#and working with my brain instead of against it

[landososcar]

jump then fall ; ln4

chapter one — i’m feeling you, baby

— pairing(s) ; college basketball captain!lando norris x college tutor!reader

— summary ; in which lando was so worried about his grades falling, he didn’t realise he was too.

— warnings ; 1692 words, death of a parent (mentioned), alcohol mentioned, nothing else i don’t think!

— note ; longer note at the end but i know this is set in america but i refuse to write ‘mom’ instead of ‘mum’ idc who that bothers

masterlist , next

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the library was not a popular hangout space on a friday night for many of the people i go to school with — i know this because i'm one of the few people who regular the two story building.

tonight, like most nights, my corner of the library was deserted. a few students sat scattered across the first floor, scrolling through their phones or cramming for last-minute deadlines, but upstairs, where i always worked, it was silent. the kind of silence that wrapped around you like a blanket, soothing and distracting all at once.

i had just opened my laptop and pulled out my notes for monday’s tutoring session when i heard the unmistakable sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor.

i looked up, half expecting a lost freshman wandering in search of the printers, but what i saw instead almost made me freeze.

lando norris.

he was hard to miss — tall, broad-shouldered, perpetually disheveled in that annoyingly effortless way athletes always seemed to master. his varsity basketball jacket hung loosely on him, and his backpack was slung carelessly over one shoulder. he didn’t belong here. not just because he was the school’s golden boy or because his team was undefeated this season, but because lando norris had a reputation. parties, games, and the occasional appearance in class—those were his natural habitats. the library was not.

he stopped a few feet away from my table, glancing down at a crumpled piece of paper in his hand, then back up at me.

“are you y/n?” he asked, his voice deep but tinged with uncertainty.

i blinked at him, trying to piece together how he even knew my name. “uh, yeah. why?”

relief washed over his face, and he shoved the paper into his pocket. “good. i need your help.”

i arched an eyebrow. “with what?”

“passing calculus,” he said, flashing a grin that was somehow both charming and exasperating.

i stared at him for a moment, unsure if he was serious. “calculus,” i repeated, as if saying the word out loud might somehow make this whole interaction make sense. since when did he care about passing classes?

“yeah.” he dropped his bag onto the table across from me with a soft thud and sank into the chair. “i have no idea what’s going on in that class. coach says i’ll be benched if i don’t pull my grade up, and the professor said you’re the best tutor on campus. so, here i am.”

my brain took a second to catch up. calculus wasn’t exactly light reading, and the idea of tutoring lando norris—someone i’d only ever seen surrounded by teammates, fans, or beautiful women—felt surreal. i’d heard his name in passing a hundred times, seen him on flyers for basketball games, but this was the closest i’d ever been to the school’s star athlete.

and now he wanted me to help him?

“why now?” i asked, leaning back in my chair, my brows furrowed. “the semester started months ago. you’ve just realized you’re failing?”

he scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “something like that. look, i know this is probably the last thing you want to be doing on a friday night, but…” he paused, his hazel eyes meeting mine, almost pleading. “i really need this… i can’t be benched—it’ll ruin my shot with scouts, you know?”

i wanted to say no, that i didn’t understand. i had other students to tutor, i had my own workload, and honestly, i wasn’t sure if he was the type to take tutoring seriously. but something in the way he looked at me—equal parts desperation and genuine hope—made me hesitate.

“i don’t know,” i said slowly, closing my notebook. “do you even have your textbook with you?”

he froze. “textbook?”

i sighed, already regretting this. “yes, textbook. the big, heavy thing with equations in it? you’re going to need one if you want me to help you.”

“right, yeah. got it. i’ll bring it next time,” he said quickly, like he hadn’t thought that far ahead. “so, you’ll help me?”

i hesitated, weighing my options. if he failed, it wouldn’t just be his grade on the line—it’d be his position on the team, and judging by the way he was looking at me, i got the feeling basketball wasn’t just a sport to him.

“fine,” i said, crossing my arms. “but i’m not doing all the work for you. you show up on time, bring your materials, and actually put in the effort. if you don’t, i’m done.”

his grin returned, wider this time, and he nodded enthusiastically. “deal.”

“—and i charge $35 an hour.” he nods, muttering something about anything is fine and i hold back the urge to roll my eyes at him, “good. then i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“tomorrow?” his face fell slightly, like he hadn’t expected this to start so soon.

“yes, tomorrow,” i said firmly, “i have to fit you in between other students whenever i can, and if you want to pass, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. be here at eight.”

“eight a.m. or p.m.?”

i narrowed my eyes.

“got it. eight a.m.,” he said quickly, holding up his hands in surrender. he begun to get up from his chair, slinging his bag over his shoulder before he paused, “actually…” he looked at me sheepishly, “i’ve got training from six-thirty until eight, can we meet here at eight-thirty?”

i scoffed and his face looked as if he regretted asking, “eight-fifteen, i can’t do any later. i’ve got training at nine-thirty.”

his eyes furrowed at my mention of ‘training’ but before he could ask any questions i continued, “goodnight, lando,” i said, and he nodded his head, beginning to walk out of the library.

“night, y/n.”

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the cool night air hit me as i stepped outside the library, the faint hum of campus life echoing in the distance. a group of students passed by, their drunken laughter bouncing off the pavement as they stumbled around, but i barely noticed them. my thoughts were still tangled up in the unexpected turn my evening had taken.

lando norris. calculus. tutoring. it felt surreal, like i’d just stepped into someone else’s story for a moment.

i adjusted my bag on my shoulder and headed toward the front of the school where the large forever-open gates would lead me home.

the walk home wasn’t far—just ten minutes away from campus—but it gave me enough time to collect my thoughts. as i turned onto the street where i lived, the familiar weight of responsibility settled on my chest.

as i made it to the apartment building, i prepared myself for the three flights of stairs ahead of me—thanks to the elevator doors that still held the ‘out of service’ sign. i unlocked the door and stepped inside, greeted by the sound of soft giggles and the faint hum of the tv.

