting the note attached to the outside.

I'm sorry. I love you.

Over and over again it was repeated, taking up the entire paper. You placed it on a table inside before your gaze flicked back to him. He was watching you closely, his wings tucked in tightly behind him.

“I thought you gave up on me,” you whispered.

His timid smile fell. “Never,” he said softly. “I'll never give up on you. I love you so much.”

Tears brimmed your eyes and all of a sudden, you knew you couldn't take it anymore. You didn't want to hate him, you didn't want to dwell on the one awful thing that he had done. You had a drawer full of wonderful things that he had done.

“I love you, too,” you murmured, the tears spilling freely down your cheeks now.

A sound that sounded distinctly like a sob escaped Azriel, and he wrapped his arms around you, crushing you into his chest. “I never thought I'd hear you say that again,” he sniffed, his hand cupping the back of your head, kissing your temple.

After a long moment, he took your face in his hands, gazing at you for a moment before he slowly kissed your tears away. You laughed lightly and he smiled, leaning in to kiss you so softly, like he was afraid you would break.

“I love you,” he murmured against your mouth. “I love you so much.”

You pulled back long enough to gently brush his tears away. “No more secrets. If you're struggling with something, you need to tell me.”

“I know. I'm sorry. No more secrets.”

“And nobody else. Ever.”

He winced. “I'm so sorry, love.”

“I know you are,” you said softly, cupping his cheek in your hand.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

You rose to your tiptoes to kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

At last, you had found your way back home.

#acotar fic #acotar one shot #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #acotar #azriel one shot #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x you #azriel angst #acotar angst #acotar fanfic #angst #angst with a happy ending #request #azriel fanfic #acotar azriel

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fkinavocado · 2 days

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a very indulgent exploration of what could've, should've been...

Don't Worry Darling (SPIN-OFF) - Masterlist, Author’s Notes & Warnings / alternatively, read on wattpad

Part One (word count: 6.2k)

“... Jack? Excuse me, Jack? Is that really you?”

The man reluctantly stopped in his tracks and turned around, recognizing the woman but having forgotten her name. “Oh… hi there, uhm…?”

“Emma. It’s Emma. You remember me, right?”

“Yeah, you’re, uhm… you used to work at the hospital…”

Emma approached him, noting he wasn’t keen on breaching the gap himself. Poor fellow, she thought. He looked a mess. She was surprised she’d even recognized him. “Oh, I’m still at the hospital! How are you, Jack? You know, we’re all worried about you. Why didn’t you take us up on our offer, hm? We’d have loved to help you any way we could… It can’t have been easy. Gloria told us she came over once with a home cooked casserole but no one answered the door. She assumed you’d moved. Which is good, we thought. But we couldn’t get a hold of you, you must’ve also changed your number…”

Jack wasn’t really making eye contact. His gaze downcast, a hoodie atop of a beanie on his head and an oversized, worn out puffer jacket that almost swallowed him up. He looked very poorly even hidden behind all that. His facial hair unkempt, as was his hair tucked underneath his beanie, seemingly longer strands of it all messy and straw-like peeking out. His glasses loose at his temples. His face was hollow cheeked and she really feared he wasn’t looking after himself properly at all. But what really stood out to her was the bouquet of flowers he was carrying.

“Yeah… I moved out of there. Too many memories.”

“Those were her favourite… pink roses,” she mused. “You miss her so, don’t you, Jack? You can’t even bear talking to me about her, you poor man, even after all this time… What must you be going through… do you– agh. This is so insensible of me to even ask. Forgive me. But if it’s any consolation, us at the hospital haven’t given up hope. We still think she’s out there, somewhere, our Alice…”

Jack cleared his throat and took a step back. “I should get going…”

“Of course. Do take care of yourself, Jack. And if you ever want to reach out, you know where to find us. Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you,...” he stammered a bit, not knowing what else to say. He walked for a while in the wrong direction, just in case the nosy woman decided to follow him.

He hadn’t moved. That would’ve been near impossible, and since he managed to dodge the bullet while the police were sniffing around for the longest time, he figured there wasn’t any reason to do so anymore. But he couldn’t have her know that, which is why he never answered the door to the other woman with the casserole either.

After making sure she wasn’t following him, he resumed his walk home. He wished he could find some type of work from home. He’d be saving so much time and money on the commute, plus he’d always be there, which was quite imperative, all things considered.

What if there was a power outage? The one time that’d happened, there’d been dire consequences. Consequences he hadn’t had to endure. And he simply couldn’t allow that to happen again.

There were so many things that could go wrong while he wasn’t home.

Plus, if he worked remote he could take on a full shift. As it was, he had to work part-time, which wasn’t nearly enough to make ends meet. But the commute and all the prep he had to do were taking up too much time, time he didn’t want to waste here.

Finally arriving home, he made sure to secure the front door- the lock and all 3 of the bolts.

Checking the computer screen, he only had 40 minutes left. The woman had made him late, what with all the detours he had to make to be sure she wasn’t following him.

Canned tuna it was, then. Again. No time for cooking. Not that he had much in the fridge anyway.

He always felt antsy between the time he got back home and logging in. He wanted to get everything done and out of the way as soon as possible- cooking, laundry, cleaning (more like tidying up, the apartment was far from clean even by his standards), everything on autopilot, peeking at the computer screen every now and then to make sure he didn’t miss his log-in window.

With 20 minutes to spare, that was his que.

“Oh!” He rushed back to the kitchen to retrieve the flowers, then using the keys that he wore on a chain around his neck for safekeeping, he unbolted yet another set of locks on the bedroom door.

There she was.

His heart always swelled in his chest seeing her there, safe and sound. Everyday day, without fail, a sigh of relief escaped his lips once he entered the bedroom. He’d probably never stop worrying while he was away for work.

“Darling, I… miss you all the time…” he hummed the lyrics to a song he used to sing to her often, placing the flowers in a vase by the bed. “Got you flowers, your favourite! Even that pesky Emma from the hospital remembers they’re your favourite. You’re so loved, hm? My precious girl.” He sat on the edge of the bed and reached to caress her supple cheek. “But I love you the most.”

Jack knew he did. Who else would do all this for her? Nobody! He tended after her, emptied out her waste bags as well as checked the respective connecting catheters were secure in place, cleaned her up, all without so much as wrinkling his nose. He replaced the IV, taking note that there was some bruising on that arm so he made sure to switch, he removed her compressive socks and massaged her limbs thoroughly before putting them back on, even made sure to hydrate her lips though she was getting all her nutrients through her IV, hell- he thought of everything. He did it all for her happily, and would do much more if needed.

She’d done so much for them, too.

She still did!

But long gone were the days where he’d see her come home from back to back shifts at the hospital, with barely any time to get some sleep in before she had to head back, all because she had to support the both of them all while paying off her student loans.

Medschool was so expensive. Had he met her before he’d have talked her out of that career path. He’d have talked her out of any career! No. That was his job. He was the caretaker. He was the breadwinner. It’d been like that since the beginning of time. It was only natural for the man to provide. The fact that she’d had to for all that time had been killing him, every day that he had to sit at home and wait for her to get back from the hospital only to see her defeated, exhausted, drained beyond belief.

Resident doctors were paid shit but strung out to the max. Especially surgeons.

Meanwhile, Jack had struggled to find a job for the longest time. Unlike her, he hadn’t gone to college, let alone university. His parents couldn’t afford it at the time and he knew better than to tie himself up in student loans. He’d had odd jobs but nothing really ever stuck. He had no real skills, and every entry job demanded some form of higher education nowadays.

Plus, someone had to do house chores, cook and clean. And they couldn’t afford help.

It’d been eating him up inside. It was all backwards!

All up until he’d met someone online and got to talking over a game of World of Warcraft. This guy swore up and down about this dark web programme he’d found, but it was all very hush-hush, and Jack had to put in some serious gameplay time until he managed to extricate the info out of him.

The guy was very paranoid about telling him and even used a code system for what to look up. Jack took the lead and before long, he fell down the rabbit hole of what he now knew to be the Victory Project.

He got so immersed trying to digest all this new info being thrown his way all of a sudden that he nearly got caught listening to one of the podcasts when she’d gotten home from the hospital one day. He’d even forgotten to call the plumber. Boy- had that pissed her off.

She was already on edge all the time. Never had any time for him anyway- but if she got upset over silly little things she shut him out completely.

He felt emasculated. Rejected. Reduced to a housewife.

Jack smirked to himself, as he tended to her whilst pondering all that. Securing the straps back around her wrists he mused at how things had changed. “I fixed it for us, I told you I would. Now you’re the one who’s waiting for me just as we speak. And I don’t even come home to you in scrubs, do I? No, I come home to you all handsome, suit and tie and ready to get my fill of you. Never too tired for you, am I darling? You’re such a great cook, god knows my mouth waters just thinking of all you’ve slaved over for us to feast on, but all I wanna do is feast on you instead. Aren’t you lucky?”

Jack watched her expressionless eyes for a moment as if waiting for her to answer him back, and promptly remembered to apply her eye drops, noticing they looked extra blood-shot than normal. He then finally got comfy in bed next to her. He couldn’t wait a moment longer. He was hard already just in anticipation of the way she’d excitedly open the door for him. The door to their lavish home, and their extravagant life together that he’d earned for the two of them. Him.

He fixed the device around his own eyes and turned it on, taking her hand in his.

“Welcome to the Victory Project. There are currently 72 active users.”

Nothing beat this. The pleasant, warm afternoon air sweeping through his perfectly coiffed hair as he rushed to get home to her from the Victory Headquarters. Here, the weather was always perfect… whereas, in the apartment, he had to keep the heating on a lower setting, the bill was ridiculous during the colder months. He always had to wear layers and layers, but not in the bedroom- no, he kept a radiator in there. All for her. He had to switch it off for safety reasons while he was away at work but it wasn’t like she was aware of her surroundings anyway! All the more reasons why he had to find something remote so he could work from home and clear up all these little things that bugged him about the whole arrangement.

But he didn’t want to think about all that, not while he was here. No, here, those problems didn’t exist. This was his preferred reality, this was what he chose to believe was real. All the rest was just a means to an end.

He could feel all his exhaustment leave his body the closer he got to the house. He seldom wondered why she couldn’t have done the same for him coming back from the hospital. Why she couldn’t just leave all that baggage at the door and be glad to be home, back to him, where he waited for her like a lovesick puppy with separation anxiety.

He knew the answer to that now, of course, and that was all Frank’s merit- the brain behind this whole thing. He’d listened to his podcasts for a long while before he enrolled into the program. There was no way she could ever respect him within their given dynamic at the time. The roles were reversed and she couldn’t allow herself to be a woman to her man.

He’d fixed it, though, and boy, had Frank been right.

Every day, without fail, he knocked on the door coming home from work and there she was- all smiles and carefree and so eager to please him, in any way he saw fit. All because she respected him now. He was the man of the house, he was the breadwinner, he put a roof over her head, he got her all her little heart desired and kept her satisfied and happy.

Which is why when nobody answered the door he was a bit taken aback.

Using his key that he’d rarely ever had to use himself to unlock the door, he let himself in and carefully inspected the silent house.

He knew, realistically, that there was no way something could’ve gone wrong- there was no crime in Victory. No one had broken into their home. But still, he searched the house tentatively. “Alice?”

Everything was spotless, and most striking of all, he couldn’t smell a trace of the homecooked meal he’d so been looking forward to. That tuna was enough to sustain his physical body, but not his large appetite.

Reaching the bedroom, he furrowed his brows with worry upon finding her… sleeping. Passed out on the bed, clad in her street clothes. She’d seemingly come back home from town exhausted and must’ve stretched her bones a bit by the looks of it.

He contemplated waking her up. Maybe crawling between her thighs and having her gasp awake at the feel of him lapping languidly at her folds. He loved waking her up like that, and she did too. She loved being loved on, and Jack absolutely loved pleasuring her. She was so much more responsive, so much more sensitive to his touch, he could pleasure her over and over for hours on end. Probably ‘cause of all the practice he was having on a regular basis. And maybe he adjusted some settings regarding his stamina while creating his profile too, but at the end of the day, why not? He did it for her. All of this was for her!

Jack grunted to himself before closing the door to the bedroom so he wouldn’t perturb her sleep, deciding last minute to forgo his initial plans. Funny he’d been reminiscing about how things used to be just in time for this to happen all of a sudden.

It must’ve been a glitch in the system or something. This wasn’t in line with what he’d designed for themselves. Here, they were never tired, ill or imperfect in any way. Jack made a mental note to look into this after he logged out.

In the meanwhile- he’d never tried his hand at cooking here, where presumably he’d be a lot better at it than he was in reality.

Just like with everything else.

Alice blinked her eyes awake. She took in her surroundings and hesitantly stood up on the bed in the dark room, letting her sight adjust.

How did she get back here? Not here, here. She had an inkling of how she’d managed that- but back to the house, from the Headquarters. She couldn’t remember making the trek back.

Maybe she didn’t have to.

Maybe this was the default setting she woke up to everytime after entering… the simulation. Because, what else was this if not that?!

How long was she out of it? Judging by the darkness surrounding her, a good few hours. Perking her ears up, she could hear music- so Jack was home too.

She cradled her knees to her chest, trying to let it all sink in. She hadn’t had time to properly digest what had happened, in her unconscious state.

Hell, she was surprised she could even remember.

But this explained it… explained all the fuzzy deja vu-like flashbacks she kept having. Explained her brain fog and all the things she just couldn’t follow through in her train of thought. Explained why she sometimes couldn’t account for most of her day until Jack came home from work, almost as if she’d been on auto-pilot.

Explained all the vivid “dreams”.

They weren’t fanciful dreams, idealistic wishes of a progressive feminist world for which she’d gotten shock therapy at the Victory’s doctor’s orders.

They were her memories.

Waking up tied down to that bed… her own bed, from another life, had been traumatic, but she clearly was still in shock to be so calm about it.

She hadn’t been calm initially of course- not when she couldn’t move her arms or blink her eyes shut.

She’d managed to slip out of the confines, her wrists weak and frail and barely recognizable, yanking her IV out of her vein by accident- she hadn’t even known it was there!, all in an effort to get those things that forced her eyes open off of her face.

She’d been hysteric. Tried to muffle her own screams, because she didn’t know who was around to hear them. Tried to calm herself down, but the more she noticed, the more she hyperventilated. Like the fact that had both urinary and rectal catheters sticking out of her. Then she noticed how emaciated she looked, almost like she couldn’t even recognize her own body. She couldn’t feel her limbs, she felt numb and achy all over, bruises all across her skin from sitting still for so long. Her throat was hoarse, she couldn’t really scream that loud even if she wanted to.

She’d fumbled out of bed and immediately collapsed to the floor. She was too weak to stand, and she prayed she hadn’t broken any bones in her fall. She sat there crying in a fetal position for god knows how long, thinking of all the fractures she’d fixed in the OR, and all her knowledge that had gone to waste.

All her life that had gone to waste!

This room, this bedroom- her old life came back to her in a flash, flooding all her senses. It felt like everything was finally clicking into place, and despite how miserable and utterly devastated she felt, it was a relief to finally figure it out.

With the way nobody came rushing into the bedroom, she knew she was alone. Unless Jack was at this computer, headphones on– oh god. She felt her mind split into two trying to reconcile the fact that these two very different men were one and the same!

She was alone strapped to the bed- which could only mean one thing. He wasn’t constrained like she was. He hadn’t been forced into this. Unless they were being kept separate… both victims of this sick mindfuck.

Because… surely– surely Jack couldn’t be behind this.

… Could he?

Scrambling for the door, determined to get some answers, she reached for the doorknob.

When she couldn’t get it to open, she mustered up all her strength to stand up- but still- it was no use. It was locked. And with the way it felt it looked like the door had been tampered with, bolted shut from the outside, not just locked.

She was trapped. A prisoner in her own home. She eyed the windows next and even if by some miracle they weren’t bolted shut too- she knew she was too weak to try and use the fire escape. She’d surely succumb to her death trying to evade. She needed a plan- a better plan.

Her brain was scurrying to come up with something-anything, all the while dry heaving at the sight of her waste bags still attached to her by those catheters and the overall stale smell of the room, but she knew that with how dehydrated she was, vomiting would take her out completely at that point. She head to keep it together, had to–

She’d heard what she recognized to be the front door. Her blood froze in her veins. She didn’t know who it was, she had no idea who was behind all this. She had no clue where Jack was, if he even was part of this– her heart told her no, he couldn’t have, but at this point she had no way of knowing what was real or not, let alone what this all meant.

She couldn’t risk being found conscious. She was clearly being kept in a comatose state, treated as one such patient at least, and the fact that she’d woken up from that induced state was definitely not intended to happen.

She remembered what had happened before she woke up like this- she’d reached the infamous, off limits Victory Headquarters. Because a plane had crashed in that direction, and the trolley driver didn’t believe her nor wanted to take her there!

She’d made the trek all the way there… it’d taken her ages, in the scorching sun- and finally, finally, she’d reached the imposing building, in hopes of finding some help or at least some answers at that point!

Next thing she knew, she’d woken up strapped to this bed. Her bed, in her old bedroom, from her old life that had been stolen away from her!

She needed to gather as much information as possible, and the only way she could do that was to get back into that bed and pretend she never came to.

There was no other way.

She hurried as best she could, barely making it back to the bed, made sure she was laid out in the same outstretched position. By some miracle, the catheters were still in place, their respective bags on the floor by the foot of the bed. The hardest part was fixing whatever that contraption was over her face and around her eyes. It dug deep into her flesh and she remembered to wipe any traces of tears from her face when new ones began rolling down her face. She was surprised her body could even produce them with how parched she felt. She then inserted the needle back into her bruised vein– which was sure to get infected at this rate, whoever was doing this to her was amateur at best, or they didn’t much care to keep her alive. She didn’t know which prospect was worse. She slipped her wrists back through the strap loops, hoping it wouldn’t be obvious she’d gotten them a bit loose when she struggled her way out of them.

And then she’d waited. And waited. And waited. All the while a bright red light scanned her eyeballs systematically, no doubt whatever was used to induce her into that trance or whatever it was that created the optimal parameters for the alternate reality to take place. She couldn’t even wrap her mind around it. She couldn’t even begin to understand how it worked- all she knew was that it was all too real to be just a dream. No. That was a controlled environment. The world simulation came to her again.

Her whole body froze as she’d heard the lock, then what she counted to be 3 other bolts on the bedroom door. She could only see directly above her, and that barely- but she could hear him when he came in.

Smell him, even.

And it wasn’t the smell of expensive cologne she’d grown used to, but a more familiar smell. A smell that felt more real, more ingrained in her subconscious- that of clothes he’d dug out of the laundry hamper to wear a few more times when everything else was too dirty even for his own standards, mixed with canned tuna and the faintest amount of deodorant that did nothing to mask the fact that he’d skipped showering for a day or two.

Her heart sank when she heard him hum to himself the song that had been stuck in her mind for ages- the one she’d been humming herself but couldn’t remember where she knew it from. This is where she knew it from. It’d been their song, in a way, a song he’d made up just for her.

“Darling, I… miss you all the time… Got you flowers, your favourite! Even that pesky Emma from the hospital remembers they’re your favourite. You’re so loved, hm? My precious girl.” She felt him sit on the edge of the bed and tried her best not to flinch when he leaned in to caress her cheek. “But I love you the most.”

She could feel her eyes well up with tears. Tears she couldn’t even blink away.

He then started tending to her and she mustered up all of her willpower not to lurch at him when he’d gotten her out of her restraints- she knew she was no match for him, not in her weakened state by any means.

He was doing this to her. It was him! All while declaring his love for her. She felt her heart break into a million pieces, all the while forcing herself not to make any movements and break her cover. Not even when he cleaned her with wet wipes up and checked the catheters, emptying the waste bags. God- she wished she was dead. For a while she zoned out completely, much like rape victims. She just let it happen to her, dissociating from her body completely, mentally checking out.

He’d eventually poured what must’ve been eyedrops into her sockets and that brought her back to reality. Whatever reality was anymore…

And then… to her utter shock, she felt him get in bed next to her. The familiar clank of the device she’d placed back onto herself could be heard and she realized he was putting on the same headgear.

He was… joining her? He was willingly putting himself through this? Sure, he wasn’t forced into it against his will, there was nobody strapping himself to the bed, nobody feeding him through an IV and treating him like a comatose patient.

But he was entering the simulation the same way she was. Through that headgear.

Is this what he did everyday while he was “at work”? Was this the infamously secret Victory Project that she couldn’t even ask him about- exiting that alternate reality and coming back here?

She heard him switch it on and then the whole room went dark before a projector of sorts played a familiar black and white scene on the ceiling, above the bed. She felt him interlace his fingers with hers and she was done for- she couldn’t fight it. Whatever this was, it was working fast, making her slip into unconsciousness almost immediately.

Followed directly after by her waking up in her other bedroom. Unrestrained. Nothing to force her eyes open. Clean. Rejuvenated even.

But scared shitless.

Traumatised.

Heartbroken.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, trying to make sense of it all in the darkness. Thankful to be able to move freely, thankful to feel like her old self, but well aware that it was all an illusion, that her real self was held hostage somewhere god knows where. Helpless, frail and alone.

She felt conflicted. Why was he doing this?! Why had he done this to her? She’d heard him say he loved her most. Heard he’d brought her flowers, even though she couldn’t even see them. Felt him tend to her, he was doing a lousy job at it but was keeping her alive and she could tell he was trying his best, being gentle, careful, thoughtful even when the reality was he didn’t have to. Not when, for all he knew, she was unconscious.

This was insanity.

There was no other explanation. No other justification. She understood the nuances- could see why this was- on paper- a better life. But it was fake! And most of all, it wasn’t her choice!

She’d been forced into it, against her will, without her even being aware of it! Her life had been robbed away from her. Her family, her friends, her hard work. The only common denominator… was Jack.

She didn’t know how to go about it, but if there was any chance of her escaping, she had to play dumb and pretend she knew nothing.

She wasn’t sure how she could face him knowing what she did, but she had to. She had to buy time, enough time until she could put her plan into motion.

She didn’t know if she’d succeed, but she had to try. She had to. She had to escape, claim her life back, good or bad.

She got off the bed, marvelling at how strong and healthy she felt, as opposed to how she’d collapsed on the floor in her real body. That alone emboldened her, she had to go face the music.

And face the music she did. Jack had put a record on, blasting it at high volume with little consideration to her being asleep. No surprises there.

But as she approached the kitchen, she took in the sight of him… cooking. Or, trying to cook.

Apparently, you couldn’t tweak everything in this alternate reality. Or maybe he didn’t care to fumble with his cooking skills. Because he’d definitely perfected some of his other skills–

“You’re awake!... I didn’t have time to set the table.”

“What’s going on?” She watched him scurry around the kitchen, trying to do a dozen things at once and failing.

“Well, I’m making you dinner. Now, we were supposed to have five courses. Unfortunately, I think we’re down to about three.”

She took note of the mess, especially the way something was about to catch on fire on the stove.

“That– don’t look at that. That course is officially off the menu.”

That’s when it clicked in her brain– the fucker had switched up his accent! He had a British accent here! Oh, she could laugh if she didn’t feel like murdering him. She reminded herself it wouldn’t be the real him she’d be murdering, though. No, for all she knew if she harmed him in any way here, she might end up trapped inside this simulation forever if her plan failed. Or until her real body died, with no one to tend for it, even as poorly as he was, in the real world.

She had to thread carefully. “What happened?”

“I got a little aggressive with the seasoning.”

“How long have you been home?”

“Uh, a few hours.” He proceeded to make even more of a mess in his attempt to jump from one dish to the next. “Okaaay. Nope. Don’t look at that. That’s– Okay, so I’m making that roast, you know the one you made for my birthday? Only with a few changes…”

“I was here when you got here?”

“Yeah. Asleep in the bedroom. Do you put carrots in a roast?”

“How did I get home?” That was a reasonable question. Last thing she knew of this reality was she’d reached the Headquarters. She needed to know if anyone knew about it.

“Trolley, I think.”

“Wait, so he came out and got me?!”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Jack, I got off the trolley. I saw a plane crash.”

“Alice, I think I would’ve heard if there was a plane crash.”

“No, Jack, I saw it…”

“They tend to be rather loud…”

“... and I started walking–”

“–and hard to miss.”

It was dawning on her that she wasn’t going to milk any info on this out of him. He was going to pretend the plane never crashed, of course, whatever that even meant for this simulation. Or maybe the plane crashing was only visible to her version of this altered reality. She couldn’t know for sure. But he seemed unconcerned otherwise. She didn’t think he knew she’d gone there. She really must’ve re-entered right back into the bedroom, after all, she, along with all the other women, were never meant to go up there, the Headquarters were off-limits.

Meaning that was probably from where the men entered. Since they were the only ones who came and left. The women were probably all bound to their own respective beds back in the real world, they were never meant to leave the simulation. It made sense why she’d found herself back in the house- where she belonged. And it made sense if that was where the man entered and exited since that’s where they all allegedly went everyday for “work”.

Her heart sank at the realization that it was highly probable that all the other women were victims, just like her. Unless everything and everyone else was a simulation around them.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

She tried not to flinch when Jack finally noticed she’d zoned out whilst trying to process all of this, and touched her shoulder, taking a better look at her.

“No…I don’t know–I’m not…”

Before she could react, he pulled her into his arms. That smell of expensive cologne hit her again, overriding the smell of stale clothes and canned tuna from her recent memory. And his embrace felt so familiar, so comforting, that for a moment she allowed herself to pretend like this was the person she knew to love her. The person she couldn’t wait to come back home from work everyday. The person that made her smile and laugh and moan and cry tears of happiness. She knew him well, she loved him with all her heart. And she was reluctant to accept that this man was the same that was keeping her strapped against the bed. Because that was the reality of it.

But this version of Jack that was holding her felt so real as well…

“I had a really weird dream. A really weird dream…”

“I’m sorry.”

Her heart sank. Was he, sorry? She buried her face deeper into his chest and held her breath, stifling a sob as tears flooded her eyes immediately. She wanted to break down in his arms and ask him why he’d done this. She wanted to give him a chance to explain himself. Wanted for him to somehow, magically, make it all better.

But she knew there was no way for him to do it. There was nothing he could say or do to justify what he’d done to her, even if his intentions didn’t seem as evil as they truly were to him.

Because she knew Jack. She knew he’d probably convinced himself somehow that this was the only way out of the miserable life they were living- and be it as it were, it was her life! He’d had no right to steal it from her like that.

“Do you know what weird dreams make me? Hungry.” He fed her a carrot he was holding jokingly then turned her around as she chewed absentmindedly, her mind racing, still taking in the reality of what her life was. Or the alternate reality, more like it.

Jack cupped her face, searching her eyes and declared solemnly, “Alice, I want to be honest with you about something.”

She almost choked on the carrot she was chewing on. Was he–

“I don’t think these mashed potatoes are gonna work.”

She swallowed, a bitter taste in her mouth at her naivete. “That’s because you need to boil them first, baby…”

“I knew it… I knew there was a step missing. Such an idiot,” he smiled bashfully.

She laughed at that. A manic laugh, but he didn’t seem to notice. Not at how incompetent he was at such a basic life skill- who the hell tries to mash raw potatoes?!- but at how hopeful she’d been for a moment there, believing he was about to confess everything just like that, out of the blue.

“Let me put a pot on…”

“No, no, no–”

“Come on, let me–”

“Make us some drinks. Relax.” He pulled her out of the kitchen and into the lounge, declaring “I am your chef tonight!”

Lord knew she desperately needed a drink at this point, so she sighed heavily, getting to it, when he stopped her in her tracks, “hey!”

“Hm?”

“You love me?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. She replied like she used to, back in the real world. Something she didn’t remember ever doing here, but it just came to her by reflex now that her memory of her past life had come back to her fully. And for some reason that she couldn’t explain, she meant it, still. “The most.”

Jack seemed pleased with her answer, and resumed his ‘cooking’. Alice turned to the whiskey bottle and downed two doubles, one after the other.

How was she ever going to get free when her stupid heart had meant what she said?

She couldn’t allow herself to be fooled by this false reality any longer. Couldn’t allow to slip into his arms again and pretend he loved her when this was anything but love.

So she waited. Waited until he fell asleep that night (thankfully all the “cooking” had seemingly tired him out and he didn’t try anything)- praying this meant he was truly asleep.

Got dressed, tiptoed out of the house and geared up for a long journey to the Headquarters. She couldn’t risk taking the car and waking him or the neighbours up, alerting them with this unusual behaviour. There weren't any trolleys late at night by any means- everyone was sound asleep.

Everyone but her.

She was no longer asleep.

A/N: i've been meaning to get to this for the longest while! hopefully it scratches some itches we've been left with. i had fun writing this first part. more to come 👀

💕 like & reblog if you enjoyed this, lovelies, and most importantly, please come share your thoughts on it here 💌

🦋follow me on wattpad to get notified whenever i post something new/update!🦋

#dwd #don't worry darling #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #jack chambers #florence pugh

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gay-dorito-dust · 17 hours

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Hi! I hope your doing well while you read this request! May I ask for HSR Men (Jing Yuan, Blade, Dan Heng, Welt and maybe Boothill) their reaction when after 2 weeks of disappearance from their s/o because of a mission, they came back to them all exhausted and slightly injured. If I can be more precise, can you describe how they acted when they had no news of their s/o et their reaction when they came back please?

Thank you for the attention you’ll give to this request ! I hope you’ll have a great day/night!

-🩵✨

This is a long one, so brace yourselves! And have a great morning/evening/night! 🦦🐿️

Blade

‘Where have you been?’ Blade hissed, anger laced his voice as he drags you to the nearest surface and eased you on it, keen to avoid worsening your wounds.

‘I was on a mission.’ You sassed, not wanting this to be your first conversation back from a near death experience.

‘I know that,’ he barks as he rummaged through the cabinets for a first aid kit, uncaring do the mess he was making in the process, ‘you’ve been on a mission for two fucking weeks and not once did it come to mind to keep in contact during that time?’ He adds, looking at you with a look that wasn’t angry but instead scared.

Blade had spent the past two weeks going utterly insane form the lack of communication on your end. At first he didn’t think much but by day 12, Blade was more or less ready to included himself in your mission. Unfortunately according to Elio, this wasn’t apart of the script and Blade was made to stay on the sidelines and await your return.

It wouldn’t take long before you came home but you came home in the worst of conditions that Blade had ever seen you in recent memory, and that made him extremely upset. Not at you though, more or less at the person or thing that made those wounds on you.

Communications were down, I had no way of telling you anything.’ You replied, having already grown annoyed at his constant pestering and prodding.

‘Well you should’ve.’ Blade muttered gruffly as he gently took your arm into his hand and examined the wound and had to bite his tongue from saying anything else, but found that task to be a bit too difficult for him. ‘Then I could’ve stopped them from hurting you.’ He added.

You groaned and punched your brow with your free hand, all you wanted to do was go to sleep but couldn’t help but feel warm on the inside at the idea of Blade getting revenge on your behalf. ‘That’s not necessary.’ You told him, trying hard not to wince as he cleaned your wound.

‘And why not?’ He asks, noticing your attempts and wordlessly tries a different approach in cleaning your wound.

‘They’re all dead.’ You replied nonchalantly and Blade couldn’t help but smile. ‘That’s my partner.’ He says but the smile soon falls as he finished patching your wound and looks you dead in the eyes. ‘However the next time you’re sent on a long mission I’m coming with, no excuses.’

You groan again, there was no winning with this man.

Jing yuan was trusting in your abilities to keep yourself safe but the longer he went without update of you nor progression of the mission, Jing Yuan grew worried that something had happened.

He already lost a lot, he didn’t need your loss on top of all that. He lost hope on appreciating that he was living once, he knew that if anything happened to you he would relapse into those old ways but with no chance of recovery.

He would try and fail many attempts of making contact with you, only to be met with static as a responses which didn’t exactly help his hope in seeing you that slowly began to dwindle the longer he tried, until he stopped trying all together.

In his mind you were gone a long time ago and he should start his grieving while he could.

However you did come back, but not exactly in the best shape…you were wounded and exhausted but to Jing Yuan you never looked more alive in that moment as he was quick to get you medical attention. Not once did the general think to leave your leave your side as you laid out on the bed, wounds patched up and fast asleep from everything.

He even slept in the chair next to your bed, making sure your sleep went undisturbed and had a familiar face to wake up to as to not feel misplaced somewhere foreign. Jing Yuan didn’t feel entirely comfortable in leaving you alone during this time, especially when you’re vulnerable and susceptible to a plethora of things.

Not when he barely avoided a possibility of never seeing you again. He didn’t care for the reasons why you couldn’t contact him, those can wait for another time, he only cared that you were back by his side and alive.

So he’d fall asleep with his hand laced with yours and his head resting on your lap, acting like your personal guard dog as he kept his body facing towards the door in the instant he had to protect you.

No one would take you from him again, mission or not, you were staying by his side from now on, generals orders.

Dan heng didn’t think much when you didn’t reach out and tell him about the things you’ve found that he might like whilst away, however that didn’t mean he didn’t have a bad feeling about all of it.

He did but he couldn’t prove why as it was too early into the mission to say why he felt that way. Dan Heng always trusted his instincts when it came moments of uncertainty as they’ve always been proven correct. However this was the one time where he really didn’t want that to be the case.

Yet the longer he went without the regular flow of communication between the two of you during missions, Dan Heng felt himself break out into a cold sweat during the night and out of breath from experiencing another nightmare where you didn’t come back from this mission, leaving him utterly heartbroken and lost for the rest of his days.

He couldn’t close his eyes for a single second without the nightmare flooding back to haunt him of a potential future without you, his other half.

He even had nightmares where you were calling out to him for help but he couldn’t hear them and was forced by an higher power to ignore your soundless cries and walk away unbothered. Those were the nightmares Dan Heng hated the most as there would never be a moment in his life where he would ever leave you to such a cruel fate; He’d be more than gladly suffer with you than ever abandon you.

So the moment you came home wounded and exhausted, Dan Heng didn’t waste time in getting you to medical, taking everything the doctor told him to help you heal seriously as your newly appointed caregiver. Some of the time he came across as strict but he meant well as all he wanted was for you to get better and soon, seeing as how you gave him the biggest fright of his life.

He doesn’t let anyone else near you.

You can blame it on his dragon noodle side as it grew overprotective of the fact that you -his mate- were in seemingly left in a vulnerable state. He didn’t care to listen to the reasonings as to why he should let anyone else come near you, not without knowing their intentions in descriptive depth, he could take care of you himself perfectly fine and without any outside help.

He was your partner, you were his responsibility but this was all just an excuse to hide the fact that Dan Heng was genuinely scared of letting you out of his sight, even if it was for five minutes because a lot could happen in five minutes. So now he stays close to you from then on as a precaution, holding your hand in his and squeezing it as thought he was trying to convince himself that you were actually with him weeks afterwards.

Boothill didn’t like the idea of you being so far from him and much preferred for you to stay in contact if you were going to be so far away from him for so long.

However nothing seemed to want to go the way he wanted as soon as he found that he couldn’t contact you. None of his messages were going through and neither were his calls, as he read and reread the message that said you were out of the area for his messages to get through to you.

Boothill grew more and more restless the longer his texts didn’t go through, still claiming you were out of the area, whatever the hell that means and had to actively find ways to de stress because of how often he found himself on the verge of blasting anything and everything that moved.

You were his anchor, his partner in crime and his voice of reason, without you Boothill was teetering on the brink of becoming everyone’s problem should you spend even another hour more away from him.

So when you did come back with wounds scarred across your body and looking as though you were on the brink of collapse, Boothill was made more worried than before. Your wounds weren’t very deep nor life threatening but Boothill didn’t care, you were hurt and he wasn’t made aware of it for the past two weeks.

He wanted to hunt down the bastards who made those wounds on your body and make them pay, regardless if they had a bounty on their heads or not, he’d gladly hunt them down just to set an example as to why you don’t fuck with Boothill’s loved one.

‘Don’t.’ You croaked, grabbing his hand. ‘Just stay with me and make everything okay cowboy.’

Boothill, not one to argue with you, especially not in your current state, obeyed your wish and stayed by your side as you slowly but surely recovered from your wounds with scars left behind as reminders.

Though that didn’t stop him from going off behind your back to hunt the bastards down, he never could let go of a grudge after all.

Welt basically worried himself sick when he didn’t hear anything from you the first couple of days, but was soon talked down from doing anything rash that could potentially put you in even more danger, regardless of his intention of being by your side.

Welt was restless for the remainder of the two weeks, double checking his phone for anything that could push him over the edge and force him into acting.

What happened to you?

Why weren’t you responding?

Were you hurt?

Were you in danger and he didn’t know?

So many thoughts floated in welt’s mind as he was left feeling powerless as he was forced to await your return, hoping that all his thoughts were just that, meaningless thoughts that had no real affect in reality.

He was wrong.

You did come home but you came back with some new wounds and a face that screamed exhaustion. You barely took one step before collapsing into Welt’s arms as he got you medical help.

‘What happened out there?’ He’d calmly ask one day as he held your hand, thumb rubbing the back of it reassuringly.

‘Communications were down,’ you told him as you squeezed his hand, just happy to be back home and with him, ‘then the mission went south as I found myself out of my depth on several occasions, I’m sorry Welt.’ You finish weakly.

‘There’s nothing to be sorry for.’ Welt reassures as he presses a kiss to your forehead. ‘Not all missions go according to plan and all that matters right now is that you’re safe, so please don’t apologise for things beyond your control.’ He adds as he watched you slowly drift to sleep, still feeling a little exhausted from the mission and everything that happened.

Welt stayed awake for a little while longer to commemorate this moment to memory, to treasure it during the moments when you were to be apart from one another again, but until that time Welt would hold you as close as he possibly could and keep you safe to the best of his abilities. Your safety meant a lot to him and he’d rather jeopardise his own safety if it meant that you’d never get hurt again, he’d do it in a heartbeat because that’s just how much you meant to him and todays events only solidified that.

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ponderingmoonlight · 3 days

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Hello Carina! I absolutely ADORE your works I'm hooked Was wondering if you could do Geto/Nanami/Gojo/Sukuna x fem reader who grew up in a toxic household that encouraged bad eating habits like eating extremely small amounts and tried to always make her a good and docile wife. But she left them and is now pretty successful but her eating habits are still pretty bad Please stay hydrated this summer!

A lot of you guys request stuff like bad heating habits from me and I'm actually a little scared that I receive a shit storm for writing these sensitive topics, but there you go! I decided on Geto since he is the sweetest boy ever but if this goes well and some of you guys show interest, I might write something similar for the other characters as well - enjoy <3

Geto encouraging his girlfriend to eat more after growing up in a toxic household

Pairing: Geto x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,6k

Synopsis: After your toxic parents tried to force you into their picture of a thin and docile wife, you left them as soon as possible and became the best version of yourself - if it wasn't for your bad eating habits still haunting you down when you're out with your boyfriend. Until he decides to have a talk with you...

Warnings: Just let me tell you right from the start that there's nothing wrong with being thin and I hope it's obvious that we're talking about an unhealthy connotation in this fic, if you get triggered when it comes to toxic parents and hurtful phrases regarding weight please don't read this. In general, this contains sensitive content and a few pieces of ED and harsh language, but our boy Geto telling us how much he loves us the way we are

„You know you are totally able to eat more than that, right? We’ve been out without any food for hours now, you need to care for yourself, love.”