“y/n!”

my five-year-old brother, lukas, came barreling down the hallway, his tiny socks sliding across the hardwood floor. he launched himself into my arms, and i dropped my bag just in time to catch him.

“hey, buddy,” i said, ruffling his messy curls. “did you have a good night?”

he nodded enthusiastically. “we had chicken nuggets, and i beat the boss level in my game! liam helped me.”

i glanced up as liam, our neighbor’s teenage son and occasional babysitter, appeared in the doorway with a sheepish smile. “he insisted on showing me his video game skills,” liam said, shrugging. “and he was pretty good.”

“thanks for staying late,” i said, shifting lukas onto my hip.

“no problem. he’s a great kid,” liam replied, grabbing his backpack. “anything else you need?”

“no, we’re good. i’ll text you about next week,” i said as he headed out the door.

once it was just me and lukas, i carried him to the couch and set him down. “it’s bedtime,” i said, giving him a stern look.

“five more minutes?” he asked, his wide eyes pleading.

i sighed, already feeling the exhaustion from the day creeping in. “five minutes. then brush your teeth.”

lukas grinned, turning his attention back to the cartoon on the tv, while i went into the kitchen. the sink was full of dishes i hadn’t gotten to this morning, and there was a pile of unopened mail on the counter. i leaned against the counter and rubbed my temples, trying to ignore the growing list of things i needed to handle.

between my classes, tutoring, and my part-time job at the diner across from campus, i barely had enough hours in the day. add taking care of lukas to the mix, and it felt like i was constantly teetering on the edge of burnout. but i didn’t have a choice.

after mum died two years ago, it was just the two of us. dad hadn’t been in the picture for years—not that it mattered. i wasn’t about to let anyone else decide what happened to lukas. he was mine to protect now.

“y/n?” lukas’ small voice pulled me from my thoughts. he stood in the doorway, clutching his stuffed dinosaur.

“yeah, lukey?” i asked, straightening up.

“are you okay?”

i forced a smile. “of course. why wouldn’t i be?”

he tilted his head like he didn’t quite believe me. “you look sad.”

my chest tightened, but i crossed the room and knelt in front of him. “i’m not sad,” i said softly, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “i’m just tired. but i’ll always have time for you, okay?”

“okay,” he said, wrapping his arms around my neck.

as i hugged him back, i thought about the crumpled bills in my wallet, the overdue rent notice i’d stuffed into my bag, and the tutoring session i’d somehow agreed to with lando norris.

i had no idea how i was going to balance everything, but for lukas, i had to, “let’s get you to bed, luke.”

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— longer note ; ignore me starting a new series when i’ve only posted 3 chapters of my other series lollll umm sorry. anyways im so much more excited and motivated to write for this story so ‘packing it up’ can wait til im interested in her again im sorry.

— taglist ; im open to making one if anyone’s interested ahhahah

[lady-z-writes]

Zoro x Reader

In which reader can't sleep and Zoro's keeping watch...and then can't stop watching 👀

Cw: smut (18+), afab, alcohol consumption, swearing, groping, vaginal fingering, handjob, sex, creampie.

(Takes place after Thriller Bark, but nothing too spoiler-y. Why am I so embarrassed to post this? Anyway, I hope you don't hate it.)

It's late.

The only sounds are the waves crashing, quiet snores from the crew, and a few footsteps on deck.

Zoro opens an eye, glances toward the noise to see you making your way over to a rail and looking at the water. Silently, he watches you pull a hoodie over your head, yawn, then lean down, your hands cupping under your chin.

"It's late," he says, startling you. "You should sleep."

Upon further investigation, he notices it's his jacket you're wearing - one gifted to him from Water 7 after all that crap with the crew's belongings. He scoffed when he saw it, hadn't put it on more than once, and now that he thought of it, he'd left it in the kitchen.

Thief, he half laughs to himself.

Opportunist, he knew you'd correct.

"I'm up. I can keep watch. You need some rest." Your voice isn't groggy from sleep, clearly you'd been awake for some time now.

Zoro's body aches, a dull sensation he's grown used to, but his position on the deck isn't exactly comfortable. And given recent events, he knows he needs more time to heal.

You don't know the extent of it, but you sensed something was off with Zoro - moreso than normal.

"Can't sleep?" He ignores your offer.

"I...yeah," the look on your face is haunted.

He's silent again, observing.

"Some creepy shit on that boat, huh?"

It's almost like he sees you settle at his acknowledgment; your shoulders loosen, a sigh leaves you, you deflate.

"We've been through some crazy shit, absolutely, but that was...nightmare material."

Zoro nods slowly, silences.

"We're safe, though, right?" Your voice is a whisper.

He nods stiffly, "mhm."

You look misty-eyed and Zoro is almost uncomfortable. "Look, I don't know what happened, but something doesn't seem right. Please. Get some sleep."

He doesn't argue with you, like you expected. But he also doesn't get up to go to bed. Instead, the headstrong swordsman leans back against the mast, hands cradling behind his head, and is snoring in minutes.

---

When he wakes up, the sunrise makes him squint. He's stretching his aching joints when he notices you're still nearby, a blanket thrown over your lap, steaming cup of coffee in your hands, Sanji flailing at your compliment on the brew, and an enormous Franky-sized shadow plopped next to you commenting about the sunrise.

Despite all of this, you hear him get up, turn your attention to him, and for some reason, it...warms something long dormant in him.

"Good morning!"

He can't shake the damn feeling all day. Not when he scurries away to work out, not when Chopper insists on checking his wounds again, and certainly not when he runs chest-first into you when rounding the corner away from the infirmary.

You stumble back as his reflexes force his arms forward to grab you.

You're nearly topless and his cheeks heat up at the sensation of touching your skin.

You're so soft...

"S-sorry! Oh my God, Zoro!"

"What're you doing?" He nods down at you now that you're not toppled over. He crosses his arms, figures that will help him forget.

"A few of us are swimming. You should join."

"Hm."

"I'm sorry if I overstepped last night. I just...worry, I guess."

His eyes take you in and you feel so transparent under his gaze. Your skin heats up.

"Don't worry about me."

"Got it. I'll just shut my brain off then." You look almost irritated, flustered, defeated.

"It's not like that, y/n..."

"No, you're right. I overshare. I need to keep things to myself; take one from your playbook."

You try to move passed him, but he steps in your way. Doesn't put his hands on you again, you notice.

"You're insufferable," he speaks quietly. Your jaw drops. "So why the fuck can't I stop thinking about you?"

A moment passes between you two. You're too stunned to speak. Seconds later, Zoro side-steps you and walks away.

---

Zoro figured everyone was swimming in the inflatable pool from the soldier dock system - not pulled out on the grassy deck.

Zoro sighs, thinking he'd have peace staying away from it all, but as he's making his way to the crow's nest, Luffy calls him over and begs him to swim.

He locks eyes with you and you almost choke on the wine you're sipping.

"Fine, I'll stay," he removes his shirt and shoes, seats himself beside Luffy, shoves his feet in the water, and reaches past you to grab the bottle of wine.

Bold, you think.

But his expression tightens when his fingers accidentally brush your hip.

You're smirking behind your glass and it pisses him off.

This isn't some game, he thinks.

But after your concern about him last night and the attention he's noticed you're giving him...there's something stirring and he hates it.

Franky splashes you, knocking you from your daydream and you react instantly, setting your wine glass down, launching yourself at him and wrestling him in the pool.

Zoro watches, drinking from the bottle, tells himself he's not noticing the way the water drips down your skin, or how your playfulness with Franky stirs jealousy in him.

What the fuck was wrong with him today?

Shaking his head, he leans back, stares at the passing clouds, steadies his breathing.

"Bro, tell her how strong I am. Tell her she won't win!" Franky calls to Luffy, tossing you in the water. You're gasping for air, pulling up between Zoro's widespread legs as the splash of water from Franky's toss covers him.

What. Are. The. Odds?

Zoro feels himself blush as your dripping wet self emerges from the water.

You lock eyes.

You steal the bottle from his hand, take a long drink, never breaking eye contact, then splash him right in the face.

"That does it!"

Zoro is bodying you into the water.

"No, not the wine!" You whimper, trying to hold the bottle above water as you're tackled.

It feels good, the cold water. Feels even better when he grips your hips underwater, drags his thumbs across your skin, and hears your sharp inhale.

So you're feeling it, too?

Interesting.

It becomes sort of a test, to Zoro, to see how far he could push things before the tension snapped

Over the next few days, he catches you looking at him, especially when he's shirtless or working out - which is often.

You see him stealing glances at times, sometimes when you and Franky are interacting, especially when Sanji is near you.

Then there's a late-night drink you sometimes have - some rum mix Sanji makes you, but you insist on being alone in the aquarium bar. He honors it, always, just the two of you knowing you're down there...or so you think.

You enjoy watching the fish, the calm of the swaying ship, the crew asleep. It helps when the nightmares get you.

Only tonight, you hear footsteps.

"Sanji, I told you-"

Only it's not Sanji.

Zoro stands, hands in pockets, an eyebrow raised.

"You expecting Sanji?" There's a tone to his voice. His little tiff with the cook is humorous most days.

"No." You feel your heart rate increase.

"What, exactly, are you doing alone down here so often?"

"Are you watching me?"

"Keeping an eye," he corrects.

"I enjoy the ambiance down here."

Zoro nods, seats himself beside you on the red bench, stares at the fish.

"Even now?" He's got a teasing tone to his voice and you suddenly can't take it anymore.

One swift movement, you straddle his lap, set the drink on the back of the cushion, and lace your fingers in his hair. Your lips hover over his. The tension increases.

You pause.

"Do it," Zoro's gruff voice speaks quietly.

"You sure?"

"What, you afraid you can't handle me?"

Immediately, you're liplocked, kissed with a hunger you've never experienced before.

You grind down against his growing erection and he groans.

"Tease. You're such a tease."

"You've no idea," you mutter between kisses.

It's like Zoro is in a competition with himself; each kiss better than the last.

You're experimenting too; gripping his hair and nipping his lower lip to see what'll get those sexy noises from him again.

"Maybe this'll get you outta my head," Zoro hums, breathless when you trail kisses down his chest.

"Agreed. You're driving me crazy."

"Feeling's mutual," he grunts when you palm him through his pants.

"Fuck and get it out of our systems?" You suggest.

He freezes. Had he thought of that? He wouldn't like to admit it. He hadn't expected you to make the suggestion.

His hands reach under your skirt, fingering for your panties.

"Here?" You hiss.

"Yes, here," he grunts. "Why not?"

You really can't argue.

Especially when he's managed to get your panties off and has his fingers buried inside you, palm pressing against your clit like you like.

"Ah, so this is how to shut you up."

You give him a glare, but it's half-hearted.

"Just fuck me already."

"Hmm, such a dirty mouth," he presses harder against your clit. "Gotta warm up first, sweetheart," he speaks against your neck.