Suguru’s hand gently caresses your back while you stare at the salad you just ordered.

“You’re gonna look like a pig soon if you don’t stop eating like one, (y/n). Didn’t I teach you a lady needs to watch her diet?”

“No man wants a fat woman, trust me.”

“Thank you so much for looking out for me. I’m good”, you mutter after shaking their cruel words off your mind.

You can’t bring yourself to catch a glimpse at his comforting brown eyes, not when your guilty conscience almost eats you up alive. The stinging words of your mother and father haunt you until this day. Even though you left years ago and started your very own life away from their toxic household, even though your precious boyfriend Geto Suguru is the living proof for them being wrong.

Just one look at the salad in front of you paired with your memory is enough to feel like in your childhood all over again.

“Hey, look at me honey.”

Gently, his hand caresses your cheek and lifts your head into his direction. There they are, his oh so loving orbs, his tender smile that warms your stinging heart in an instant.

“We’ve been together for a year now and you still seem to be upset when you have to eat around me. I can’t help but wonder why you torture yourself. Is it because of me, did I give you the feeling you aren’t good the way you are? Because I love you with all my heart.”

You never allowed yourself to cry in front of someone else. To be exact, you stopped when you were greeted by nothing but harsh words from your parents with every tear that ran down your cheek. You are supposed to be a good and hostile woman, the perfect little wife for some wealthy man your parents already decided on when you were still 10. A woman that doesn’t speak as much as you do, a woman who doesn’t eat as much as you do. A feminine angel walking on earth with the only purpose to say yes and amen to her beloved husband.

When you were finally old enough to leave them behind, you packed your things and joined jujutsu high. Life is easier around here with so many beloved friends by your side who support and truly love you. Yes, they showed you how good you are, that you are independent and are allowed to have your own opinion, that it’s okay to say no. Yes, you even started to eat a little more and gained a healthy amount of weight and well-formed muscles.

They were wrong. Your parents were so wrong with everything they taught you. But this…

You bite your lip when a sub escapes from deep down your throat, hot tears now stinging in your eyes so violently that you can’t catch your breath. Eating has always been your weakness, the one and only thing you can’t fully control until this day. Their words still crush you every time you order something to eat.

What if Suguru doesn’t find you attractive when you gain even more weight?

What if he thinks it’s disgusting to see you eat like a pig?

What if he’ll fall out of love when you show him that you aren’t as perfect as a doll?

“I’m so sorry. The last thing I want is to see you cry”, he instantly speaks out, wrapping his much-needed arms around you so tightly that you sink into his broad chest.

“It’s just…I’m afraid to eat more…”, you finally blurt out.

A part of your heart flutters in relief when those words finally leave your mouth. For more than a year, you simply forced yourself through the aching of your stomach, the hunger that kept you awake when Suguru laid next to you fast asleep. All because of their cruel words. All because they made you believe your whole life you aren’t good enough if you eat “too much”.

“You don’t feel comfortable eating around me, don’t you?”

You simply nod against his chest, too ashamed to lift your head. How embarrassing to hear those words leaving his lips, that he already knows why you’re acting this way.

“May I ask why? Did I say or do something that makes you feel this way, love?”

Your head starts spinning. The sheer thought that he might think your strange behaviour is his fault, that he did something wrong is ridiculous in your eyes.

“Absolutely not. It’s…It’s…”

Why is it so damn hard to find the right words? You stutter like an idiot for what feels like ages while listening to Suguru’s steady heartbeat. He knows how rough your childhood was, that your parents treated you like the dirt underneath their feet. You were never good enough, never pretty enough, never smart enough. Until you became a well-known and rich jujutsu sorcerer with a charismatic man like Geto Suguru by your side.

“See? I told you you will find a wealthy man if you keep up with our education, daughter.”

“All because we taught you everything you know and kept you in shape!”

“No”, you replied immediately, straightening your shoulders while facing the people who made your life living hell for more than enough years.

“I did all of this by myself. Because I chose to be the person I am instead of the person you wanted me to be.”

“They always told me I’m too much, that eating in front of my man is strictly forbidden. I was supposed to be a thin and docile wife.”

Your voice is nothing but a far away whisper. All those nights your father scolded you when you weighted more than you did before. How your mother screamed at you when your curves start to develop through puberty, how disgusted they looked at you when you wore shorts or ate next to them. Deep within, you know how toxic your eating habits are despite the positive changes you’ve been through. But still…Just the thought of eating a cheeseburger in front of Suguru fills you with so much disgust that your guts turn immediately.

“You aren’t docile but strong and stubborn. You aren’t only thin but strong and athletic. Your body is capable of so much more than simply being thin, (y/n). You are perfect in every single way, your body allows you to fight so well that even Satoru admires your skills. You are so breathtakingly beautiful that I could stare at you all day…I am glad you didn’t follow their rules, that you didn’t turn into the good and docile wife they wanted you to be. Because you became so much more. Because you can do so much more. But for that, you need to fuel your body the way it deserves it even when I’m around. I love to see you eat, I love to see you happy and healthy. And I know how hard it can be to overcome things you were taught from a young age. Would you promise me something?”

Now you can’t help but lift up your head, staring at him through your wet lashes. His words, his oh so sweet words still linger through your mind and force your cheeks to turn bright pink. Is this really how Suguru feels about you, are you really enough for him just the way you are?

Why wouldn’t you? After all, he was the one choosing you.

“What?”, you mumble.

“Promise me that we will work this out. If you can’t bring yourself to open up to me, please consider checking up with Shoko or another professional. I admire you for all the things you’ve already did, that you were actually able to turn into a wonderful woman with that horrible family. I’d love to hang out with you while eating chips, I’d love to eat a whole lot of unhealthy junk food and sweets with you without you worrying about my thought. Because the only thing I care about is that you’re happy. And you being healthy and eating properly means happiness.”

That smile. That oh so bright smile that reaches his brown eyes and lifts up your mood immediately. Oh, you truly don’t deserve him. A new wave of fresh tears threatens to spill over your eyes and begins to take your sight.

But those aren’t tears of sorrow. No, those are tears of pure joy and love.

You throw yourself around his neck before he’s able to catch you properly, causing both of you to almost fall off his chair.

“I will”, you mutter against his ear.

“I promise I will work on it.”

“I’m more than glad to hear that”, he replies softly while caressing your hair.

“Would you like to order something else in addition to your salad, then?”

You let go of Suguru with a small smile, holding his hands tightly as your heart overflows with love. The man who showed you what you’re capable of, who supports you through anything. Sooner or later, you will be able to share food dates with him and enjoy them. But until then…

“I’m fine for today. But next time, I might order something else.”

“Fine. Just let me know when you’re ready, (y/n).”

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@okay-it-is-ivy

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alltheirdamn · 3 days

Text

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 7 The Past

Summary: Memories of the past suspended in time. Rating: 18+ Word Count: 6k Warnings: *THIS CONTAINS SERIES SPOILERS* Pre-Outbreak AU, mentions of past trauma, mentions of loss and grief, mild violence, language, mentions of alcohol, yearning, angst A/N: Dare I say, this is my favorite chapter yet. If you haven't connected the pieces by now, then this will answer every question you've had. There were so many signs along the way, and I encourage you to go back and find each and every one. I know this doesn't soothe the heartbreak of the cliffhanger but please know this chapter is IMPORTANT. And we can all agree that Joel is the STANDARD. * I want to thank @loonmartell for helping me navigate this idea and creating a beautiful story that is slowly coming to fruition. You are truly a mastermind, and I give you all my thanks and love*

Masterlist | Ko-fi

~Three and a half years ago~

Joel paced the waiting room, consumed with guilt and anger. He shouldn’t have let you leave that night. Bennett had called you asking to meet for dinner under the guise of wanting to give back the things he still had been holding onto. Joel should have gone with you, should have told you to stay, should have broken Bennett’s jaw. Joel couldn’t have forced you to stay; he knew you needed closure. After the downfall of your relationship with Bennett, you deserved answers.

Whatever happened between leaving his house and the accident would remain a mystery, and Joel was ready to track Bennett down to find out the truth, but right now, all that mattered was you.

Your mom rounded the corner, followed by the doctor, both of their faces grim. Joel’s knees threatened to buckle under him, the worst possible scenarios running through his head.

“How is she? Is she alright?” He asked, the words jumbled together and confused.

The doctor raised a hand to slow Joel’s frenzy, and your mom’s eyes stared at the floor.

“She’s awake,” the doctor started. “But there were some… complications. We just finished taking her for some tests, and we’ve determined she’s sustained a form of retrograde amnesia.”

“She can’t remember the crash?” Joel questioned. He swiped his sweaty palms over the denim of his jeans, anxiety bubbling in his chest.

“After analyzing her CT scans and running some cognitive tests, it looks like she’s lost a large chunk of her memory,” the doctor explained.

“How large are we talkin’, doc? A few months?”

Your mom stepped forward, placing a hand on Joel’s shoulder.

“She asked for Bennett when she woke up,” she whispered.

“What the hell does that mean?” Joel snapped.

“She has no recollection of the last two years,” the doctor said.

Joel staggered back, dragging a hand down his face. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t fucking happening.

“You’re tellin’ me she has no memory of me?” Joel shouted.

“Joel, calm down,” your mom hushed, her eyes darting around the crowded waiting room.

“Calm down?” He echoed. “Jesus, she doesn’t fuckin’ remember me! I need to see her. I need to—I need to tell her.”

The doctor stepped forward, a frown creasing his face.

“It’s imperative that we don’t disrupt her current condition. Any interference with her memory may cause more complications with the amnesia. If we force these forgotten memories on her, it’ll cause too much stress on her brain and ultimately lead to permanent damage. If we want her to regain her memory, we need to wait.”

“How long?” Joel pleaded. “How long do I need to wait?”

“We don’t know,” the doctor sighed. “With amnesia this serious, it could take weeks or even years. There’s no way to determine the timeline right now.”

Joel’s anger flared up, and he slammed his fist into the wall beside him. The pain radiating up his knuckles and hand was nothing in comparison to the pain splintering inside his chest. He was losing you, and you didn’t even realize it.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Miller,” the doctor said. “I know this isn’t easy, but it’s what’s best for her and her recovery right now.”

“But she doesn’t—.” Joel couldn’t get the words out.

He crumpled to the ground with his head in his hands—two years' worth of memories together gone in a matter of seconds. You didn’t remember him. You didn’t know Joel loved you; you didn’t remember that you loved him.

“Joel, sweetie,” your mom cautioned, crouching beside Joel. “You said she was with Bennett before the crash, right?”

Joel lifted his head and glared at your mom through teary eyes. He didn’t want to be reminded that Bennett had returned; he didn’t want to fathom the idea of him being in your life again.

“Don’t tell me you’re seriously thinkin’ about tellin’ him all this,” Joel said. “Y’know what he’s like with her. I can’t let her go and watch her be with him.”

“We need to contact him at least and tell him. If she thinks they’re still together…we must maintain that memory. We have to try. If it’s something Bennett wants and is willing to do, then we have to. I know you want to tell her everything, but her brain is so fragile right now. It’ll scare her, and I can’t risk losing my daughter entirely. Joel, I need you to understand what's best for her.”

“And y’all seriously think Bennett is what’s best for her?” Joel laughed bitterly.

“Of course we don’t, honey. The thought of Bennett comin’ back around kills me, but what if there’s a chance her memory will return sooner than we think? She won’t have to keep him in her life forever, but only until everything comes back to her.”

“And what if it doesn’t? Y’expect me to watch the woman of my dreams love another man? What if one day they get married? Or have kids? I’m supposed to pretend like none of this ever happened?”

Christ, the thought of that made Joel sick. He didn’t want to see you continue the rest of your life with a man who didn’t treat you right. He couldn’t do this… He couldn’t stomach this plan.

“Joel, listen to me,” your mom hissed, grabbing him by the collar. “We need to play the long game, okay? I’m not giving up hope on my daughter, and I know you won’t either. You love her, don’t you?”

Joel nodded helplessly, mouthing the word ‘yes.’

“Then wait for her. It won’t be easy for any of us, but we all need to want this. I’ll talk to my husband and the girls about this, and we’ll work through all the details. Lying isn’t easy, but it might be what ends up saving her memory.”

That night, Bennett showed up at the hospital.

Joel wasn’t in his right mind when Bennett walked into the waiting room. The moment he saw his smug grin and floppy blonde hair, Joel lost it.

“Motherfucker!” Joel yelled, sending his fist straight into Bennett’s jaw.

Bennett reeled over, staggering back into a waiting room chair, while your dad pulled Joel away. A murmur of voices among the other bystanders dragged Joel from his vengeful haze, and he stared at Bennett unamused. He wanted to see him suffer the way he had been suffering.

Bennett worked his jaw back and forth, glaring at Joel as he sat beside your mom.

“This is the thanks I get for agreeing to meet with you guys?” Bennett huffed.

“It’s your fault she’s in that fuckin’ bed,” Joel snapped.

His body still thrummed with unbridled rage, his hands shaking at his sides. Stella, Beth, and your parents were all gathered around the waiting room, taking their respective spots in one of the chairs. Joel couldn’t sit. He didn’t want to be any part of this.

“Joel,” your dad snapped. “Cool it.”

Joel folded his arms over his chest, staring daggers at Bennett as he made himself comfortable in his chair. Your mom leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees.

“Bennett, we need to know what happened before the accident,” she pleaded. “Joel said she was with you, so what happened?”

Bennett shrugged, stretching his legs out and crossing his arms.

“I asked her to come back,” he said plainly, as if it were that simple. Joel seethed, his body twitching as he tried not to hit Bennett again.

“Why?” Beth interjected. “You don’t even fucking like my sister. Why would you do that?”

“I do like your sister,” Bennett argued. “I told her I had made a mistake and that I wanted to try to make things work.”

Beth rolled her eyes, a scowl forming on her face.

“You waited almost two years to make that discovery?” She cackled. “What actually happened?”

Bennett lifted a hand to his jaw, massaging the reddening skin as he quirked a brow at Joel. He was playing with fire; Joel just needed one more reason, and he’d kill Bennett on the spot.

“I told her to meet me for dinner to talk,” Bennett explained. “I still had a few of her stupid books she left behind, so I figured it was a good opportunity to meet with her. I tried to explain my side of things and why I wanted to give us another shot. She just laughed at me. She took her little books and left the restaurant without hearing any more of what I had to say.”

Joel felt a strange sense of pride knowing you had laughed in Bennett’s face, but given the circumstances, it quickly faded. A bitterness flooded his tongue at the thought of you returning to the life you had with Bennett, especially when he spoke of you with such disdain.

“Why does any of that even matter?” Bennett questioned, looking between your parents.

Your mom cleared her throat and spoke up.

“The accident she was in caused some damage to her brain,” she began. “The doctors determined she has a form of amnesia. She doesn’t remember anything from the last two years.”

Bennett’s eyes grew wide, and he slid Joel a knowing look.

“She thinks she’s still with me,” Bennett concluded.

Your mom gave a solemn nod, running a hand through her hair. Joel could see the stress written all over her face, and he could see the pain in her eyes as she realized what was about to happen.

“The doctors think it’s best not to overwhelm her with the memories she’s lost. We don’t want to do this, but it may be best if she resumes the life she thinks is still intact, which means introducing you back into her life. Is that something you’re open to, Bennett?”

Bennett didn’t say a word for several minutes. All he did was stare at his hands in silent contemplation. Beth and Stella sat unmoving, and Joel caught Stella sneaking glances ever so often. Finally, Bennett turned to Joel and studied him before speaking.

“And you’re in agreement with this?” He asked.

Joel gave a single nod, though he was reluctant to do so.

“I’m willin’ to wait for her. She needs time to regain those memories, and I don’t wanna cause any stress on her if she thinks she’s still with you. Trust me, I ain’t happy ‘bout it, but I love her.”

“And if she doesn’t get those memories back?” Bennett pressed.

“Then you better make her the happiest girl in the world and never fuck things up again,” Joel frowned. “I swear I’ll hunt you down if y’ever hurt her. I love her with my whole fuckin’ heart, and I’d do anythin’ to make sure she’s happy.”

“I love her, too, you know.”

Joel had a hard time believing Bennett, but there was a seriousness in Bennett’s eyes that made Joel’s heart ache. He was giving up the one good thing in his life to someone who didn’t deserve your love. Joel was a patient man, but that didn’t stop his heart from breaking. Who knew if you’d ever remember him again? He would have to live his life knowing you may never come back and that he’d have to carry that pain with him every single day. Hope was a fickle thing, one he would rather forego if he could just tell you the truth, but this was his only option. Joel would have to give you up. And he would do it because he loved you beyond all measure.

Your parents took Bennett to meet with the doctors to discuss your current condition and the future it would entail. Joel stayed behind with Beth and Stella, the three of them blanketed by an insurmountable pain that couldn’t be healed.

“What if we never see you again?” Stella asked, her eyes full of tears.

Joel sat beside her, pulling her into his arms and letting her head rest on his shoulder. She was only fifteen, but Joel knew she was aware of the gravity of the situation. Even though she was older than Sarah, he always viewed Stella like another daughter; he had watched her grow up the last two years, and Joel adored her just as much as he did for his daughter.

“Y’gotta stay strong for me, Stell,” Joel sighed, squeezing her shoulder. “She's gonna get those memories back one day, and I’ll be right there when she does. None of y’all will ever lose me. I swear that to you.”

Stella sniffled back tears, curling into Joel’s embrace. He glanced at Beth beside him, giving her a sad smile.

“I’m trustin’ you to look out for her, okay?” He said. “She needs you more than anyone. I know you ain’t happy ‘bout all of this, and I sure as hell ain’t either, but it’s gonna be okay.”

“I don’t agree with any of this,” she grumbled. “I hate him, Joel. I hate all of this.”

“I hate it, too, Beth,” Joel said. “But I love her more, and I’m willin’ to wait for her.”

Beth exhaled, slumping back into the chair. Joel could tell she wanted to say more, but she held her tongue. Joel knew Beth’s anger ran deep for Bennett, and he hoped she’d learn to give you grace through all this. It wasn’t your fault this decision was being made. It was what they all thought was best.

Your mom returned an hour later to gather the girls and usher them home for the rest of the night. Joel’s head was throbbing from all of the stress, and he was on edge, knowing his time with you was running out.

“Is she asleep?” Joel asked.

“The doctors gave her a heavy sedative to help her get through the night,” your mom explained. “In the morning, they’ll run a few more tests and figure out when it’ll be okay to discharge her.”

“Can I see her?” He pleaded. “Just so I can say goodbye?”

The words tasted like ash on his tongue. Goodbye was a word he never wanted to associate with you. He wanted the good nights and good mornings but never a goodbye.

“Of course, sweetie,” your mom said, tears slipping down her face.

Joel realized he wasn’t just saying goodbye to you but to your family as well. A family that had welcomed him in so quickly, a family he had spent holidays with and visited in the summer, he was losing an entire group of people he loved so dearly.

Joel thought he was strong enough to see you, but as he opened the hospital door, he realized how wrong he was. Your face was littered with cuts and bruises, your right eye swollen shut, and your hair matted down with dried blood. It took every ounce of his energy not to collapse at the sight of you lying there, and he moved on unsteady legs to your bedside.

He barely managed to say your name as the syllables broke out in a choked sob. He took your hand, his thumb smoothing lines over your balmy skin. Tears fell onto your fingers as he lifted your hand to his mouth, crying softly as he pressed a kiss against it.

“Oh, baby,” he cried. “I love you so fuckin’ much. I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so—.”

Joel wept over your body for what felt like an eternity. He let his head hit the bed, your hand pressed against his wet cheek, inhaling the lingering scent of your perfume. Every memory with you flooded his mind: mornings spent together drinking coffee, lazy afternoons laying on the couch while you read your favorite books, weekends at the soccer fields with Sarah.