You hate that he got you so close so quickly.

"Zoro..."

"Hm?"

"I need you."

"I know you do. Now do me a favor and cum on my fingers, then I'll let you cum on my cock."

His words send you spiraling. You never knew he'd be like this.

You're gasping his name, riding his fingers as you come undone on his lap.

He's all too pleased with himself, seems confident until you say "my turn."

He won't last, he can tell from the first touch of your bare hand on his throbbing cock.

He hisses an inhale, tries hard to hold it together as you start stroking him.

"Fuck, I can't wait," you hum after a few moments.

He's almost praising your name as you slide down on his cock.

His head lolls back against the cushion as your fingers grip his shoulders and you ride him.

Feels nice to have you do all the work, as his body's still aching from the events on Thriller Bark.

Feels nice to just enjoy something for once, to not be in his head about training or strength. It's almost an out-of-body experience when you're taking him.

"Hey. Back here, wild one," you whisper against his ear. "Where'd you go, just now?"

He hums, "nowhere good."

"Then..." You pull back, speak, "right here," against his lips, and kiss him slowly, grinding down on him then shifting your hips up...back down.

It's bliss, he realizes.

Any other experience - shall he call it - he's had, it's a power thing; him topping, him working both parties into oblivion. Had he ever had someone just...please him like this, he wonders?

"Oi!" He yelps when you bite his collarbone. There's an acho from his quick smack of your ass.

"There you go again..." You shake your head, lick the reddening bite mark. He shudders. "Don't you want to stay with me?"

You're right. You're so, so right and he nods against your forehead as you pick up speed.

The sound of skin slapping together drags his attention lower, watching your bodies come together. He lifts up your skirt, groans, presses his thumb to your clit.

You don't take much longer to cum on his cock, the moment consuming Zoro's attention - the way you gasp for him, how your nails dig into his biceps, the look of your tits as you throw your head back and ride him.

"Okay," he huffs. "I'll give you those. Bet I'll get one more outta you before I'm done."

You huff a laugh. "I'll bet. Pretty cocky, huh?"

He laughs at your joke.

"Oh, I am."

It's not exactly the ideal place for this, but Zoro tosses you down easily - shifts his knees on either side of you, the red cushions squeaking against naked skin. His aching body protests, but he thinks of it as a workout as he pounds into you - kisses down your body, every bit of exposed skin.

He's distracting himself so he doesn't end this little dalliance too soon.

"Up," he taps your thigh, pulls out.

He stands, ready to have you suck his cock, get you nice and worked up with no stimulation.

Only you stand, turn, raise the skirt, glance over your shoulder, and bend forward.

Coy. Cute.

He's back inside you in seconds, unwilling to let you win this one.

"Tease," he accuses again.

"You're too much fun," you laugh.

The playful lilt to your voice is gone soon, as he gives you his all.

You're too stunned to speak; only heaved breaths and soft moans.

When he feels you orgasm again, his grip on your hip tightens.

"Okay, sweetness. On your knees," he grits out.

You look back, shocked, defiant.

"Zoro. Please."

It's all you need to say, because the way you're pushing back on him and begging, he's already too far gone.

He cums with a growled breath against your neck.

The two of you pause, breathing together in the afterglow. His hands remain on you moments too long, he's sure, but he wants to remember this, wants to pull back to it on those lonely nights.

"So," he huffs a laugh, "I won."

"Jerk."

---

It becomes addicting, this thing.

He's constantly in a state of wanting to improve, even in this.

And you're an eager participant, only trying to help.

😏

[am-i-interrupting]

Helllooooo!!! I was wondering if you could maybe write something of Silco x Reader where reader suffers from headaches and he gives them a shoulder/head massage 👀 it’s can be fluffy, sensual, sexual…. However you want!! Xoxo!!!😘

Scattering Tension

With Silco’s busy schedule and chaotic life, one would assume he was the one who needed the constant care in any relationship. Did he need to be pulled to bed? Yes. Did he need to be reminded to eat? Occasionally. However, that was not the case.

He was actually a very attentive lover. He was in touch with your and your body seemingly better than you were. He would be able to spot the signs before you and drag you away to rest before things got bad.

Today was one of those days. You were unable to focus. Everything just went through one ear, around the boiling pain, and then right out the other.

The pain was behind your eye. It carved through the tissue into your brain. You could feel the blood rushing through your veins and the pain pulsed with it. It wounded its way into your teeth. The muscles of your jaw pulled tight. That tautness went down the back of your neck and into the tissues of your shoulders.

You felt a pair of cold, long fingers press into your temples. The pressure forced apart nerves. A moment of relief was granted to you as they no longer bounced against one another.

You leaned back. A soft chuckle was given in reply.

Two fingers pressed against your temples. Another two curled at the connection of your jaw. The knuckles dug into the tight muscles. A thumb was behind your ear. It was soft and caressing in comparison to the pressure of the other fingers.

“You work yourself too hard,” Silco’s voice said.

His chin brushed against your hair but you could still smell the smoke and ash on his breath. It brought you comfort.

You wanted to give some witty reply about a pot and a kettle or something of the sort but the knuckles which worked your jaw were too nice to part with. Instead you simply groaned.

The fingertips at your temples moved further down. They rubbed at the soft tissue until they met the hardness of your cheekbone. They passed beneath your eye and down.

The knuckles left your jaw but not before circling up one last time to the place at the top where your muscles were gathered. A final, hard press was given to them like a farewell kiss.

You were made aware of every piece of gathered muscle, tissue, and even the veins which rolled between and through as Silco’s hands wrapped around your neck. His thumb pushed and a hum left you. The tension was slowly ebbing away. A tide of pain and pleasure came to you as it did.

“You’re too good at this,” you said.

His hands flattened. He gathered up your skin and grabbed. The flat of his hand rolled at the back of your neck. His fingers pushed into the underside of your jaw.

“What can I say? I’m good with my hands,” you could hear the sly, pleased grin on his face.

You couldn’t even retort. His was right. In all the underlaying ways he was implying, he was right. He was a man who knew how to use his hands and use them well.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Comfort Headcanons for Frank, Matt, and Mikey

A/n: so I am ridiculously overwhelmed by personal and political stuff right now. And I told myself I was going to write every day this week if possible, but my brain was being difficult today. So instead of working on a longer fic I wrote some self-indulgent headcanons about Frank, Matt, and Mikey caring for an overwhelmed partner. I hope you all enjoy. Please feel free to send me other headcanon requests!

How would they’d react to you being overwhelmed

Frank

Frank would pick up on this IMMEDIATELY

the second your self care habits change, he’s onto you. You stay up later than normal two nights in a row, or run out the door with a granola bar instead of eating a real breakfast, and he is concerned™️

He’s willing to entertain it for three days max. He knows life gets tough sometimes, and he doesn’t want to encroach on your process—but we all know that once this man is worried, he’s minutes away from taking control. He has issues but we love him for it.

On the 4th day, when you’re waking up exhausted after far too little sleep and rejecting his offer to take you out for breakfast, he puts his foot down.

“Gonna order in for dinner tonight, ok? We can watch that movie you wanted to see and turn in early.”

You hastily agree, bolting out the door before you end up late to your job.

When you finally arrive home, he’s all over you in an instant. Murmuring his hellos while helping you out of your coat and shoes, ushering you over the couch.

He’s insisting that you sit in his lap while the two of you pick out dinner, offering suggestions for restaurants instead of leaving the choice open-ended. Given how tired and generally stressed you seem, he wants to take as much weight off your shoulders as possible.

Once dinner has been ordered, he tucks you close to his chest, practically burying you in a jumble of muscular limbs, humming appreciatively when you nuzzle further into his space. His hand is cupped around your nape, thumb gently brushing over your spine as you hunch toward him.

“Ready to talk about what’s botherin’ ya, doll?” The question leaves room to decline, but his stern tone suggests you choose to answer.

He listens carefully as you tell him what’s on your mind, brushing silent kisses against your forehead whenever your breath wavers around a stifled sob. His hands never move from your skin, cradling you to him like he’s trying to absorb your pain.

He wouldn’t let you lift a finger the rest of the night. Retrieving the take out, dishing it up for you, drawing you a bath, tucking you into bed

When you’re beginning to drift off atop his giant shoulder, he’d rest his forehead against yours.

“I know it’s tough right now. But we’ll get through. I promise.”

“Please don’t leave, Frank.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, babydoll.”

Matt

Matt isn’t as observant of your habits and routines, but he can sure as hell pick up changes in body language.

Gritting teeth, blinking back tears, frustrated sighs—he notices all of it. He might not act on it immediately, brushing it off when you explain that you just had a bad day, but when your fatigue and growing apathy persist…

I think you hiding something from him would spook him for sure, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be determined to get answers out of you. He’d set his personal anxieties aside and prepare for a serious talk.

He’d leave the office somewhat early, asking you to meet him at his apartment. He’d offer you a beer, or whatever you were in the mood for (if his lacking fridge and pantry allowed for it), and he’d ask you the big question.

“You aren’t yourself lately. What’s going on?”

He’s not happy when you start crying, but he’s definitely relieved when you collapse into his arms and explain your recent mood. Even more so when you confess it had nothing to do with him.

As always, he harbors immense guilt for not being there, not being endlessly supportive, not being able to solve the issues gnawing at you with his own two fists.

But what he doesn’t realize is that he’s helping just by being there. By being present and absentmindedly squeezing you with his tree-trunk arms. By acknowledging your struggles and offering what he could.

He’d cut his patrols short for a few days, nearly begging you to sleep at his loft instead of in your own bed, so he could keep a metaphorical eye on you. He sleeps better with you by his side anyway.

Mikey

You’re Michael’s whole world, so he’d know you were overwhelmed before you realized it yourself.

As soon as he spotted the stress lines on your face, he’d be on his feet, trying his best to lighten the burden.

He’d walk you to and from work, as always, maybe even stopping by to keep you company on your lunch hour.

When he wasn’t with you, or ignoring his family, he’d be constantly cleaning the house and working through your joint to do list, taking task after task off your plate so you could properly decompress.

He wouldn’t pressure you to talk to him about it, but he’d give you the option.

“I’m here if ya want to talk, pet. Anytime ya need.”

And, of course, you’d take him up on it. Explaining that you could handle everything and you didn’t want him to overwhelm himself trying to help you because it was just a pile of small things that were wearing you down. But he’d have none of it.

“I wanna do this fer ya. Let me help, love.”

He’d bundle you in a knit blanket on the couch and set the tv to your favorite show, kissing the top of your head before heading to the kitchen to clean up after dinner.

I hope you enjoyed! And I hope you’re all doing ok this week. It’s rough out there.