Joel’s life had flipped upside down in the span of just a few hours, and you’d never know the decision he had to make for the sake of your health. He wasn’t the praying type, but if there were a God up there, he’d spend every night on his knees begging for you to come home to him.

“I love you, baby,” Joel whispered. “Even if you never remember it, I’ll carry you with me forever.”

Joel leaned up to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering a second too long. He never wanted to leave this room because everything would be gone once he did. All he’d have left were the memories and an undying hope you’d wake up one day remembering his face.

Joel spent the next two days gathering your things from his house. He piled your books into a box, along with the miscellaneous items you had littered his home with. He clung to your shirts and held them to his chest, wishing it was you in his arms. Scattered on the fridge were Polaroid pictures you had taken of Joel throughout the two years, and he slipped them away for when he was ready to relive the memories—not yet, but one day.

Sarah came home from school and saw the boxes next to the front door, giving Joel a weary look.

“What’s happening?” She asked.

Joel crouched in front of her, taking her head in his hands. He managed to say your name without faltering and explained everything to his daughter in the simplest way he could.

“She doesn’t remember me?” Sarah murmured, her eyes welling with tears.

Joel hadn’t realized the heartbreak Sarah would be facing, too.

“No, sweetheart,” Joel shook his head. “But one day she will, I promise. You’ll be my tough girl and help Daddy through this, alright? We’re gonna wait for her ‘cause she’s gonna come back. I promise she’ll be back one day, and she’ll be right there on the sidelines again cheerin’ you on.”

“I’m gonna miss her,” Sarah cried, crashing into Joel’s chest and wrapping him into a hug.

“I’m gonna miss her too, sweetheart.”

~ Two years ago ~

Joel’s phone rang well past midnight. Through tired eyes, he searched for it on his nightstand and prayed it was you, but an unknown number lit up the screen, and Joel’s heart stopped.

“Hello?” He answered, his voice roughened from sleep.

“I can’t do it.”

It was Bennett’s voice, frantic and shaky. Joel shot up in bed, his heart pounding out of his chest.

“What do y’mean you ‘can’t do it’?” Joel questioned.

“I—I can’t do it, man. We’re supposed to get married tomorrow, and I can’t fucking do it. She’s making me crazy. You know she says your name in her sleep? She still can’t remember shit, yet all she does is say your name when she’s sleeping. I’m losing my mind.” He was rambling through words so quickly Joel could barely keep up.

“Y’can’t just leave her like this,” Joel said. “Do y’know how much you’re gonna hurt her? You waited ‘til now to decide you didn’t wanna go through with the weddin’? Y’know how fuckin’ stupid you are?”

Bennett exhaled loudly through the receiver, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“I’m never going to make her happy, and she won’t make me happy. I’m not doing this.”

Joel scrubbed a hand over his face and stared up at the ceiling fan, turning above the bed.

“Alright, listen,” Joel started. “You get your shit together, and you leave. Find some job in another state and never come back. She doesn’t deserve this, and she definitely doesn’t deserve the heartbreak you’re ‘bout to give her. So, you take your ass and get the fuck out of town. And I swear, if you ever come back or even try to contact her again, I will kill you. Do y’understand me? I will fuckin’ kill you.”

“You’re threatening a future lawyer?” Bennett laughed.

“I don’t give a damn what you are, Bennett. I’ll take a gun to your head the next time I see you and not even think twice ‘bout pullin’ the trigger,” Joel threatened, speaking through clenched teeth.

“She’ll never forgive you for it,” Bennett countered. “And don’t even think about coming back into her life, either. She’s better off without either one of us. God help the next guy who tries to get with her. She’s a fucking wreck.”

Joel seethed, the room going red. How dare Bennett talk about you like this? Joel should have never left you. He should have fought harder. He should have killed Bennett before he could have ever had the chance to come back.

“I suggest you pack your shit quick, or I’ll find you ‘fore the night is over,” Joel growled. “Get the fuck out of town, you fuckin’ piece of shit.”

Joel slammed his phone shut and slumped against the headboard. Bennett would be out of your life, but at what cost? He knew this would destroy you. God, he couldn’t even fathom the heartbreak you’d face in the morning when you arrived for the wedding. Joel didn’t even let himself imagine what you’d look like, dressed in a beautiful white wedding gown. Bennett didn’t deserve you; he never did. But Joel didn’t deserve you either. You were too good for either of them.

~ Three months ago ~

“Dad, I need to tell you something,” Sarah announced, walking through the front door.

She had just finished her first day of school, and Joel had gotten off work early to be home in time to hear all about it.

The last two years had been a blur of endless work days and long nights spent drinking in the dark. He was drowning himself away in bottles of whiskey, trying to forget you and the pain that still lingered. He had considered going to you so many times to spill the truth and beg you to come back into his life. But he knew better than that. He knew you deserved a normal life without the reminder of the past.

Joel looked up from the stove where he was cooking dinner. Sarah's face was etched with concern, and her lips trembled as she tried to speak.

“Sweetheart, what is it?” Joel panicked.

He dropped the spatula on the counter and rushed to Sarah’s side, holding her firm by the shoulders.

“My—my teacher,” she muttered. “It’s her.”

Joel felt the world tilt on its axle, his body swaying at Sarah’s words.

“Tell me y’didn’t say anythin’ to her,” Joel begged.

“No, I—I didn’t. I swear. I don’t even know what I would say,” Sarah rambled.

“Okay, alright. It’s okay. It’s okay,” Joel exhaled. He needed to sit down.

Pulling out one of the dining chairs, Joel collapsed entirely, burying his head in his hands. Sarah rubbed a hand over his back, gently attempting to soothe him.

“Maybe this is your chance, Dad,” Sarah suggested. “It’s been enough time now. Maybe she’ll be able to handle the truth about everything.”

Joel loved Sarah’s optimism and her bright outlook on everything. Whenever Joel was ready to give up hope, Sarah was right there to guide him back. She was right, it was an opportunity to start over again, but he didn’t want to fuck it up. He wouldn’t lose you twice.

“I’ll think ‘bout it, okay?” Joel sighed. “Let me finish cookin’ dinner, and y’can tell me all ‘bout your day.”

Joel sat across from Sarah, his food untouched the entire time she talked. He had no appetite. All he wanted to do was ask her about you: what you looked like, what your voice sounded like, what books you would teach the class. He knew poetry was your favorite. You would stay up late reading together in bed. You would always chime in with little factoids or comments about the book, and Joel would always sit there listening to every word. Shakespeare was your favorite, and Joel loved watching your face scrunch with concentration as you tried to explain the meaning behind each play. When he packed up your things three and a half years ago, he secretly kept your copy of Romeo and Juliet. Sometimes, when he was drunk enough, Joel would flip through the pages just to trace over your scribbled words and annotations, just to relive a moment kept in secret between the two of you.

Now, his daughter would experience your passion for teaching firsthand. He was a proud son of a bitch, knowing you were following your dreams.

“Dad,” Sarah’s voice cut through Joel’s wandering thoughts.

He glanced up from his full plate and shook his head.

“Sorry, sweetheart. What did you say?”

“I was saying there’s a father-daughter dance in a couple of weeks,” she repeated. “Maybe she’ll be there. You could see her again.”

“Yeah, maybe. I gotta see if I can get ‘round work to be there.”

Joel was all too familiar with Sarah's look of disappointment; he had seen it far too often these last couple of years. His role as a father had been lacking for a while now; he was lost in the haze of losing you, so much so that he was losing himself. Unfortunately, Sarah had been the one suffering the most because of it.

“I’ll make it work, sweetheart,” Joel decided. “I promise.”

After Sarah went to bed, Joel sat on the couch, nursing a short glass of whiskey. He stared at the liquid as he swirled it around, the amber color shimmering under the dim light of the lamp beside him. His phone lay open on his thigh, Beth’s number sitting there waiting to be dialed. Joel had barely spoken to your sister since he last saw her at the hospital, but he knew she would be his first call.

Dialing her number, Joel took a long sip of his drink and waited.

“Joel?” Beth exhaled, her voice groggy from sleep.

“Hey, yeah.” Joel cleared his throat. “It’s me. I, um, I have some news.”

“Did she…” Beth’s voice trailed off.

“No, no. Not yet, at least. Um, Sarah’s first day of school was today, and I found out she’s her teacher. Funny how that happens, right?”

“Wait, my sister? Actually?” Beth sounded shocked.

“Yup,” Joel sighed. “Sarah thinks I should try and talk to her, Whatdaya think?”

Beth remained silent, and Joel cleared the contents of his glass as he waited.

“I don’t know if telling her everything right away is smart,” she said. “I mean, I haven’t talked to her a lot in the past couple of years, so maybe I’m wrong.”

“Y’all haven’t talked?” Joel questioned.

“She and I haven’t spoken since the whole wedding ordeal,” she confessed.

“Wait, why?”

Joel sat up, one hand clutching the phone, the other smoothing over the curls sticking up on the crown of his head. He never thought you and Beth would ever be on bad terms.

“I warned her about Bennett. I tried to talk her into leaving so many times, but she was so stubborn. I don’t know what he said or did to her to make her stay, but she was always at his defense. I hated seeing her with him, Joel. It should have always been you.”

“I know, Beth. I know.”

“Have you considered maybe completely starting over?” Beth asked.

“Like in what way? Datin’?”

“Yeah. Maybe introduce yourself and see where things go. She might not regain her memory, but you’d have new memories together. She deserves to be loved the right way, and you’re the one who can give her that. Take things slow and test the water. You never know.”

Joel considered the idea for a moment. It could work, but what if it didn’t? What if he completely fucked up his second chance with you? He would have to live the rest of his life knowing he lost you twice.

“You’re suggestin’ I lie to her?” Joel scoffed.

“No,” Beth argued, her voice stern. “I’m suggesting you work your charm like you did the first time and see where it goes. She loved you once before, Joel. I think she could love you again.”

Beth’s words were enough of a push for Joel actually to consider that this might work. He knew you. He knew what you liked and didn’t like; he knew every tiny piece of you so that it wouldn’t be hard to sweep you off your feet again. The only problem he had with the plan was lying. If you ever found out the truth, it would crush you. And that terrified him. He didn’t want to break your heart; Bennett had done a good enough job of it, and Joel would never be like him. He would be better. He would prove himself.

“Do y’think your family would agree to this?” Joel asked.

“None of us ever gave up hope, Joel,” Beth sighed. “This could be a chance for all of us to get her back—to get the old version of her back. We miss her a lot.”

“I miss her, too.”

“Go get your girl, Joel. She’s waiting for you.”

Joel spent that night wide awake in bed. The idea he could have you back in his life again set his body alight with a mixture of anxiety and fear. Beth could be right; you could love him again. There was that hope that maybe he could rewrite the past and start anew, but there was also that terrible fear you could slip away from him…permanently. You never regained your memories, and there was a good chance you never would, but not taking this risk would condemn Joel to a life full of grief. He knew grief well; he had walked side by side with it for the last three and a half years. If he could just hold you for one moment and hear you say his name one more time, that would be enough.

When Joel awoke the following day, he had made up his mind; he would keep fighting for you.

He called Maria before school began and explained it all to her. Joel knew Maria had taken the news of your accident the hardest; you and her had always been close. She was like a mother to you here in Austin. Learning how to navigate around your memory loss had been tricky for her, but Joel knew she had done right by you.

It was no surprise when Maria squealed with excitement over the phone, meticulously creating a master plan to bring you both together again. She promised to talk you into chaperoning the father-daughter dance and vowed to continue pushing you his way. Joel had to remind Maria that he was the one in control here; he needed to be the one to make everything work. Knowing everyone was on his side and willing to help ease his mind.

He was going to get you back.

~ Two Months Ago ~

Joel was running late. He had forgotten entirely about the father-daughter dance, and now he was speeding through yellow lights to make it home. He promised Sarah he’d go, but if he was being honest, the thought of seeing you again made him overwhelmingly nervous. What would he say to you? What would you think of him? What if he ruined his second chance?

Bolting through the garage, Joel called out for Sarah in a rush. She came barreling down the stairs in a blur of lavender and Joel had to stop his racing thoughts to admire his daughter.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joel smiled. “Y’look beautiful.”

“You’re late,” she frowned. “We need to go now.”

She tugged his hand back toward the garage and into the truck. While Joel grappled with the reality that he was going to see you again, Sarah was buzzing with excitement. She saw you every day at school, but this was different. She wasn’t just seeing you… she was going to see you and Joel together in the same room since before the accident. Sarah never got to say a proper goodbye when everything happened, and Joel knew it was hard for Sarah to maintain a semblance of composure every time she sat at her school desk. The memories of you two together were embedded so deep it was hard for Sarah to ignore. Before the school year, Sarah would try to talk about you with Joel from time to time, trying to cling to the nostalgia of the past. Joel knew the suffering wasn’t just his alone; Sarah lost you that day, too.

Joel’s hands were shaking as he put the truck in park, his eyes unsteady as he tried to focus on the school's entrance. You were somewhere inside that gymnasium; he could feel it. It was like a silent call, a tug on an invisible string, an asteroid coming into orbit. You were the pull on his gravity, just beckoning him closer.

“Dad, c’mon!” Sarah begged, unlocking the door.

She was already skipping down the parking lot before Joel could put his keys in his back pocket. He urged her to return so they could walk inside together—maybe because he needed the moral support. He had everyone on his side for this plan, but if he fucked it up, it wouldn’t just be his loss. It would be everyone’s.

The gymnasium was covered in twinkling lights, and the basketball court transformed into a dance floor for the evening. Joel’s eyes bounced around the room, searching for you within the crowd. Through the crowd of moving bodies, he couldn’t find you. Maybe you weren’t here; maybe it was too late.

Joel refused to be defeated this quickly and decided to remain focused on Sarah. At the end of the day, this dance was for her. He watched as she mingled with her friends, fawning over each other's dresses and gossiping about the latest drama. Joel remained on the outer edge of the dance floor, his palms damp from sweat and his pulse racing.

The music shifted to a slow song, and Sarah quickly found Joel and pulled him onto the dancefloor. Seeing her excitement alleviated the bundle of anxiety pulsating inside his chest. He watched as her dress floated around her with every turn, the dimples on her face appearing as he continued twirling her around. The music was slowly drifting to a close, and Joel ushered Sarah in for one last spin. He couldn’t contain the smile on his face as he watched her happiness radiate into the space around him. He maneuvered himself around her twirling body and glanced up toward the side of the gym.

Everything around him ceased to exist at that moment. Amidst the blurring bodies and the chaos of voices, the world stood still. There you were, standing quietly in the shadows, your body bathed in flickering lights, like a lighthouse in the distance of a stormy sea. Joel silently pleaded for you to look at him, even for a second.

As if you heard his thoughts, your eyes met his for a fleeting moment, and it’s as if you saw him. The room melted away, and it was just you and him for the briefest moment in time. Joel swore you looked at him as if you remembered…as if you had searched the room just to find him. The erratic beating of his heart slowed, his body recognizing the strange comfort of your presence even at a distance. Every cell, every atom, every piece of himself cried out to you.

You saw him.

And he smiled.

#joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel x teacher!f!reader #joel x f!reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller #tlou #tlou fanfic #joel miller fanfic #pre outbreak!joel #angst angst angst #sorry in advance for the tears you will shed

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kit-williams · 1 day

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Yandere Sanguinius and yandere Ferrus?

I was given Easy mode Primarch and fuckin Soulsborn NG+ Primarch

Ferrus is 100% thanks to @bispecsual because I had literally nothing

Yandere Sanguinius To catch the eye of the angel of Baal was a feat many would dream to have but knowing what you know... you'd hardly wish it upon your worst enemies. He is kind... he is sweet... but there is a wrath that dances just behind his eyes. The gentle coo that leaves his lips as a room is painted red with limbs and viscera and not a drop upon you. Though should blood touch you... it is because the Red angel willed it.

He was certainly kind... he was certainly sweet... he was certainly thoughtful... but there was something few forgot about the Angel.... he always got his mission done... many wish to sing the praises of peaceful compliance... but you've had to bear first hand the utter annihilation... the blood soaked wings... and iron mixing with his blonde hair turning it a blood red, and his skin stained for days from the blood.

You are his gem... his beloved... whom he and his sons cherish and adore! Even if you try to pull away nothing can pull you far away enough from him you always snap back to him because who wants to believe the angelic lord of blood is a monster? No one. Even if he does not hurt you... anyone else is fair game for the Sanguine Lord and his devoted sons... your monstrous step children... no one will save you from this outward fairytale.

Yandere Ferrus His hand runs over the pod as there she has been for over 150 years... Ferrus feels some guilt over what he has done... but she is all he has as he presses his forehead against the glass coffin. She looks so peaceful and so etheral as she just lays there unaware of how the galaxy marches on without her. But Ferrus knows... he is here... he will always be here for her... his hand brushes against the pod.

She is locked away within his secret workshop with plans on how to remove the metal on his arms... he wants to feel that feathery touch she did on his hand just reading his palm, the way the corners of her eyes wrinkle in joy as she tells him that he'll have a long life. He remembers the way her fingers caressed the seam of his arms and it drove Ferrus to the limit.

He had asked her bluntly if she was willing to extend her life... and she had only said if he ordered her too... Ferrus could not force his will on her... even if he could just crush the life out of her... he could order her to live longer... to be with him! WHY was he cursed with her showing up at the START of the Crusade. And he had to meet her... she had to charm him with her humanity.

He remembers how fast her heart was beating as she laid on his bed naked as he allowed himself one concession... he loved her that night... he can still smell her... still hear her pleasured screams as his hips rocked against hers. He couldn't wait to explore her body with his actual hands... its why he injected her as she laid on his bed blissed out and put her where she is now. He worked on it lovingly for her... as for her... the last memories she has was herself under him screaming in that pleasured haze.

He kisses the glass. Smiling to himself as it wouldn't be much longer...

@egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

#warhammer 40k #reply #answer #yandere #yandere primarchs #yandere 40k #yandere sanguinius #sanguinius #yandere ferrus manus #ferrus manus

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chronically-ghosted · 2 days

Text

bloody kisses — part three: cinnamon girl boy

pairing: shane morrissey/tim rockford rating: E (18+) mdni word count: 10K content: vaguely takes place in the 00s, age gap (shane is 23, tim is 40), internalized homophobia, self-doubt, shame, worries about aging, heavy petting, oral (male receiving), first time giving head, gag reflex training, assplay, doggy style, protected p in a, discussions of dom/sub and top/bottom, bad family dynamics, hints of poverty, discussions around divorce, tim's internal battles, dominant!tim, bratty!shane, nasty dirty talk (anyone who identifies my favorite line gets a gold star), lmk if anything has been missed! dividers: @saradika-graphics a/n: i wanna cry @perotovar let me play with their beautiful blorbos and i had so much fun. i've never written m/m before so they took a HUGE risk on me - thank you so much for trusting me to treat them well!

series summary: shane has been in denial about himself for a while. newly single and with the help of one of his favorite singers, he opens his eyes to a new venture he could possibly take: the cop he sees on a semi-regular basis, detective tim rockford.

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(from @chronically-ghosted: if you liked my humble take on this, you can find my masterlist here!) ♥♥

Russet streaks of late afternoon light filter in through the vinyl slats over the grungy carpet when Shane opens the apartment door. He shuts it with a sigh, locking it behind his back, before tipping his head against the frame, closing his eyes, and taking a long inhale. On the exhale verging on a sigh, he tosses his keys onto the ripped and faded black couch to his right before trudging into the linoleum kitchen.

There’s a note on the counter:

Gone to visit Barry’s kids in New Jersey. Be back on the 10th. Money for food is on the fridge.

Shane’s dark eyes flit to the M magnet that Samantha left here the last time she visited from Maine. Even their father came that time.

He snorts resentfully when he sees it: twenty bucks to last him two weeks – thanks Mom.