[amoristt]

pretty little thing

「 ✦ hwang in-ho / reader ✦ 」

tags: nsfw MDNI // exhibitionism, edging, unedited pls forgive me a/n: when it is going to be my turn original request (x)

it's hard to breathe. it's hard to even think to breathe anymore, your lungs betraying your bodies innate need to inhale. nerves alight from underneath your skin in tingling and prickly flashes. you're trying to hold back the sultry noises mounting in your chest, you really are, but In-ho's got you essentially powerless to stop them. you even try to close your legs, to jump from his touch, but he's got you held fast and in your place. no where to go except closer and closer to the inevitable.

when you'd joined him in his suite and settled on his lap, it really wasn't for anything other than innocently lounging with your lover. it was his fault, really, that you ended up sprawled over him with your legs dangling over the arm of the armchair and his hand buried between your legs while the other propped you up at the shoulders.

his suit is silky smooth against your naked skin. almost as smooth as his voice as he spoke with a square guard merely feet away from you.

you had entirely expected In-ho to stop when the man had walked in but he didn't. he didn't really react at all, in all honestly. other than actually speeding up the tight circles he was rubbing into your clit, like he wanted you louder, wanted you wetter. wanted you some squirming pretty thing in his lap.

there was no denying the way it worked, too. riveting waves of shame and lust engulfed you, dragged you below the murky waters of sex. you refused to look at the anonymous man, burying your face in In-ho's shoulder to try and at least pretend like this wasn't doing something for you.

but really, it's like the day fighting the night. inescapable. all consuming. you can't stop the way you're soaking his thigh through the fabrics of his pants, nor can you stop the way you try to urge your hips into his touch when he presses just a little harder, a little deeper into you. more than once now you'd been right at the precipice, ready to tumble down into ecstasy, only to suddenly find yourself without as he drew his fingers away.

the first time it had been for shits and giggles. the second time, it was because he loved the way you pleaded with your eyes.

the third was when the guard had knocked at his door and was welcomed in.

you know he's trying to see how far you'd go in front of the man before you. he's driving you crazy, seeing how long it takes to have you stupid and downright dizzy with need. you're almost there, too, starting to allow your outer leg to slide off the arm rest despite the guards presence. it's getting harder to care with every second- but you still do. only enough, though, to keep you hiding your face into In-ho's suit and squirming in his hold.

In-ho's voice is low, steady. the guard matches his tone almost evenly but you can hear it- the way his words take a moment to leave him, his brain struggling to fully process their conversation with the lewd display in front of him.

you twist your fingers in his coat, whining only loud enough for In-ho to hear. "please."

he doesn't even acknowledge you. just continued his conversation with his underling as if this were a casual meeting. you weren't tuned into their chatter, you honestly couldn't give less of a shit, too focused on trying to finally cum. you rock your hips, just barely inching into the feeling, but the movement makes your leg slide off the armrest and suddenly you're completely exposed to the pair of eyes on you. you yip, throwing your leg back and pressing your knees together.

In-ho sighs, pausing his conversation. his arm holding you up shifts, and for a blinding second, you're afraid he's going to stop again and you'd have to resort to begging and pleading like a whore in front of a total stranger. but instead he just knocks your leg back off the arm rest and grants himself more access to your body. bursts of pleasure spark behind your eyes as he fucks you with his fingers, down to the knuckles and curling against your gummy walls. your voice leaves you in pathetic keens. but even with pleasure riveting through you like static electricity, when you can see the guard in the corner of your eye, you're trying to hide in In-ho all over again.

that actually earns you a reaction. he chuckles low and deep in his throat.

"so shy. she's not usually like this." he murmurs in amusement, and you realize that he's not talking to you in shameful terror. your face flames with a fire so hot it could burn.

with one leg hiked up on the arm rest, your other dangling over his lap and your toes barely grazing the cold floor, you can't even try to close your legs. good lord, if you thought your face was hot enough to burn before, this could scorch. you can literally feel the guards eyes on you, swallowing you whole.

you whine again, a high noise lost in the back of your throat as you struggle to have even an ounce of decency. makes you try to throw your leg back up, but In-ho shoves your thigh to stop you.

when you try to cover yourself again, there's a fleeting moment where you actually think you may have annoyed him because suddenly you're being lifted and spun around. he presses your back to his chest with a oof and hooks your legs under the bend of his arm, hikes your knees up, folds you on his lap with your swollen pussy on full display.

the cold air meets your sex and you can't help but cover your own face with your hands when the guard noticeably bristles at the sight before him. his spine straightens, his shoulders square. his hands twitch at his sides.

"that's better." In-ho, resting back in his chair now that he's got you trapped in place, snakes his other arm around you and rubs languid strokes up and down your slit. your head tips back against his chest, your breath escaping you in shaky moans. every time his runs his fingers over your clit you whimper, trying to rock your hips into his touch but finding yourself successfully stuck in place.

their all-business conversation picks back up.

a particularly dirty thought jumps to the forefront of your mind- a seedy little wish that grew limbs like trees throughout your body and only heightened your arousal. the mental image of In-ho fucking you like this, slow and deep, taking what's his.

but then you remember that there's a total stranger standing right there watching you mewl and agonize on his bosses lap. and fuck, even despite the shame, even despite the humiliation of it all, you're dripping down his knuckles. you try to urge him for more, desperate to be filled but he's got a grip so iron that all you can do is uselessly kick your feet and plead.

you're almost there, close enough that you can feel it in your fingers and toes. that simmering pleasure making writhe in his grasp. your thighs are starting to shake, eyes unfocused as you stared at the ceiling overhead. just a little more...

"that's all. you may go."

that beautiful mounting pleasure is gone. His hand motions to the door, allowing the guard to see himself out after their talk. if you could kick him in the head, you would. you wanted to strangle him for letting you get that close again without delivery. you kicked your feet again in protest, tossing your head back and huffing.

the guard nods. you watch him through your fingers and god, you're fucking disappointed that he's leaving. but then In-ho is touching you again and nothing seems to matter anymore. the planets realign, the stars collide. his sinks two fingers into your puffy slit and rests his thumb on your clit, resuming his rhythm of rubbing circles into you. you gasp, you moan, arching against him and curling your toes.

"please, please don't stop." you whimper, eyes half lidded, your chest rising and falling in rapid pants. he slides in a third finger and the stretch is just too good.

with the guard gone, you stop trying to hold back all your lovely little sounds. he hooks his fingers and presses right up against your sweet spot, and you can't help but squeal, grasp onto his biceps as your walls flutter around his fingers. you jump in his arms, gasping, struggling to cope with how good it feels.

you're so lost in the feeling that you barely register when In-ho starts talking again.

"what is it." it's supposed to be a question, but he says it like a demand. you lift your head off his shoulder, eyes cracking open in a haze of lust.

the guard is still there. they'd not made it past the first few steps, lingering. watching. their chest moving in shallow breaths. they seem to struggle to speak, as if snapped from a trance. finally, they manage to answer.

"i am sorry if this is out of line, but... may i watch her until..."

a bold request. the end of his sentence trails off, mesmerized.

In-ho just laughs, presses his lips to your temple and you can feel his smirk. "sounds like they want to watch you cum."

you shudder at the lowness of his tone- fuck, you're so close. you're right there, so much so that you really can't bring yourself to even care that you're being watched anymore. you grip tight to In-ho's arm for purchase with one hand, the other reaching up to tangle itself in his hair with shaking fingers.

"well?" In-ho asks with a honey-sweet tone, dragging his fingers to the edge of your pussy before shoving back in, watching you wiggle and twitch with want.

"yes!" you whimper. anything to cum. anything. "yes, yes, mnn- please, i'm so close-"

"poor thing," In-ho leans back in his seat and you fall into him even further, expose yourself even more. "i suppose i have kept you waiting."

you nod fervently, frantically.

yes, you have, you fucker.

the guard stands ever present and silent, but their hands are making tight fists at their sides. you're affecting them- you can sense it. it spurs you on, makes you decide to let it all go. if they wanted a show, so be it. you toss your head back into In-ho's shoulder once more and sing for them. your pussy is swallowing whatever it can get, greedy and desperate for more.

you legs start to shake again, your orgasm teetering already.

"go ahead. show them how good you feel."

this time, In-ho lets you have it.

and even though you felt it coming, felt the heat of it spreading and coiling within you, it still hits you hard and sudden. hits you with a force so strong it knocks the air from your lungs and you're sent reeling against him, arching your back, toes curling and uncurling as you cried out thank you, thank you, thank you.

if your legs weren't already pressed flush together, you'd have snapped them shut as he continued to fuck you with his fingers. in between your wailing moans and the lewd wetness of your sex soaking his hands, it's a song In-ho's come to love. come to crave.

something he was clearly happy to show off, his little pet so needy and receptive to him.

"that's it. there you go." he purrs in your ear, though it barely reaches you through your swimming ears. you're sure you've soaked his entire lap by now, still riding out the last winds of your orgasm. "such a pretty little thing for me."

he strokes through it you until you're shying away, oversensitive and in need of reprieve. you're still babbling thank you's when he addresses the guard once more.

"satisfied?" In-ho jeers, only prying his eyes off you to look up at his underling for a dismissive moment.

"yes." the guard nods quickly, their voice strained. "thank you, sir."

they scurry out of the room like a roach, but not before lingering on you for a long moment. they take a begrudged step back before turning away entirely, seemingly having to force themselves out of the room, disappearing behind the door before it clicks shut. you melt against In-ho, panting, damn near put to sleep. he pats your thighs and lets you crumble against him, unhooking his arm from your legs. you sprawl over him like an old blanket, used up and spent.

"sorry to have kept you waiting for so long." he breathes, kissing the top of your head. you shrug, breathless.

"s' okay. felt good."

he chuckles again, petting a hand down your hair, over your shoulder, down your side.

"always so patient."

you giggle. "i really wasn't."

"patient enough." he kisses the top of your head again and hums. from the table beside the chair, he plucks a glass half full with dark alcohol and brings it to his lips. the sharp smell of it makes you scrunch your nose as he takes a drink.

you know any moment now you'll be carted off to your bedroom and laid out on the plush mattress, surrounded by only the most exquisite fabrics and pillows, but for now you just enjoy the way he's got his arms wrapped around you.

[misty-memories09]

I've been thinking about S.P.E.W and it's failure alot.

Well, where she went wrong was with her approach. The idea was totally nice, no one deserves to be a slave and house elves were treated miserably. The problem came with her attitude about it, she's pretty close minded it's something I briefly talked about in this post. In it I mentioned about S.P.E.W in the second paragraph, this is the specific line I'm talking about :

She's quick at thinking that others are wrong and generally does not like to think from other perspectives.

This was her biggest mistake that lead to S.P.E.W being totally useless and unfruitful. The truth is, house elves are treated so horribly that they themselves do not recognise/realise that what is happening to the is wrong. Hermione created S.P.E.W. to promote the liberation and rights of house-elves, who are treated as enslaved workers in the wizarding world. She believed that house-elves should receive wages, pensions, and other benefits similar to those of regular workers.

What she did not do was communicate, the flow of ideas only happen when you communicate, if the house elves themselves do not realise that what's happening to them is absolutely disgusting then how do you expect them to support your cause? And how do you expect for your cause to be fruitful if the people who you're trying to work for do not promote this?

An argument used against her by other characters is generally that house elves want to be treated like this. How does she solve this? Arguing back even louder. Not trying to improve the root of the cause or just ignore the people saying this because they are objectively wrong to say this, not in a way that house elves do not like being enslaved but the fact that it is absolutely disgusting to say this.

She tries to free them against will, by knitting hats for them and tricking them into being freed instead of...you know? Trying to talk to them and also listen to their views because this idea is actually pinned down in their brains that it's in their nature to submit to their masters. If you do NOT communicate with the community your trying improve the living standards of, if said community is not educated due to a viscious cycle, you can not expect them to be on your side.