Chances that she left him anything in the freezer are lower than the chance he’ll be able to stretch this twenty till Friday.

Shane slips off his leather duster and tosses it over one of the precarious bar stools. He snatches up the half empty packet of cigarettes from the scuffed living room table, takes one out, and lights it. He flops into the cracked leather, stuffing fluttering out of the cushions on impact, one of the metal springs stabbing him in his flat ass. Head against the ridge of the couch, Shane lazily puffs out smoke rings, his lips pursed, up to the ceiling.

There’s about a dozen – maybe even twice as many – feelings in his chest right now, all bubbling and curling and spitting and scratching at his insides. Some of them are good – most of them are great, actually (god he can’t remember when he last felt this fucking ecstatic about anything) but some of them . . . some of them scare him so much he can barely breathe.

Call, Tim had said, in his soft, low voice, the smell of sweet syrup still in the air, the plates with pancake crumbs sitting in the sink behind him. Call, if you need anything.

The detective’s card sits in the left pocket of his duster.

Shane shakes his head, a grim smile on his face. Can I call if I’m just fucking lonely without you?

He sips at the cigarette a bit, following the hazy trail of smoke as it wafts around the room. His eyes fall on the cracks of his life, this apartment he shares with his mother and her boyfriend. Stacks of newspapers by the bookcase that’s missing a few shelves. A cereal bowl he left by the window two days ago when a few friends invited him out to go check out Maxxx’s new stereo system. Takeout boxes and beer cans. Unfolded laundry in a plastic bin, the edges cracked and torn off. A few pictures when he was a wiry kid, then a wiry teen. He has a few good memories with Samantha, when he was fourteen and she was seven. That was the only time in his life when anything ever made any sense.

When she’d ask if he’d play her a s–

Shane’s eyes narrow at his bedroom door. Without looking, he snuffs the cigarette out in the nearest ashtray and stands up. Barry knows what would happen if he went into Shane’s room without Shane’s express permission – mother’s boyfriend or not – but Shane locks up every time. He keys open his bedroom door and finds everything as he left it. But that’s not what has him moving down onto his hands and knees, laying flat on his stomach to get a long arm under his bed. With a bit of searching, Shane’s face breaks open wide in surprise as he fingers curl around the long wooden neck. Slowly, Shane crawls back and with him comes his old acoustic guitar.

By the line of dust on it, it really had been several years since he played this thing, but turning it over, the rightness of it settles into his hands, his hips, his bones. This is where it was always meant to be.

Seems like I’m finding all kinds of rightness out of nowhere.

He strums once. The strings are horrifically out of tune, but the thoughts swirling around in his brain make him smile. Fist under his chin, he props his head up on the guitar’s body, contemplating.

He can still smell the sugar from breakfast and Tim’s aftershave from after breakfast. His heart squeezes without his control . . . and his ass twinges. Heat roars up his entire chest and he has to curl in on himself, rolling onto his back, to keep from exploding, a big stupid grin all over his face. The last twelve hours flit across his memory, each moment better than the next.

Call, if you need anything, Tim had said.

I need you to tell me what to do now. Am I the same person? Do I want to be? If I left all of this and everyone behind, who would I be tomorrow? Would you keep me around then?

Do you even really like me now?

He takes his hands down from his eyes, sighing and staring up at his popcorn ceiling, not unlike Tim’s.

Beneath his right hand, his metal bracelets clatter with the wood of the guitar.

Samantha.

Samantha likes him, or at least used to. She loved some version of him. Little sisters are always supposed to love you, but maybe he could find that version again. If it’s still there.

Shane sits up and begins to clean his room.

Night comes and the light from the Morrissey apartment stays on a young man gathering trash and throwing it away.

Tim hasn’t been this on edge since the four or five times he’s tried to quit smoking. He sits in his car, rain pouring down, heating set on low for an early November evening, and he thinks about all the ways this can go wrong. He stares up at the second floor of the tenement apartment, his fingers flexing around the steering wheel.

Like file folders, he sorts his worries from least to most earth-shattering.

Shane is vulnerable right now. There is no one else in his life he can turn to with questions, and he had been left to fend for himself on and off since he was fifteen (Tim has pulled up his file only half a dozen times for follow up work on the shooting and Shane’s rap sheet often catches his eye). Of course, he wants nothing more than to be the person who Shane comes to with questions or concerns, or fuck, even just an ear to listen to. But, at his age, Tim is all too aware of what a situation like that could do to him.

He’s already in too deep and he fucking knows it.

Earth-shattering worry number two: he is a cop and he has booked this kid more times than he can count. Just for petty stuff and he was never the one to press charges – always the DA looking for an easy numbers game to boost his image before the elections. Tim fucking agonized over that and not just in Shane’s case – these kids weren’t in need of help, the attorney’s office said, they were problems that needed to be put down. So how fast would the DA’s head spin around and explode if he showed up to the policeman’s ball with the “Satanic Temple” on his arm, nevermind just another man? While that would be a sight Tim would cherish until he died, he can’t ask anyone – especially someone as new to all of this as Shane – to handle something like that.

Which brings him to his final worry, the big concern that has him nearly start up his car and drive off, to call Shane on a payphone and apologize for not being able to ever see him again. Tim’s old. He’s fucking old and Shane shouldn’t have to carry decades worth of baggage when the kid’s got a fucking trunk of it himself. He’s old and a has-been and Shane has the rest of his life ahead of him.

Of course, this is all assuming Shane would ever want something more with him and this isn’t just sex for him. But maybe that’s all it should be. Both of them dirty little secrets to each other that can fuel Tim’s fantasies until his cock finally stops working (which is probably pretty fucking imminent), and something that Shane can laugh about with his partner some day.

With a sigh, Tim watches a figure move around behind dirty windows on the second floor.

The only way Tim would walk away now is if Shane told him to take a fucking hike. And that’s a really big problem.

He turns off the car, grabs his tan raincoat, and heads towards the apartment building.

When Shane opens the door, Tim wonders if he had a stroke and is seeing things that aren’t really there. Shane still has all his earrings, his rings with his unusually jet-black hair, but the duster is gone. Shane has answered the door in a black sleeveless shirt, with faded but roughly-intact jeans, and bare feet. He looks –

“Laundry day.” Tim’s eyes snap up and Shane frowns petulantly. “‘S laundry day . . . n’ this is all I had.” His fingers around the doorframe tighten. “You gonna come in or just stand there and make me look like a fuckin’ rat?”

Tim is very much aware of how much he looks like a cop even in plain clothes, and the tie with slacks isn’t helping. But he can understand why it might make things difficult for Shane to be seen with him.

But, fuck, if he only knew . . .

“Sorry.”

He steps across the threshold and Shane shuts the door behind him, sticking very close to the wood to give as much space between the two of them as possible. The rain patters in the silence as Tim tries not to stare too much, but that pattern-picking part of his brain can’t help but lurch into overdrive.

The apartment is empty. That’s the first thing he clocks. The second are several black garbage bags by the front door and the distinct smell of Pinesol in the air, sitting only faintly above the stench of cigarettes. Tim’s eyes fall to the cracked patio door, then the ashtray that has three very freshly stamped-out cigarettes in the bowl. Either two of Shane’s friends just left or –

“You want, um, something to drink?”

Shane moves swiftly from behind him to the kitchen and Tim’s gaze latches to his back. His ears are by his shoulders and Tim gets a brief flash of the borderline fear in those dark eyes before he disappears behind the wall.

“No, uh –,” Tim clears his throat and takes off his coat, then his holster, laying both flat on the counter that separates the living room from the kitchen. “I’m good. Mind if I smoke though?”

Shane returns, a beer can in his hand and slides into the plastic chair on the left side of the chipped table beneath a sickly, hanging fluorescent light. He cracks it and takes two long pulls before putting it on the table with a thud. He picks up his own packet and Tim thinks he might see a tremble in his hand.

He’s not sure if he feels vindicated, even elated, that Shane might be as nervous as he is, or just terribly awkward.

“Make yourself at home.” Shane indicates the chair across from him with a jerk of his head before he lights up. The chair squeaks on the linoleum as Tim pulls it back and gingerly sits down. He stabilizes his elbows on the table to keep his hands steady as he takes out a cigarette from his own packet and lights it against his mouth.

The heady rush of smoke combined with the fresh scent of rain soothes something and he forcibly tugs at his own courage.

“So, um, how’ve you been?” Fantastic start, Rockford.

Shane lifts those thin shoulders, eyes skirting the edge of the table. “Good. Went, uh, to see X the other day. He’s getting better. Says the hospital should let him out soon.”

“Good. That’s good.”

The room is so quiet, he can hear the paper burn and curl from the smoldering end of the cigarette between his fingers.

“And you? You've been – um?”

“Yeah, I’ve been good. Xavier – sorry – X’s testimony was really useful for identifying the shooter and establishing a timeline. Should be a pretty open and shut case.”

At that, a wry smirk curls across Shane’s face. He looks at Tim with something that might be described as a teasing grin as he knocks loose a line of ash. “Probably the last and only time X is gonna be helpful to the police.”

Tim responds with his own grin. “Wouldn’t expect anything different. Where’s the fun in easy cases?”

They both chuckle, eyes on anywhere but each other. And yet the tension has cracked, just a bit. Enough to let Tim lean back in his chair and breathe out a long, relaxed plume of smoke.

“But, uh, you called because you wanted to ask me something?”

Shane’s ink-wet eyes glance up at him and Tim feels the knot beneath his chest bone throb.

“Oh – yeah, right. Um, I was thinking about something you said over breakfast the other day . . .” Tim’s heart swells; he thinks about that morning all the fucking time too. Soft golden light and harsh black hair, spread across his chest. “And I was wondering if you still talk to your old friend in the NYU music department.”

That is not the question Tim had been expecting.

“John? Who works at the guitar shop on 7th?”

“I’m not thinking of going to school,” Shane adds quickly, the tips of his ears going red and Tim has to make an effort to keep his eyes on Shane’s face. “I still think school is a fuckin’ racket made for rich people to make themselves richer and maintain authority over –,”

“Yes, I still talk to John from time to time. Why?”

At this, Shane shifts in his seat, eyes low, shoulders rigid with tension. He taps his thumb on his knee uncomfortably.

“Iwanajob . . .”

“Sorry?”

Shane scrunches his nose (the band around Tim’s chest tightens – god, he’s so fucking cute) and huffs.

“I want . . . a job. At the guitar shop . . . and I was hoping . . . you could introduce me to your friend. John, or whatever.” He adds sullenly as if Tim hadn’t just said his name twice.

The buzzing awareness that is always present at the back of Tim’s mind suddenly clicks on. Like a camera taking film, he looks around the room. The trash bags. The tidy apartment. Fucking laundry day.

“Oh,” he says flatly. “Why, uh – why that place?”

Shane stiffens imperceptibly again. He’s got that “caught-in-a-trap” look about him – the kind his suspects get when they’re about to confess something, willingly or otherwise. Shane’s wide eyes glance over Tim’s shoulder as if he had pointed a finger. Tim turns and is rail-roaded again for the second time since coming here.

“Is that yours?” Tim stands, leaving the cigarette in the ash tray, and crosses the room, careful not to touch the shining guitar on its holder but getting as close as possible to examine it. It is a beautiful guitar, the body waxed and the silver of the tuning pegs bright in the low light. It takes Shane a second to answer.

“Yeah.” The admission is breathy, a release from a too-long-held inhale. Tim thinks his voice wobbles a bit but he dare not turn around to see what’s on Shane’s face. “I used to play a lot. I loved music as a kid, thought I was pretty good. Samantha loved it when I wrote songs for her. When we got older, she’d sing along with me.”

Tim clocked a white note stuck on the counter when he walked in, but he was too far away to read it. The way Shane said her name, Tim gathers that she’s not an ex, but someone closer. However, his file never mentioned any Samantha, so she must not live nearby or be someone he sees frequently.

When we got older . . .

Tim straightens up and looks at Shane. “Is Samantha your sister?”

Shane stares at him wide-eyed for a minute before shaking his head, smiling faintly.

“I hate it when you fucking do that.”

Tim’s stomach knots. “Do what?”

“Figure me out as soon as you look at me. Yeah, dude, Samantha is my sister. Half-sister anyway. Mom and Dad tried to do the whole divorced parents who get along thing for a while, but it didn’t last. Now I don’t see her unless she can get the car for the weekend. But she says she won’t come if she’s not invited and I . . . it’s been a while since I’ve seen her.”

Tim nods, the sick knot in his stomach melting into butterflies.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. Just . . . curious, I guess.”

Shane watches him silently as he rejoins the table. The chair squeaks again. Tim lights another cigarette when he knows he shouldn’t but Shane’s smile has him trembling.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?”

Tim swallows. “Can’t help myself do what?”

“Be curious,” Shane says softly, something unreadable and expansive in his gaze. For a second, he looks a decade older and a millennia wiser. He lifts his voice, louder, deeper when he continues. “Guess that’s part of being a cop.”

“You know, technically, I’m a detective, right? Not on patrol, only handling specialized cases.”

Shane sucks the last bit of his cigarette, his eyes bright with mischief. “A-Cab, Rockford. I don’t make exceptions.”

Tim wants to kiss that smirk right off him. He squeezes his own knee briefly before leaning into Shane’s space, the corner of the table separating them, to tap out his ash. He relishes in the way Shane’s eyes skitter up his forearm to his shoulder. He’s not the first to be intimidated by Tim’s size, but he is the first that Tim would gladly overwhelm with it.

“Seems like you did the other night,” he replies, his voice throaty and scratched. It’s not entirely intentional – Tim’s mouth has gone shockingly dry.

This time, Shane’s entire face flushes pink and Tim grins. Old dog still got some tricks, don’t he?

“I’m just fucking with you, kid.” He chuckles. “Relax. Your secret is safe with me.”

He hears how that last part sounds and bites his tongue in regret. Of all the things Tim wants Shane to know, assuming he thought their time together was a mistake is definitely not one of them. He does not want Shane to think he is something that Tim wants to keep a secret.

But by Shane’s unabashed intake of Tim’s forearms, chest, and curls on his hairline, he probably didn’t need to worry too much.

It’s been years since he was so shamelessly checked out and it makes his heart pound. He wouldn’t dare return the ogling but, fuck he wants to. Last time, it had been all about Shane and making Shane feel good, which he would do without question again and again and again. But he is desperate for an exploration of Shane’s body as much as he knows it needs to be an exploration for the both of them.

Or it would be, if he could get a goddamn grip. Last time - probably only fucking time, you sleeze.

“I k-know–,” Shane’s voice cracks and the blush flares again, only briefly this time. He clears his throat and sits up a bit in the chair. “I know that. I know. It’s just . . .” Shane sucks on his cigarette nervously, his cheeks hollowing, like he’s warming up to something. Something sour rolls down the back of Tim’s throat, his stomach clenched, but years of training keeps his face as smooth as stone. Those dark brown eyes, as gentle and fluid as mercury, stare up at him and Tim knows he’s such a fucking goner.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Tim nods. Rolling his bottom lip into his mouth, Shane leans forward, drumming out another line of ash into the glass tray. He straightens against the back of the chair as he tugs one knee to his chest, expression wary, and wraps a skinny arm around his shin.

At the last second, Shane drops his gaze and instead decides to interrogate a dirty spot on the table.

“When I first met you,” he began slowly, “you wore a wedding ring. But now . . .”

His eyes flicker to Tim’s left hand, third finger, absent of any jewelry, sitting on his thigh.

Tim thinks of the first time he saw that irate seventeen year old punk in the station. He had a ripe black eye and an annoyingly smug smirk on when the officer on duty chucked him roughly into a holding cell.

“That’s perceptive of you.” He flexed his hand into a fist, once, then twice, then met Shane’s stare ahead on. Tim has to hastily swallow a deep lungful of smoke to smother the sudden uptick of his heartbeat. “You’re right,” he says, stiff, on a throaty inhale. “I was married until about five years ago.”

A large knot visibly slips down Shane’s throat, his cigarette tilting dangerously between his fingers, ash hovering over the carpet.

“Hm, and to a . . .”

The way his eyes go wide, Tim wants to bury a kiss into that agitated pulse on Shane’s throat, but instead, he just nods slowly, avoiding sudden movement that might startle the wild animal ready to bolt across from him.

“Yeah, Shane, to a woman.”

Shane continues to tear into his own lip. He retreats before Tim’s eyes – crosses his arms on top of his knees and leans his head back. He stares into the rain outside, the beer at his elbow long forgotten. This isn’t the answer he was hoping for.

“Oh,” he says.

Tim leans forward onto his elbows, entering into his space again, but this time more hesitantly. Shane’s bare foot is inches from Tim’s fingers.

“Shane.”

“Hm?”

“Look at me.”

With a steady hand, Shane flicks the end of his cigarette with his black thumbnail, ash falling, and with a very level gaze, he returns Tim’s watchful eye. His face is so blank he barely has any features.

“What?”

“I’ve fallen in love with women and men.”

The impenetrable ice in his eyes melts and Shane frowns. “You can do that?”

Again, Tim nods, this time a faint smile on his face. How easily he forget how fucking clueless this kid is and how fucking cute his obliviousness makes him.

“But I’ve only slept with women before, am I–,”

“It’s not about who you’ve slept with, to a certain degree. It’s who you are attracted to.”

“So there’s more than just being gay?”

He wants so badly to reach across the edge of the table and take Shane’s hand. Soothe him. Feel those rough calluses against his skin again. He can feel the heat of his own cigarette coming painfully close to the backs of his fingers so he tamps out the cigarette in the glass bowl, Shane’s eyes watching him the whole time.

“There’s a lot of things, sweetheart,” Tim says softly, the nickname slipping out as it had before, in his own apartment with Shane in his lap. He hopes that sweetheart sounded casual, a nickname more than a reflection of the hot knot tightening in his groin. “But at the end of the day, it comes down to what feels right to you. How you see yourself. You might have to spend some time figuring it out, asking yourself some hard questions, but you’ll get there.”

Shane nods, again swallowing the words that are so clearly caught in his throat. He switches the cigarette to his other hand and stares out the window at the rain. Tim’s mouth dries up at the sight of his long, exposed throat.

“Is that why it didn’t work out between you and your . . . wife?” Shane asks quietly.

Tim runs his gaze over the piercings in Shane’s earlobe, the delicate bones within the cartilage, then to his set jaw and, finally, over his plush, pouty lips.

“No.” He can hear how hoarse he sounds, how wrecked, but having Shane in front of him again, all those feelings, all those basic urges he denied for the past few weeks come roaring to the front again. He of all people should have known suppression and repression never, ever work. “We were just different people. It had nothing to do with the fact that I also fuck men.”

He watches Shane tremble, the skin on his bare arms suddenly electrified. Slowly, with a shaking breath, Shane twists out his own cigarette, pushing it down roughly with two fingers.

The thing that has been circling Tim’s mind – like a rabid dog tearing out chunks of his ability to think straight – slides out of his mouth before he can stop it.

“What have your other partners told you?”

Call it twenty years on the force.

Call it a finely tuned bullshit detector.

Call it whatever you want, but in that moment before Shane opens his mouth, Tim knows he just considered lying to him and Tim’s heart plunges into his gut. He loathes the idea that Shane might lie to him, lie to him about being queer or an aspect of himself he still has questions about. Having someone older and more experienced than him in life alone at Shane’s age would have made all the difference to him as a young man and more than anything, more than his stupid cock, that’s all he really wants. He wants to be there for Shane because no one, not even his own family, has ever told him he means a damn.

And you mean so much to me already.

Then Shane lets out a shaky breath, the crease in his brown carved deep, but one glance at Tim and it melts away. Without warning, he stands up right and for a split, wonderful second Tim thinks he’s going to crawl into his lap again.

But Tim realizes he’s waiting for something.

With a voice that comes from a very small place, Shane mutters, “there hasn’t been anyone since you.”

He blinks up at Shane for one second, and then two, and his words register, click in, and everything else fades away. Tim’s on his feet with his finger snagged through one of Shane’s belt loops before common sense or patience can catch up with him.

“Is that right?” Tim purrs as he takes the curve of Shane’s neck in his massive palm, the other going to waist, and Shane instantly gasps at the touch. But that initial elation hardens and he glares at him. Tim is distinctly reminded of an annoyed puppy.

“Don’t sound so fucking pleased,” Shane snarls through bared teeth. His black nails dig into Tim’s forearm, a warning and a plea. “It’s not like I think about you all the time or anything.”

His eyelids droop when Tim squeezes the back of his neck and Shane lets out a low moan. Tim drops his head against the other man’s forehead. The boy smells like cloves and cinnamon and definitely pot and it’s going to haunt Tim’s memories forever. He closes his eyes and resists the urge to nuzzle that bare cheek.

“You’re all I think about. Every minute, every day,” Tim hums, “I can’t stop thinking about you and all those little sounds you made when I fucked your ass.”

Another sound, a better one, squeaks out of him – one of protest and desperation and carnal need – and Tim’s control snaps in his hands.

The hand on Shane slides to the back of his head and Tim all but shoves those pouty lips into his mouth.

It’s just as fucking fantastic as he remembered.

Frantic. Needy. Tim kisses him like it’s his job to lick clean the cigarette smoke embedded on Shane’s tongue, on the inside of his mouth, the split cracks in his dry lips. His fingers tangle into that starkly black hair, the strands faintly damp, and his other hand slips to his low back. At that, the boy pulls back enough to let a whine escape from his open mouth before Tim yanks him against his chest. He feels Shane grow hard against his thigh and all the blood rushes out of his brain.

Briefly dizzy, Tim stumbles forward, his hands catching the table behind Shane’s hips, pinning the younger man between him. He nips at Shane’s neck, trying to get the world to stop spinning.

“Fuck me, baby. You’re going to give this old man a heart attack.”

Shane guides him into his mouth, his fingers clawing gently at the scruff of his beard, a slower, softer repeat of how Tim had initiated. Warm air puffs across Tim’s beard when Shane retreats, eyes searching for something he needs to find on Tim’s face.

“Actually,” he breathes softly, “I really do think about you all the time too.”

Tim has never been more grateful for the rough grip on his cheeks because that’s all that’s keeping him from sinking to the ground on wobbly knees. Shane takes another kiss before his hand slips into Tim’s meaty paw and tugs him into the living room. He guides him back to the couch and, with a not-too-gentle push, shoves Tim down against the cushions. The detective goes without resistance.

The pale light from the rain beyond the window and the fluorescent glow behind him etches Shane in a soft halo. Brightness in Shane’s eyes tells him that the man is running on instinct alone – and that’s perfectly fucking fine. Whatever – anything – Shane wants, Tim will gladly offer it up.

But when his hands drop to Tim’s belt buckle, the rush of heat up his body leaves him almost catatonic.

“Mhmm, f-fuck, sweetheart, wait a second – d-don’t wanna rush things if you’re not –,”

The sound of his zipper tearing open is like a gunshot and there’s no denying the raw hunger that smears the edges of Shane’s eyes to a dangerous black.

“You have to walk me through it.” He sounds awe-struck.

He sinks to his knees and Tim considers he might actually die on this fucking couch. The heat radiating from those black-tipped hands that run up his thighs has Tim moaning in the back of his throat. He wants to curl that beautiful hair around Shane’s elegant ear – what would he say if Tim told him he has an elegant ear – but he’s using all of his energy to not immediately come when Shane tugs his pants down his hips, just enough to palm him through his boxers.

As if the sensation of a half-hard cock surprises him, Shane’s lips split apart, eyes locked onto the wet spot beneath his hand. Tim swipes his bottom lip with his tongue, knuckles white as he grips the cushions, watching with aborted breath Shane stroke him gently. He grits his teeth.

“Tell me you want this.” Tell me I’m not forcing you into anything too fast because I’m fucking obsessed with you.

“I want this.” Shane shuffles closer, his hand dipping down to cup his balls, the scent of his cloves hitting Tim again, and Shane quietly gasps as the cock beneath his hand hardens more and more. “I wanna s-suck your cock.”

Tim grunts, his legs opening wider, sliding low into the cushions and now Shane hovers over him. Here is where with other partners in recent years, Tim would lock up. There’s gray in the curls at the base of his cock and his tummy hangs out a bit more, no matter how much he runs. But Shane doesn’t seem to register any of that. His mouth is still open in raw fascination, as if showing off how fucking deep he’s going to take the cock inches from his face. The sight splits heat between his groin and his heart. Tim is not going to fucking rush this. He’ll let Shane touch whatever he wants for as long as he wants even if it makes him come like an overeager teenager.

Suppressing that peak of heat at Shane’s touch, Tim digs his fingers into Shane’s mop of hair like he’d been wanting to since the kid first offered that drink. At his immediate touch, Shane’s eyes roll back in his head and Tim takes that as an opportunity to scratch at his scalp, with a slight tug at the end.

“Oh, fuck, please lemme me suck your cock.”

Shane’s breathing hitches when Tim loosens the grip on his hair, runs his thumb down his temple, scuffs his cheek, and then drags that puffy bottom lip down. He looks absolutely ruined, eyes misty and shoulders slumped forward, and Tim has barely touched him.

“Take me out, baby,” Tim murmurs, “and I’ll tell you what to do.”

Wide eyes never losing their nervous light, Shane dips his hand below the elastic waistband (why didn’t he put on better underwear?) and cups him, slowly dragging his shorts lower as he pulls Tim’s cock into the light.

Tim has to remember to breathe. Fuck, it’s so hot in this fucking room. With trembling fingers, he tugs the knot of his tie away from his throat and unbuttons his shirt down to his ribs, as Shane runs an experimental grip up and down the length of his cock. Tim hisses as heat flares brightly and a little too fast.

Shane’s eyes flick up to his face. “Sorry, too dry?”

Without waiting for a response, Shane cups his hand beneath his mouth and spits, a giant, slick glob. It might be the hottest thing Tim has ever witnessed with his two eyes. Shane’s hand returns and Tim’s eyes flutter shut as he groans.

“S-s-shit, baby, that’s really good.”

Tim wants to open his eyes, to see Shane’s face, to get a glimpse of what is going on in that beautiful head, but he can’t drag himself out of the lusty haze long enough.

And then, after several slow, long pumps that have him harder than he can ever remember being, Tim feels Shane’s palm twist just as his thumb swirls the head and swipes the leaking tip. Pleasure roars up his spine and his hips jerk off the couch. His eyes snap open and find Shane not proud, but surprised. His mouth opens again in glee.

“I fucking love that too,” he murmurs, his hand moving a bit faster now. “Love it when they play with the tip.”

“Mhmm, hmm.”

As Shane finds a slightly hurried rhythm with his strokes, Tim is greedily storing away images and sensations in lockbox after lockbox in his memory. Has Shane’s hands always looked so thick?

“You can try whatever you want.” Tim murmurs, his gaze jumping between the hand around his cock, Shane’s mouth, and that hand with the black nails against his thigh. “If you like something, I’ll probably like it too.”

Shane wets his lip, his eyes darting to Tim’s face as if looking for permission. Tim nods, his heart pounding in a completely different way than from exertion, and has to breathe into his stomach as Shane parts his lips and lowers his mouth to his cock. Inch by inch, he takes him deeper and deeper, his hand falling away to Tim’s other thigh, as he sinks closer to those gray-streaked curls.

Tim is genuinely caught on the knife-edge of pleasure and pain. Exquisite pleasure saps his entire body of energy, every grunt and sigh bursts of tiny releases, but with every inch into Shane’s warm, wet mouth, his tongue a rough glide on the underside of his cock, it becomes harder and harder to not buck his hips and god, does he fucking want to. He wants to grab Shane by the back of the head, hold him steady, and fuck that mouth like it’s the last fuck of his life. But he won’t, he can’t – Shane isn’t ready for that and quite honestly, neither is he, despite how the arousal of that mental image floods him with hot satisfaction. He’s going to tear apart this couch with his bare hands, though.

Shane gets about halfway and then chokes and Tim is yanked out of the dream in a panic.

“B-baby, are you okay?”

Shane splutters and nods, the back of his hand coming to his lips, as if trying to hide his smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he croaks. “My gag reflex is shit though.”

Tim sighs with relief and a strangled orgasm. He’s so hard it hurts but he doesn’t give a fuck. “You’re doing fine, sweetheart. Better than fine, actually.”

Tim meets his eyes as they go dark and hungry with a flash of that spitfire that Tim only ever saw on the other side of a metal interview table before.

“Guess you’ll have to train up my reflex, then.”

“Yeah?” This kid has no idea what he’s playing with. Shane kneels between his spread legs, hands gently rubbing the meat of his thighs, those dark eyes swirling almost maliciously. Tim pinches Shane’s chin between his thumb and curled forefinger, thrusting that belligerent mouth up. “You gonna listen to an authority figure for once in your goddamn life?”

“I’ll try my best,” he pouts, his neck arched back.

“Blow on it.” Tim commands. “Start from the bottom and go to the top.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tim’s cock visibly throbs and Shane hasn’t even opened his mouth. But then he does, leaning forward when Tim releases his chin. He blows a quick burst of air around Tim’s curls, before opening his mouth wide and breathing heavily, wetly, warmly around the base of the cock in front of him. Then, as he was told, he lifts up and to the very top of that leaking head.

“Take the tip – just the tip – and suck on it, gently at first.”

Shane does as he is instructed, his eyes never leaving Tim’s face or losing that maniacal glint, and he sucks, making a similar face (Tim assumes) as when he’s slurping up ice cream. Shane sucks harder and a loud, lewd moan rips out of Tim’s throat.

“Now take it all in, as much as you can. Then swallow.”

Shane dips his head, mouth gliding down his veiny shaft, spit slipping out of the corner of his mouth, going down and down and down until he breathes sharply through his nose. Tim, clutching at sanity as it sprinkles through his fingers, watches the sharp planes of Shane’s shoulders and back churn and roll as he lifts his head up and down. He wants to loop his fingers through those black curls so badly.

“I’m gonna touch you now, okay?” Shane grunts his approval, the blush of air against his groin sending a bolt of pleasure up Tim’s spine, and he soothes his own tattered nerves by digging into Shane’s hair, scratching a bit like he had before. But then he loosens and just lets his hand rest contentedly on the back of his head.

The drumming beat of rain and Shane’s wet mouth is a narcotic. The sight and sounds and smells of it all makes his brain melt, deep desires usually chained down by his restraint snapping and popping free like fireworks.

What’s he going to feel like when Shane can take all of him?

How long and how often does he have to do this to train him up?

Could he come home after working a twelve hour shift to Shane crawling onto his knees and sucking him off, just like this? Like this, in perfect domestic bliss –

Out of nowhere, Shane swallows and Tim has to claw into his own thigh to keep from coming right then and there.

“Oh, fucking Christ –,” he yelps. As if encouraged, Shane tries to go a little deeper, swallow a little harder, but he gags again. When he lifts his head, his eyes are wet and Tim wonders if it's possible to black out from being so aroused.

“Sorry,” Shane mutters, wiping his mouth again. “Your cock is so fucking big. It felt big in my ass but this –,”

Tim’s eyes slip closed. “Shut the fuck up. You can’t – can’t say those things.”

He breathes heavily, the pounding in his heart only slightly stronger than the blood pounding in his cock. But Shane is suspiciously quiet.

Tim opens his eyes and finds a curious expression on Shane’s face as he stares at Tim’s cock. No, not his cock, a bit below –

Shane turns and tugs the low, tattered table behind him closer. He puts Tim’s foot against the edge, and then does the same with the other. The haze in Tim’s brain won’t let him piece it together until Shane dips his head, tongue already out.

“Whoa, whoa, baby–,” he grasps Shane’s shoulder and he stops. “I can’t ask you to do that. I don’t want to push you too far tonight.”

Shane rolls his eyes, flatly annoyed. “I’ve eaten ass before, Tim. I’m not a blushing fucking virgin.”

Tim can actually feel the second that sweat breaks out across his hairline. “A-are you sure?”

“Yeah, I actually know what I’m doing there. I mean, an asshole is an asshole, right?”

He isn’t sure if he likes how fast Shane has grown in confidence, or if it’s the sexist thing he’s ever seen. Maybe he’s the one not entirely ready.

“Y-yeah. Alright. Fire away, then.”

And with that first kitten lick, Tim finally comprehends just how fucked he is. He knew he was, but it’s not until Shane masterfully rims the edge of that ringed muscle does he know, with clear certainty, this kid is going to ruin him.

Shane’s hand curls around Tim’s shaft, his tongue prodding his asshole, and Tim makes a loud, open-mouthed moan that hits the quiet air of the apartment and shatters.

Within seconds, he’s hurling towards a release so violent, his thighs shake. Shane pumps him slowly, his mouth making everything wet and drippy, his eyes eagerly catching every twitch and moan Tim makes.

When Tim feels his balls draw up, dangling over the precipice, he snatches Shane by the hair and yanks him back. Again, Shane makes a sound like an irritated cat.

“C’mon,” he huffs, his face red as if he had mitigated his breathing. “Lemme do this.”

Tim swallows everything – his tongue, his orgasm, the desire to lick the brat right out of Shane’s pouty mouth – and shoves it all down as far as it will go. He’s left sweaty and panting, holding Shane by the flat of his hair at arm’s length. He swallows again and sits up, that airless high settling. Shane scowls petulantly

“You still want me to fuck that ass, right?”

His glare cracks in half. Those swollen lips part and he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Then you fucking listen to me when I tell you to stop sucking cock. Got it?”

Shane nods more insistently, tongue swiping fast against his bottom lip. “Y-yeah.”

Tim lets go and resists the urge to correct him to how he addressed him before, but fucking Christ, one thing at time.

“Which one is yours?” Tim nods towards the two closed doors across from him. Wordlessly, Shane points to the one farthest from the living room. “Show me.”

Tim barely grunts as he stands up, his knees dangerously unsteady, his back twinging from the low position on the couch and the fact that there’s more padding on a highway road than inside of those cushions.

Again, just as he thinks he might tip over, Shane takes his hand, intertwining their fingers, and leads him through the door.

The sun had set on an already dark day, so in the burgeoning twilight, Shane’s room is a collection of shadows and blue outlines. Beyond the vinyl window slats, the rain pours harder than ever, muffling the sounds of cars on the street and the blunders of other people in the building. With the door closed, the air is warm, but not uncomfortably so, more like a soothing hand against his sweaty neck. The pleasant scent of incense is unmistakable, a far cry from any other smell in the apartment.

The effect of it all, standing in Shane’s room, alone, is . . . isolating.

“It’s not much,” Shane murmurs, as if he worried Tim would find something about his space distasteful. “But I did clean up.” His eyes grow wide as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Not that I thought, or even expected that this – that you’d –”

Tim brings their locked hands to Shane’s cheek and gently, sweetly kisses him on the mouth. For a man so confident in his ability to drive his partner insane with his tongue up their ass, the boy quivers beneath a soft touch. Tim pulls back and finds blurry, unfocused eyes.

“What do you want to do tonight?” Tim hums and strokes an errant curl back from Shane’s cheek.

“This.” Shane says immediately. “This feels so fucking good.”

“Where do you sleep?” Tim asks, quietly, letting the words slow to a rumble, his free hand gently cupping the boy’s neck. The bed is unmissable, but he wants to give Shane as much control as he needs. Beneath his hands, Shane’s breathing stutters for a moment, before biting down on his bottom lip and leading Tim to the haphazardly made-up bed. He sits, big eyes staring up at him, at their bound hands, before releasing his grip and lying back on the bed. He scoots up, nestling that all black hair against his gray pillow.

“Here.” His voice is strangled, choked, his fingers twisting together as he picks at his nails. “Right h-here.”

“Is that why you look so good right here, baby?” Tim slides the tail end of his tie out of the knot and off his neck. Shane licks his lips, transfixed, as Tim continues to unbutton his wrinkled shirt. The bit of clothing falls to the floor and Tim nearly matches Shane in a white sleeveless shirt. Black and white, punk and cop. There’s poetry in there somewhere.

Tim continues to undress; shoes first, then socks, and finally his slacks. Shane gets a little jumpy as he crawls up the bed.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.” Tim raises an eyebrow at the jeans confining his hard cock. “No, sorry, n-no – I’ll take them off.”

Tim gives him enough space to unbutton his pants, then sloppily jerk them off. He flings them over by Tim’s and Tim grins. He settles back down with Shane nearly underneath him and gently strokes his cheek. Everywhere he touches on the boy, it’s warm. Women aren’t like that, usually, and in turn, it satisfies something deep inside of him. Tim thinks of the tender warmth of the heated skin of a deer after it’s run a long distance.

“You still want it, baby?” This he asks honestly and without the grungy purr to his voice.

Again, without hesitation, Shane nods, but then stops. His chest swells like the words he wants to say are caught on the back of his throat, his nails gently biting into Tim’s chest, so Tim presses thoughtfully into the arch of Shane’s jaw, encouraging him. His doe eyes darting across Tim’s face, tension coiling up in his thighs, Shane says,

“I want it from the back this time.”

Oh, fuck.

With half of a groan and half of a laugh, Tim dips forward and loosely bites Shane on his ear. “You really are trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

Shane giggles as Tim’s nips slowly turn to open-mouthed kisses. He sucks sharply on the thrumming pulse of his neck, and Shane groans, his whole body writhing to be closer to Tim’s mouth, his skinny arms going around Tim’s broad shoulders.

“Do you mind?” Shane asks, breaking apart for a moment, his lips brushing Tim’s mustache. “I know you did it last time and if you wanna, um, I mean I can try but –”

Tim grins through the smile pressed onto a corner of that sweet mouth as he sits up on his knees. He smooths a hand up through the faint trail of hair just above Shane’s waistband, then up his ribs, stopping to thumb a hard, pink nipple, before kissing both of his cheeks.

“No, I don’t mind. I will never, ever mind when you ask so nicely.”

“But one day – you w-want me too, right?”

Ribbons of meaning hang over that question, their soft tassels hard to grab before slipping through Tim’s grasp. His brow furrows, his hand resting on Shane’s hip. The boy stares up at him like he hangs the moon in the sky.

Those ribbons drag forward new questions of their own, questions he can’t ask himself, much less out loud. They all clatter and fall into one big heap in his mouth and he can’t untangle them right now, not while he has Shane looking like that, but one slips through before he can stop it.

“You wanna do this again, with me?” The question lingers in the air like smoke, as gentle and insistent as the rain outside.

Shane’s fingers curl around Tim’s wrists. He smiles. “Yeah, of course. I . . . like you.” Blush trickles up his neck and into his ears, but he keeps his grip. “If you wanna keep me around, I mean.”

His voice goes small, from somewhere he never lets anyone see. Just as Shane’s eyes jerk off him, shame hot in his gaze, his body going rigid, Tim leans down and kisses him, the softest kiss they’d ever shared. The scent of cloves comes again as Shane offers his tongue and Tim takes it.

They kiss in the cover of the rain, in the shelter of the space that is entirely theirs, for one eternity and a half. When Tim opens his eyes, he is someone new, someone changed. Someone he doesn’t recognize and that’s a wonderful thing.

“I’ll take you like you want,” he says softly. Beneath his chest, skin to skin, he can feel Shane’s heart pounding. He hopes Shane can feel his. “But I wanna see your face for a bit. Is that okay?”

Shane nods and kisses him as he tries to pull away. Tim smirks and rubs Shane’s hip bone with his thumb.

“Remember what I said about preparing? Have you been doing that?”

Shane bites his lip as if caught doing something particularly filthy. “Yeah, I’m up to three fingers now.”

Fucking hell. Be cool about this.

“Good, baby. Do you have lube?”

Shane rolls his eyes, that blush now blotchy on his throat. “Duuuh. I don’t know why you think I’m some bl–”

“– ushing fucking virgin. I heard you the first time.” Shane narrows his eyes playfully and Tim cannot wait to spank that smirk right off him. “Then go get it.”

Shane wiggles out from between Tim’s legs and crawls over to the bedside table. He digs around a bit before pulling out a box of condoms and a blue bottle. He tosses them at Tim like he’s throwing laundry detergent, before hovering for a moment. Lips between his teeth, he stiffly slips his underwear off and down the floor. His bracelets clink as he moves and Tim can tell it sounds like an air raid siren to him. Naked, he crawls back to bed and settles beneath Tim flat on his back.

“For someone who is so bothered by authority,” Tim begins and just as Shane frowns, wrenching his mouth open to argue, Tim sits back between his thighs and folds his knees up, spreading him wide. Whatever retort Shane had dies on his throat and the only thing left is a soft whine. “You are such a good boy. I didn’t even have to ask you to get naked for me.”

Shane’s cock, exposed for the first time all night, twitches on his stomach. He squirms as Tim picks up the bottle and clicks up the lid with his thumb, his other hand resting briefly on the arch of Shane’s foot.

“I’m gonna start with one again, but move faster into two this time, okay? Then we’ll see if you’re lying to me or not.” Resistance flashes in Shane’s eyes at Tim’s smirk, but the boy stays silent.

But that defiant look melts away to aching bliss when Tim drizzles the lube between his cheeks, and then Tim’s own fingers. His other hand curls around Shane’s knee and squeezes, grounding them both.

“Probably should have gotten a towel,” Tim mutters and the sound Shane was going to use to reply fractures and crumbles, oozing into a throaty moan when his asshole spreads apart around a single finger.

Maybe it’s his age, or maybe he’s never had his asshole played with in a way he likes, but Shane is so fucking sensitive. He’s twitching and gasping after a few strokes, black nails curling into the bedsheets. His eyes are squeezed shut, not from pain or discomfort, but from trying desperately not to come. Tim recognizes that look; he wore it himself fifteen minutes ago.

Shane’s cock is trickling all over his stomach by the time Tim adds a second finger. And true to his word, it goes in without much resistance, much to Tim’s delight. This means there can be a bit more fun than just aimlessly prodding. Shane lets out a high moan when Tim’s fingers change angles.

“What the fuck are you doing down there?” Shane pants, sweat peaking at his hairline. He moans again before Tim can answer, his back arching off the bed.

“Searching.”

“For fucking what? I–,” Shane’s eyes snap open, horror and heat etched in the dark rims. “You can’t touch that, it’s not fair. You’ll make me come.”

Tim kisses his knee as he adds a third finger, grinning when Shane’s head thumps back against the pillow. “I think that’s the whole point of this, sweetheart.”

Shane whines his answer; Tim speeds up his thrusting, giving up for now.

“You’re doing so well, darling, so well. You did so good to prepare for my cock.”

Shane fists the bedsheets, his thigh muscles tightening. Tim thinks he can’t actually comprehend his words, until he wrenches his jaw apart. “Just your cock. I did it for your cock, Rockford, no one else’s. Don’t - don’t want anyone’s cock but yours in me.”

This is just cock-drunk babble, tongue loose with whatever nonsense fills his mouth, his brain no longer in control.

Right?

Either way, Tim slips his fingers out with practiced precision, easing on the condom, then squirting his cock and Shane’s exposed hole with lube in one go. If Shane has noticed anything, his blissed out expression doesn’t change . . . until he feels the tip of Tim’s thick head expand his asshole.

His stare locked onto Shane’s blissed out face, Tim pushes forward, using Shane’s knees as leverage.

The boy honest to god chokes. His cock spits up his chest.

“Ohmy god . . .”

Tim goes slow enough he knows it won’t hurt, his fingers opened him enough that the lube only adds to the pleasure, but he’s not entirely worried about that right now. He wants him stupid and babbling again.

“This cock, sweetheart? This is the cock you’ve been making room for?”

Shane whines, lips white between his teeth, nodding vigorously. Tim rubs his hip soothingly and Shane’s face breaks open with a loud gasp. His eyes snap down to where he swallows Tim inch after inch.

“You’re so much bigger than my fingers. Holy fucking shit. I forgot how big you are.”

“But you like that, right?” There’s a collective sigh of relief as Tim finally is flushed against him. Huffing like a wounded animal, Tim pushes the mop of hair back from Shane’s sweaty forehead. “You like how I fuck you, don’t you?”

Shane nods again, as Tim grips his waist and he wraps his fingers around Shane’s forearms, his bracelets tinkling softly, as he settles in for what he can’t even possibly imagine.

“You’re damn fucking right I like how you fuck me.” Shane rasps out. “Wouldn’t let you do it if it didn’t rock my fucking world.”

“I’m gonna go a bit faster than I did last time. You say stop if it gets to be too much.”

“I know what a safeword is, Rockford, I’m not –,”

Tim rolls his hips forward, knocking a surprised breath from Shane. He stabilizes a bit better with his knees and then picks up a rhythm, slow but deep.

“If you say blushing fucking virgin one more time, I’m putting you over my knee and spanking you.”

But words fail him.

They fail Tim too, eventually, when rings of heat stack, one upon the other, up his spine. Every time Shane’s asshole clenches around him, those rings drop lower, closer to his groin.

It feels too fucking good.

The rhythmic chime of Shane’s metal bracelets clinking together can barely be heard over the rain outside, and the peaks and valleys of the heavy moans piling up in the room.

Shane’s flattened hand against his head board, he grinds his hips down, forcing even more resistance than just his tight hole.

“Fuck,” he whines high and loud, Tim tightening his grip on his waist as he all but bounces Shane on his cock. “Oh god, I can’t – I can’t –,”

Tim’s skin is so hot he wonders if he’s giving off steam. He’s sweating from his forehead, his neck, the backs of his knees, a slick wetness spreading across his groin every time he slams that cute little ass back against him. Not another single word of derision has passed Shane’s lips in what feels like forever, his mouth switching rapidly between grinding his teeth and dropping open when Tim brushes up against something nuclear.

If Tim is steaming, Shane is melting. Every muscle in his body is weak, knees around Tim’s hips to give him better access. Cum rolls in white streaks off his stomach and onto the rapidly shifting sheets.

Tim knows if he just breaths on the that pink cock, it’s all fucking over – so he slows, and pulls back out of him.

A Shane with a functioning brain would have demanded an explanation but the gooey mess of a boy in the bed only lifts his gaze.

“Turn around,” Tim pants.

“What?”

“You wanted me too . . .” Tim spins his finger, squeezing the base of his cock with his other hand. “Turn over.”

“Oh, right.” Despite that almost sleepy murmur, Tim can hear the disappointment. At the head of the bed, a shaking hand swipes away one pillow then the other and Shane buries his face in the mattress.

His ass is already pink as Tim spreads his thighs, his knee nudging his right leg to bend, and lines up. But Shane is murmuring something into the sheets.

“… stop.”

Tim freezes, one hand around his cock the other flat against the bed by Shane’s hips.

“You want me to stop?”

Shane lifts his head enough to look back and whine. “Don’t — don’t stop.” Crackling with unspent energy, Shane rubs his face against the sheets like a cat. “Please.”

Tim grins as he lines himself up again, his free hand coming to Shane’s thigh when the cockhead spreads his cheeks.

“Don’t worry, darling, I’m not gonna –,”

Tim stops moving. It’s long enough and unusually fraught enough for Shane to lift his head in confusion, Tim’s cock barely in.

“What happened?”

Tim is staring, struck dumb and mindless at the sight of Shane’s lower back.

“You’ve got two dimples here,” he murmurs, the growl in his voice thick and rough.

“Yeah? So?”

Without warning, Tim yanks Shane onto his hands and knees by his waist. The sudden movement is rough for his loose muscles and he yelps.

“Fuck – what’s got you all fucking twisted up now?”

Tim is no longer entirely himself. His shoulders seem broader, nose sharper, mouth firmer. His eyes have been eclipsed by black as one by one, he puts his hands on Shane’s hips, and then twists his thumbs to fit into the divots of his dimples as he, achingly slow, pushes back into Shane’s abused hole.

“You’ve got fucking handles built in, baby.” Tim murmurs and heat radiates from where they are connected, Shane’s skin flushed with red and goosebumps. The sensation jams the signal to Shane’s brain.

Behind him, Tim kisses his back almost lovingly.

“I’m definitely gonna wreck your shit now.”

On the first tug, the one that snugs Tim’s groin right up against his ass, Tim knows he only has seconds left in him.

These strokes are brutal, fast, and short. Whatever sounds tears itself from Shane’s throat is the prettiest thing Tim has ever heard. His mouth goes wet as he watches Shane’s shoulders and back go loose again and on another day, he’s going to clench his fist around that mop of hair and pull until Shane begs him to stop.

Another day. But not today.

Tim focuses on the things he can control to elongate that enormous orgasm that rattles his teeth. His thumbs in the perfect little divots of Shane’s back; he pushes down, increasing the pressure higher up, and actually hears the cum squirt out onto the bed, followed by a groan that shakes Shane from head to toe. He focuses on his breathing, the short huffs out his nose, mouth closed shut but tiny mhm mhm mhm’s escape anyway. He tries to focus on the glint around his pelvis but that makes things worse.

He focuses on – fuck, what can he focus on? – Shane hasn’t made a noise in –

“Shane, baby, are you okay?”

He gasps out as though electrified. “I’m trying so hard not to come, I don’t want it to fucking stop, but you hit my g-spot three thrusts ago and I think I’m gonna pass out.”

Tim can’t help but chuckle. He rubs a warm palm up Shane’s spine, then gives his neck a reassuring squeeze, before leaning forward and draping himself over Shane’s trembling frame, never slowing those fast, rough thrusts. He noses his ear as his hand slips around the cock leaking profusely onto the sheets.

“You can come, but it has to be loud and messy.”

Just half a stroke down and Shane comes with a cry that paints the inside of Tim’s brain permanently. And he keeps coming, gasping, wet and whining. Over his shoulder, Tim feels a dribble against his knee and that, combined with all of Shane’s delicious fucking sounds, knocks free Tim’s own release, the swell and burst far away from his control. Shane’s elbows are trembling by the time he slumps to the side, trying and mostly failing to avoid his own cumstain. Tim drops behind him in a haze.

He’s already sore, every muscle tightened then released over and over and over again. He can’t inhale properly and he’s got a stitch in his side. There’s a pulsing all over his body and he isn’t sure if that’s from coming so hard he nearly shot off the condom, or his heart pounding like it’s about to explode. His skin is wet and sticky and he’s hungry but exhausted and he would hate all of this if he was alone, but . . .

Weary down to his bones, the breath settling in his chest and the fog lifting slightly, Tim puts a hand on the narrow waist in front of him. Fingers join his, wrapping together, as the frenetic energy of the room slows to a crawl, each moment plodding along in front of the next like fat water droplets.

“. . . good, that was good,” Tim slurs to no one in particular, his eyelids flickering open and shut. “You’re . . . s’good.” He knows they should talk, but he’s past speech, or rather anything coherent, his consciousness slipping beneath the churning dark waves of sleep.

The smooth back in front of him, shiny with drying sweat, shakes in a dizzy, silent chuckle.

“Go to sleep, old man.”

Tim knows he should be offended, or he thinks he should, if he could comprehend language right now, so instead he settles into the warmth and the darkness. Soon the only sound he can hear is the rain pattering against the window and Shane softly snoring before reality winks out.

#shane dio morrissey #dio morrissey #shane morrissey #dio morrissey fanfiction #dio morrissey fic #dio morrissey au #tim rockford #tim rockford fanfiction #tim rockford au #tim rockford smut #tim rockford fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #oaksfics #any of yall see the word count? no you fucking didn't

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luveline · 19 hours

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Maybe colt comforting reader when things for her film aren’t going right 🫶🏽🫶🏽

Colt comes to your rescue (clumsily) when you have a hard day. fem!reader, 1k words

Very minor plot spoilers for The Fall Guy (2024) if any

“I think he’s mad at you.”

You pause where you’d been scrubbing your eyes with your hands, though you don’t look at him. Colt Seavers seems to follow you everywhere you go, and consequently plays witness to your many breakdowns. “Thanks, Colt. That’s astute.”

“Are you mad at me? Why are you mad at me? It’s been ten seconds,” he complains. He has a unique talent for sounding flirty and needy at once.

“No, Colt. I’m tired, it’s been a long day.”

Colt is grinning when you meet his eyes. He has blood, fake or real undetermined, drying in the scruff of his facial hair. You gesture to yourself in a slow circle in the approximate area, to which Colt smiles again.

“You look perfect,” he says confidently.

“You have blood in your beard.”

“Oh, right.”

You sigh heavily, taking the few paces back to a stack of safety mattresses for a quick break. You’ll get up and help whoever needs helping as soon as you can feel your toes. Colt stays where he is, squinting against the sun, strands of blonde ends kissing his tan forehead. The summer shoots are good for him, he always looks so beachy. You’re exhausted all the time.

As he notices. “Are you getting enough sleep?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“‘Cos I was sleeping badly and then I got this new mattress that has four hybrid layers, there’s a foam layer, and then there’s titanium springs,” —he sees your distant expression and his own flickers— “anyways, you could try it if you want. Test it out with me. Or– Not with me. With me if you want. We’d have fun. But not with me if you don’t want to.”

You’d laugh if you had the energy. “Do you wanna sit down?” you ask.

“God, yes, please.”

He has another talent for being insanely handsome no matter the day. You look like you’ve been badly rewarmed before serving, where he looks like he rolled out of bed with a smile. He’s smiling at you now, the foolish kind that’ll fluster you if you let him do it for too long. “Stop,” you say quietly.

“You’re doing amazing.”

“Thank you. You’re the only person who thinks so, unfortunately.”

You smile at him weakly. Worried you look pathetic, you turn your face to your lap and clasp your fingers together.

“That’s not true. Mayview is old-fashioned, that’s all, he was around when they were still killing horses on TV.”

You grimace. “Yikes.”

“But it’s the modern era. He doesn’t get to make you feel like shit, or I’ll make him feel like shit.” He pretends to charge a sucker punch.

You lean forward a touch, not quite hugging your knees but tempted to fold in on yourself nonetheless, the heat of the sun a memory on your neck as the evening begins and cloud cover floods in.

The safety mattresses beneath you squeak and shush against each other. Your weight and Colt’s slides together slowly. He might be pushing himself a little with his boot, but you pretend not to notice as his hand comes to rest between your shoulders.

“I just can’t do anything right,” you mumble.

As soon as you’ve said it you’re hoping he can’t hear you, but he does. He might have injured pretty much anything that can be fractured, sprained, or just plain broken, but he has stellar hearing. “You do everything right. You do!” he says, quietly and passionately at once, “They don’t realise it, but you’re the glue keeping this whole thing together.”

“What are you?” you ask, bemused.

His hand is warm on your shoulder, unafraid where he hesitates to answer, “I don’t know. The test dummy? The guy who gets set on fire a lot?”

“How is that?”

“Warm,” he says, beaming, his face so unexpectedly close that you can see the glucose shining in the blood on his cheek. Fake blood. “You wanna try it? I’m sure I could convince the guys.”

“No, I’m okay.”

His voice turns silky. “Good, I wasn’t gonna let you anyway.”

“Let me?”

“You could get hurt.”

You give in, melted maybe by his warm tones, or exhausted by a day of playing mom for a director who can barely tell his left from his right. Your face presses to his shoulder and your spine sags under his hand, prompting Colt to pull you flush against his side. He always waits for your signals for stuff like this, no matter how desperate he might confess to being. “Can you make them all leave me alone?” you mumble into his jacket, the fabric rough against your nose.

“Obviously I can, but… We could run away.”

“Where would we go?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere sunny. You can rub sunblock on my back, I can hold the umbrella over your head while you read.”

“They have stands for that sort of stuff. Or you can shove it in the sand, you know.”

“I wanna do something nice for you,” he interrupts, the sound of a smile in his voice as he gives you a friendly jostle. “That’s the point.”

“You’re plenty nice, Colt.”

And he is. He saw you were upset and he came jogging upto you valiantly, and your side-armed cuddle is really pushing the pep back into your life. You take a few deep breaths under the weight of his arm before turning to him, brave, ready to go back to work if it means he’s gonna drive you home tonight. “Thank you for caring.” You kiss his cheek, careful of the fake blood. “You’re super nice.”

You miss the heat of him the second you stand, but there really is work to do.

“I’m super nice?” he calls. “How nice is super? Nice enough to get another one of those, or what? Are they by the metre?”

You bite back a smile.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” He must catch someone’s eye. “She can’t hear me. It’s cool. We like each other.”

Nobody saves face quite like Colt.

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minefield-of-a-ninja · 20 hours

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*image from The Boys on Amazon Prime stills

Summary: This fills my #Sensory Deprivation square for @jacklesversebingo

Characters: Soldier Boy x female reader

Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY, blindfold, massage, D/s, power play, twist ending

Words: 1,800

Author’s notes: many thanks to @brrose-apothecary @talltalesandbedtimestories @sam-is-my-safe-word—without you three, I’d have shelved this thing. I might have to do a follow-up to this for Kasey bc our behind-the-scenes riffing cracks me the fuck up lollll

B.C.L. RED

Early on Saturday morning, her doorbell rings. No one so much as approaches her door without Ranger, the bodyguard assigned to her. Regardless, she peeks through the secure viewer before opening the door to her penthouse.

“Good morning,” she greets Ranger, and he silently nods in answer, handing her a small envelope.

She accepts, thanks him, and closes the door behind her.

She flips the envelope over and picks at the oxblood wax seal over the flap until it pops open, then reaches inside to pull out a notecard, impressed with his handwriting.

“Be ready at 7:30 PM. Ranger will drive you.”

It’s been a month. She hasn’t kissed him, felt his touch, heard his voice—there hasn’t been so much as a phone call or text message in 30 days.

Her heart flutters and her skin ripples. She draws a deep breath to calm herself, then exhales before setting his note aside and heading to the kitchen for breakfast.

Hours later, after her shower, she emerges from her steam-filled bathroom, gently squeezing her hair dry, and stops in her tracks.

On the foot of her bed is a sheer bra and panty set. They’re fairly plain other than the Swiss dotting—but they’re red.

“Whores wear red!” He bruised her lips, swiping his thumbs outward, smearing “Ruby Woo” from ear to ear, and ripped the cherry red PVC Versace dress in two as if it were tissue paper. His hand wrapped her throat as he yanked the garment from her shoulders, and threw it aside while pushing her to her knees. He was violent and reckless, and she’d never been so afraid of him.

She gasps at the recollection branded into her memory. Why would he send her something red after that? Her memory is blessedly derailed by the arrival of her hair and make-up artists, bursting into the room.

They blow out and roll her hair, prime her skin and make it up, then set everything with the appropriate spray. Two of the women begin to clean up as she slips into the bra and panties set, wondering what to wear over it. Then, out of nowhere, the third woman appears with a red silk cloak with black trim and a pair of ruby red stilettos.

“And here’s the icing on the cake.”

At 7:30, Ranger meets her at the door and escorts her to the parking garage. She tries to gain control of her heart rate as they chat amicably. Before helping her into the backseat of the town car, Ranger hands her a small unadorned box.

“I’ve been instructed to assist you if needed.”

She shivers at the thought of exactly what type of gift he would allow Ranger to assist her with. When she opens the box, she almost laughs at the innocuous blindfold inside.

“I think I can handle it,” she sighs with relief, turning toward the open car. “I assume he wants it in place before we leave the garage?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She eagerly fits the black silk blindfold over her eyes, relaxing into the backseat. Ten minutes later, Ranger pulls into a parking garage and helps her out of the car.

“There’s a step up here, ma’am, but once there, we’re directly in front of the elevator to the penthouse.”

She nods, and he ushers her inside the elevator car. Within moments, the doors open, and he’s there.

She can feel him, smell him, hear him move closer. Her heart races and her breath hitches.

It’s been so long.

“There she is.” His rich, rhythmic baritone and heavy, measured steps reverberate throughout her body, mind, and soul. “Thank you, Ranger. You can take the night off.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The door clicks softly behind her, and then the room is quiet. She stands still and waits.

For several moments, she waits.

Finally, he draws a slow deep breath and then exhales as his boots shift against the marble floor and begin to beat a circular path around her. His scrutiny weighs heavy in the air, landing on her shoulders, wrapping her arms, hips, and thighs. She’s quaking inside, uncertain, and powerless.

“Do you have any idea the hold you have over me?” he asks.

She remains unmoving and wordless.

“I can have any woman I want, any time. And yet...” He stops in front of her and sighs. “Did you miss me, princess?”

She opens and closes her mouth like she’s chewing on the words that she can’t say.

“Answer.” The heat from his skin washes over her breastbone and bare shoulders as he pushes her heavy cloak to the floor.

“Yes, sir,” her voice cracks just above a whisper.

“Do you like your presents?” he asks with a lilt of amusement in the depth of his voice.

Her heart skips, but she tries to remain present.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome.”

Then, he touches her—both hands scooping and cradling her jaw, he tilts her face and dips in to kiss her. His mouth is warm, and his lips are firm, his movements sure and smooth. She whimpers, her fingers itching and her gut clenching.

“You can touch me,” he mutters against her lips with a chuckle. “Let’s catch up a little, huh?”

She sighs and leans into him, pushing her fingers into his hair, running one hand up over his chest and around the back of his neck. He kisses her as he lifts her, encouraging her legs around his waist, as he moves to a plush sofa across the large room.

“Do whatever you need to do to get comfortable,” he instructs, brushing his thumbs across her nipples and pressing kisses along the column of her throat.

Her brain is thrown into overdrive because she needs a lot of things, and never once has he cared to ask or discuss them. She shifts under him, wanting friction, to get closer.

He groans, pulling at the backs of her knees and slotting his hips between her open thighs, rolling one sheer silk-covered nipple between a thumb and forefinger and taking over the other with his mouth.

“Fucking beautiful tits.” He licks and nibbles, and her body heats from the tips of her ears to her toes.

She arches her neck and back, reveling in his praise, and his mouth and hands on every inch of her body. He kisses her skin, licks her nipples, and grips her thighs tightly as he ruts into her. She’s so wet and needy, she can smell herself. She wonders if he can smell her, too, as she hooks her hands over his shoulders and leverages herself to grind against him.

“Let’s get rid of this,” he murmurs, unclasping her bra and tossing it aside before burying his face between her breasts.

He is so good with his mouth and hands that she’s afraid she’ll come before he’s given her the rules for the night. He pinches and slowly twists her nipple as he burrows the hard bulge in his pants into the sodden silk covering her aching cunt.

“Tonight you can come whenever you want. And, I know you want to; I can smell how much you want to, but I’ve got plans.”

He hauls her to her feet before taking her mouth in another savage kiss.

“Fuck,” he sneers, twisting the back of her hair in his hand to give himself something to hold onto as he pulls away and leads her to the bedroom. “I canceled your scheduled massage today because I want to do it. Make sure it gets done right.”

He spins and lifts her onto the massage table. She inhales the fresh scent of eucalyptus, spring greens, and peppermint, and relaxes her shoulders.

“Lie back,” he murmurs, dragging thick, heavy fingers from her rib cage to her hips.

She silently obeys, and he caresses her calves and ankles on his way to remove her stilettos. She squirms from the way the damp silk feels between her legs as it cools.

“Should I-” she begins, then clamps her mouth shut.

He chuckles as he curls his fingers around the string of her thong to pull them over her hips and off. “Allow me.”

Once her thong is gone, he’s covering her up to her neck with a warm, luxurious sheet.

“You know,” he runs his big hands over the sheet, across her shoulders, and down her arms, gently squeezing along the way. “You’re fascinating. And infuriating.”

She is perplexed by his shift since she saw him last. Is he finally coming to think of her as someone he might love?

He retrieves a bottle of massage oil and dispenses an ample amount in his palm then rubs his hands together to warm them. “Just relax.”

He slides his hands under her neck and tucks his thumbs at the base of her skull then grips each hinge of her jaw with his pointer and middle fingers. When he presses and slides his middle fingers along the undersides of her jaw, tilting her chin toward the ceiling with his thumbs anchoring her cervical spine, the tension breaks.

She moans loud and long, and he chuckles.

“There you go, baby girl. Let it out.”

He slowly manipulates her neck and upper spine, loosening her jaw and shoulders, and working his way down her chest. Before moving further down her body, he pumps more oil into his hand then skates his hand under the sheet to cup her upper rib cage and gently lift, flexing her thoracic---

“What the fuck is this?!” Soldier Boy flicks the script in his hand like it’s a gnat.

“This kinda thing is trending in media.” Legend raises a hand in defense.

“What’s trending? Acting like a pussy?” Soldier Boy looks back down at the script. “What’s this, ‘do you have any idea the hold you have over me?’ bullshit?”

“Power Play in romance is very popular right now.”

“Romance.” America’s first hero scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Jesus. ‘You can touch me’?! What is this girl, twenty-six-years-old? Does she need a chaperone, too?”

He stands and begins to pace.

“They’re looking at Florence Pugh for the role.”

“What about Jane Fonda? She may be a commie but at least she’s hot—and doesn’t need to be told when to touch someone.”

“This isn’t a vehicle for a woman her age.”

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.” Soldier Boy tosses the script across the room like a frisbee. “I founded Herogasm, ya know; this is not how this shit works.”

Legend sighs and massages his temples. “Ben...”

“Get Stan Edgar on the phone!” The supe shouts and the Ashleys scatter in a flurry of ‘yes, sirs’. “Should’ve stuck to ‘whores wear red’; at least that was compelling.”

Soldier Boy lights a joint as Legend quietly mutters to himself that he’s too old “for this shit.”

The supe exhales. “You can say that again.”

More Soldier Boy | More Jacklesverse Bingo | MJ's Master List

#soldier boy smut #soldier boy x reader #jacklesversebingo23

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insomnya777 · 3 days

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Hello! First I want to say I adore your boat boys super power AU so much, it’s currently rotating at light speed in my brain like a broken microwave. I think I’ve read at least six times all the way through with what you have, it’s fantastic!

I was also wondering if you had any other recs or personal favorites for boat boys fics, or just fics in general, I’m always looking for recommendations and wonderful authors usually also have great tastes in other fics as well! Thank you for what you do for the boat boy and smalletho community, you’re keeping us well fed lol

Oh my god I have many many recommendations!!!! I've actually been waiting for someone to ask me this LOL

Completed:

Settled is one of my favourites of all-time. If you read it you'll see the long ass comment I left on it lol. Description: A five plus one type of fic where Etho struggles to voice his feeling about double-life, and Joel is there to make it harder.

BIR Universe is a classic, a staple, even. One of the most iconic series of all time. Description: A very messy college universe with a bunch of hermitcraft/life series members.

Somehow, I always end up back in Marianas Trench is another personal favourite. I reread it way too often. The writing is incredible in this one + has a side of ranchers and impdubs. Description: AU where our three favourite soulbound couples go on a triple date! Except it's not a date, all of them broke up sometime before or during their last year of college and none of them are over each other.

Holy Father, judge my sins is so, so good. Anything by giddyfenix always is, I think I've read, like, all of their works. Description: Joel and Etho as the seven deadly sins. After all, what were they if not corrupted?

I Don't Smoke (Except for When I'm Missing You) made my heart break a million times over. I actually cannot read this fic without breaking down. It is a clockers-centered fic, exploring the Etho-Scar relationship, but I had to include it because it's just one of my favourite fics of all time. Description: A look into Etho's perspective on the life he and Scar share. They're not so different, you know? They both like to run away.

Works In Progress:

to all the ships at sea is another personal favourite, because the writing is just so, so good. There are currently six chapters out! Description: Etho has a job as part of the crew manning a lighthouse on a small island. With Cleo and Bdubs gone for a few weeks, Etho settles in to keep the Light running single-handedly. He wasn't expecting his life to be turned upside-down when a visitor turns up on the island, completely out of the blue...and he definitely wasn't expecting to develop feelings for the mysterious young man.

Good Luck, Babe is also very, very good. There are seven chapters out right now! Description: Etho couldn't get himself to turn Joel down. Even when Joel has made it clear time and time again that he had no problem doing the same to him. The lengths he was willing to go for a guy who would barely even let them be seen together in public...

hi, etho is super cute, too. I read it a while ago, and it's still one of my favourites, so do what you will with that. Description: About a month after going missing and having no memories to show for it, Etho gets a weird letter from a strange, anonymous sender who might have the answers to his questions.

And that's about it!! If anyone has more recommendations feel free to comment or leave in the tags because I'm always looking for more fics LOL <3

#my asks #boat boys #smalletho #hermitfic #trafficfic

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dawneternal · 18 hours

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The Benevolent | Eris x Healer OC | Four

☁︎ notes: these dummies are so smitten

☁︎ warnings: usual talk of injuries and Beron's abuse. Injured animal (he's okay though)

☁︎ word count: 2.2k

☁︎ AO3 Link / Masterlist

☁︎ tags: @cauldronblssd @teddyhoneybear @imma-too-many-fandoms @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @allyjoe755 @milswrites @shadowdaddies @zenkindoflove @landofpetrichor

The next summon interrupted Aya’s day off. Her promised day of nothingness; no lessons, no jobs, no meetings, and no Court dinners. She planned to curl up in a corner of the green house and read, surrounded by the scent of healing herbs and flowers. Until that infernal ring began to glow once more. She could not ignore it, but she could grumble to herself all she wanted about how talented the Heir of Autumn was at collecting near-death experiences.

She was still silently complaining while she winnowed, while the world righted itself, and while Edana’s garden appeared before her eyes. What finally stopped the chain of complaints was the sight of Eris standing before her.

Hands in his pockets, head tilted to the side, he smiled as her gaze met his. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, eyes bright and unclouded by pain or alcohol. The sunlight gilded his copper hair and kissed every freckle.

Aya found herself unable to remember what she had been thinking about. No memory of her difficult weeks, her reluctance to return to this land of cunning and deception. She was lost in his smile. Something in it made her feel like she knew everything and nothing all at once.

Eris watched her eyes flick over his form, still struggling to focus after winnowing, and he took the time to study her in turn. Her height surprised him, the top of her head barely level with his shoulder. She had lovely curves, hugged by flowy, pastel fabrics as per the Dawn Court fashion. Her ears were lined with piercings, a gold ring with a gem dangling from her septum. Her wings were a soft glimmering gold dappled with darker brown, feathers rustling in the light breeze. She kept them tucked in tight to her body. And her eyes-

He thought of the sun rising, the blue fading into the orange and leaving that strange greyed-out tone in between. Somewhere in that softly painted sky was the color of her eyes. A brilliant silver, not quite blue, hints of orange. Purple in some lights. Somehow conveying all the loveliness of a misty dawn. Perhaps he had not appreciated the sunrise as much as he should in his five hundred and something years alive.

In short, they spent entirely too long staring at each other.

“At last, I meet my savior,” Eris broke the silence.

“I’d hardly call myself a savior,” Aya said, clutching her bag a little tighter. Her voice was as soft and melodic as he remembered from his dream.

“You deserve countless thanks, nonetheless,” He smiled, and Aya admired the way his freckles moved and dipped to make way for his dimples.

The crisp air combined with her thin clothes pulled a shiver from her. She had begun to wonder if he had called her there just to thank her when he swept an arm toward the door to Edana’s rooms.

“One of my hounds is injured,” He said, his expression slipping into something more solemn, “I’m sure you’ll be glad to know it’s nothing serious. If you’ll follow me.”

In the daylight, she could see more details of Edana’s rooms. The trim, doorways, and furniture were cut from the same dark wood as the rest of the Forest House, but the Lady had her walls painted light colors. Her decorations ventured outside of the familiar autumn color palette, a few daring shades of blue scattered throughout.

Aya also noticed for the first time that the door to the stone hallway was different from the rest. Aside from being situated in a strange place, it was older, warped and scratched. It had been left slightly ajar, and she could see from its faint purple glow that it was enchanted. When the door was shut, it would disappear from the wall entirely.

She followed him through the doorway, watching the fae-lights in the dim hall illuminate his muscled shoulders and well tailored shirt. As the ever present silence of the stone hallway wrapped around them, it finally hit her that they were alone.

“This is a private passage?” She asked softly, “There’s never anyone here.”

“Yes,” He answered, his voice strangely tense, “It’s an old passageway either unknown or forgotten by my father.”

He did not elaborate and she did not pry any further. It bothered Eris that she had been here twice before and he had not been conscious of it. He had no idea what she had seen and heard and learned. Things he should have been there to shield her from, no doubt.

When she stepped through the doorway, Aya shivered, her wings ruffling. Eris’s brows knit together. He had never seen anyone react to wards that way before. He watched as she scanned the room and locked in on the hound laying on his bed, needing no instruction. When she approached, she offered him the back of her fist to sniff, and he seemed to have no qualms with her coming closer. She soothed him before moving to his wound, smoothing down his dark fur and massaging his ears, all the while murmuring kind words and praise.

Eris almost smiled, wondering if she understood how ferocious that beast could be. He had seen the same dog with eyes hollow and hungry, blood dripping from his jaw. Not many would go near him. On his feet, he probably stood almost to her shoulder. And here she was, turning him to putty with her pets and kind words. His tail wagged as she spoke to him and he didn’t protest when she finally began to clean and dress his wound.

“What happened?” Aya asked, eyes remaining focused on the work before her. He admired the dance of her hands, swift and coordinated.

“He tumbled near the river bank, silly beast,” Eris answered.

Aya noted the affection in his voice and the embroidered collar around the dog’s neck. A thought also prickled at the back of her mind that Eris was not telling her the real story. Why have her come all of this way if the cause was not something that Beron must not know? But it did not matter, because she wasn’t supposed to sleuth.

“He has a name, doesn’t he?” She said instead, smiling.

“Juno,” Eris admitted, a bit sheepishly. Embarrassment crept up the back of his neck, the feeling of being caught at something he tried to hide. Her smile was too knowing, she definitely recognized it as another figure from mythology.

“I wish I could give you something to thank you properly,” He continued.

“Well you did interrupt my day off,” She flashed a sly smirk, eyes still on her hands.

“Oh, did I?” His eyebrows raised, lips twitching up into a smile. Something sparked in his veins at her playful tone. “I suppose I’ll have to figure out something special then.”

“If you think that’s fair,” She let out an exaggerated sigh, eyes glittering.

Eris was distracted by a golden glimmer, catching the light as she worked. It was the ring on her forefinger, a simple gold band that fit snug against her skin. His stomach dropped.

“My mother bound you?” He whispered, and from his tone she could practically see the embers burning in his throat.. Aya paused and looked up at him, the color draining from his face.

“Yes,” Her brows furrowed. She thought he would have known that. “Her contract seemed fair. I asked for a written copy.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw and he said in that same quiet fury, “Will you please send me a copy?”

“Of course,” Aya said, gaze still stuck on his as she searched his face for answers. It was almost too long before she turned back to the hound, who had begun to whine for her attention. The silence in the room had begun to squeeze.

“I understand that this situation is…delicate,” She continued after a moment, swallowing hard. It was always too quiet here, sounds of arguing and pain the only things to interrupt it. It was unnerving, like balancing a glass ball on each shoulder.

“I wish she would not have dragged you into it,” He whispered through his teeth. He stood with his arms crossed, looking a little taller than before. This was closer to the image of the Heir she had heard stories about. Though he was certainly less intimidating since she had seen him drunk and smitten with a fictional angel.

“I can handle it,” Aya said, giving Juno one last pat before rearranging the supplies in her worn leather satchel.

“You shouldn’t have to.”

She faced him, bag in hand, tilting her head back to look at him fully. Eris drew in a deep breath, trying not to stare at the reflection of the light on her long glossy curls, in her misty eyes.

“Thesan gave me a talisman,” She pulled up one sleeve to reveal a tattoo on her bicep. A stylized, swirling cloud. “It will give me protection against magic if your father tried to use any against me.”

The sight of it did strange things to Eris’s heart. He felt the relief of her protection. She was not another liability, another piece on his chessboard that he must keep under his watch at all times. But there was another feeling there, too. Like he resented this thing that separated her from him. That ugly desire to control and protect everything he felt a fondness for reared its head. She belonged to the Dawn Court. She was Thesan’s creature. She may be Eris’s healer, bound to his mother by that horrible ring, but she was not his. She was not loyal to him. Unless she chose to be. And nobody ever chose Eris of their own accord.

“Good,” Eris said, in another tone that Aya couldn’t read.

“Oh,” She said, in an attempt to avoid another awkward lull, fishing a corked bottle of green tablets and holding it out to him. “Juno can have these for the pain. They’re mostly herbs so they’re very safe for him.”

“You’re very kind,” Eris smiled, his voice softened by the kindness she had shown his beloved pet. It was, of course, a risk to show any affection for his hounds. They were meant to be ruthless weapons. Just like the seven sons.

“What are your mother’s guards names?” She asked suddenly, brows drawing together.

“Why?” He swallowed an urge to reach out and smooth the wrinkles between her eyebrows with his thumb, swiping away whatever worried her just to see her smile again.

“I just think I should know. It seems to rude to refer to them as anything else. They’re not my guards.”

So she must not know about Thesan’s order for Eris to protect her while she was present in the Autumn Court. He had extended that order to the guards.

“The older one with dark hair is Caspian, and Asher is blond and bearded,” Eris answered. Aya nodded, and he could practically see her tucking the information away in her mind.

Against the dark wood and warm colors of his room, he thought she looked like a sparkling gemstone. Vibrant Amethyst among common stones. They watched each other in silence for the third time until, reluctantly, he led her back to the winnow spot and let her return to her world.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

The next morning, Aya was pulled from her sleep by a knock on the door. A courier waited on the other side with an envelope and package wrapped in brown paper and string. She thanked him and returned to her bed, holding the parcel in her lap. The paper and string fell forgotten to the floor as she opened it eagerly.

Inside was a new leather satchel, the same shape and size as her old one. The sides and edges had been dyed a rich mulberry, the leather carved and tooled into an interlocking, curving design. The golden clasp, shaped like a leaf, gleamed in the morning sun. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of it, so lovely and new compared to the one she had carried daily for years now. The leather had been worn so thoroughly that it drooped and sagged.

Aya opened the bag, finding it lined with pockets and sections the perfect sizes for bandages and vials. There was also an envelope nestled inside, her name scrawled on the front in curly script. She opened it gingerly, planning to add the paper to the box of ephemera under her bed. Mail was a rare treat.

Aya,

Thank you again for your help. Juno is doing much better and I suspect you have made a friend of him. I hope this gift will be of use to you.

As for retribution for your missed day off, you may also find that your instructors received a strongly worded letter from some anonymous busybody complaining about the state of cleanliness in the healer’s wing. I believe the buildings are being deep-cleaned over the next few days. Enjoy your long weekend.

Eris

Aya buried her face in her hands, covering her silly, involuntary smile and burning cheeks. She finally bothered to open the other envelope, finding Eris to be truthful. The head of the school had sent a note announcing that classes had been canceled, though they did include a list of assignments to complete and log in the meantime. Assignments that she could complete in the greenhouse, between dozing off and basking in the sunshine the green, herbal scent. Somehow, against all the odds she battled with, Aya had made a friend.

39 notes · View notes