She had also been completely impatient and forced Ron, Harry and Neville — people who do not quite agree with her — to join her. Which, is just stupid. If you're making an organisation you should be recruiting people who are willing for it to be more effective. On top of that Hermione is not a good leader, she's too bossy, she does not believe that there is a ‘right’ opinion except her own, forcibly tries to recruit people, does not know how to actually work effectively about her cause.

let's be real here, change doesn't happen overnight as she expected it too, she disbanded it but that's a mistake, the fact she gave up on it is a mistake, the fact she did not try to go further with a different approach is a mistake. These kinds of things take time and her impatience and unwillingness to listen to others became the downfall of S.P.E.W all this without a greater effort to gain a deeper understanding of the issue.

Aside from this, I decided to look online to see others view on this and...

Despite this, I believe that the way Hermione Granger made and promoted SPEW goes against her character and the way she would really behave. If Hermione did her research well, she would have easily realized that the majority of house-elves are happy and that SPEW would have offended them. The way she put out the hats in the Gryffindor common room was stupid of her, and Hermione – being the cleverest of the trio – should have realized that the house-elves wouldn’t take the hats. If I was Hermione, when she was promoting this organization for protecting house-elves, I would have focused more on stopping house-elf abuse, not attempting to free them.

This is...a take, to say the least. My intentions are not to start any fights or anything but this is crediting Hermione way too much. I s'pose this is a stan, because all I ever see is stans just overlooking the character's flaw and honestly, S.P.E.W. could be seen as a way to show her flaws. Also, saying that she shouldn't have attempted to free the house elves...feels really really gross.

Yes, the person said that they would've focused more on stopping the house-elf abuse but...this is basically saying that house elves should stay enslaved, not directly but the meaning is right there. And no, the house elves living conditions would not improve if they're still enslaved because they do not have a say in anything, their masters can still abuse their powers over them AND you can never guarantee that they are actually getting treated wrong, so the last statement is objectively wrong.

I personally believe that if Hermione had been more sensetive, communicated with the community she is trying to work for and recruited people who believe in her cause, she would've reached atleast one point. It's obvious freeing the house elves would be a long drawn process, had she been more patient with everything i just stated, I believe S.P.E.W could have not been such a great failure.

Tl;dr : It was not the idea but her approach that was flawed, and it is related with her flaws as a person itself. The idea was great but the execution? Not so much.

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Fifteen)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Fifteen: Y/N is getting by with minimal contact with Cillian whilst he continues to work away, but a rare chance to see him on a Zoom call brightens her mood. When she gets a call the same evening from his sister, she prepares herself for a Corkonian takeover at the end of the following week. His sister says something, and she finds herself taken aback by Cillian's reaction. [Family life/Fluff/Angst] (I've run out of grey haired GIFs that apply so take this one!)

@remembering-angels @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meadowshelby @strangeions @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme

Yoke - thing (keep getting asked about that one)

Gatting - heavy drinking/drinking

Leaba - Irish word for bed

Síle is pronounced like Shee-lah

.......

You went three days with just a few texts between you and Cillian once he'd landed back in England. He had night filming, interviews, and a desperate need for sleep to occupy him. But on the evening of the fourth day, sitting in your office, it surprises you to receive a Zoom invite a few moments after you log out of your accounts for work. You can barely contain the buzz of excitement as you connect and wait to see his face. His face fills your screen and it's so good to see him. His beanie is pulled over his hair, and he's got a coat over his clothes that tells you he's either coming in or going out.

“Hello,” you beam. “It's really good to see your face.”

He smiles brightly back at you, “Ah fuck - it's good to see you, too.”

“Are you coming in or going out?” You ask, and you chuckle when he looks down at himself then back up at you.

“Heading out,” he says. “Dinner with Packy, Sophie and Matt.” He elaborates. “But I wanted to see you a wee bit before I go.”

“You had a busy day?” You ask. He'd text you around five am, having finished a night of filming again, and let you know he was back to filming in the daytime tomorrow. You didn't know, though, I'd he'd fallen into bed after that or if he had a string of things to occupy him and planned on sleeping tonight instead.

He shakes his head, “Not overly. I was asleep til gone eleven,” he grins, “Then I sat on my arse for a while but it was in front of this yoke for interviews so I suppose I was working.” He chuckles. “I had the glasses on there for a bit, my eyes are wrecked from looking at this all afternoon. I don't know how you cope with it for work.” He shakes his head. “Can't wait to crawl back into me leaba later.”

“You'd live in your bed if we let you.” You laugh lightly, and he grins back at you. “Still coming back home for a few days after next week?” You ask him hopefully.

“Of course,” he nods earnestly. “Missing you farting in the bed,” raises his eyebrows and the giggle he erupts into as he slags you leaves you unable to defend yourself even in false annoyance.

“You're a prick,” you smirk, shaking your head. “But I miss you. Not having you moaning at me to turn the brain-rot TV off is actually getting boring.” He laughs lightly, and you watch his tongue draw back and begin flicking against his bottom teeth. “Did you talk to the boys?”

He nods his head, “Yeah, just off the phone there actually.” He says with a bright expression. “They're grand by all accounts.” His head whips around to the door behind him suddenly and you can hear the faint sound of it knocking. He gets up from the seat he's in. You watch the screen as he walks towards the door of his hotel room and drags it open enough to see out. “Howeya…no, you're fine, come in. Just talking to Y/N, there.” His voice is quieter with the distance from the laptop but you can hear him well enough. You watch him step aside from the door and pull it further open, and there's a little anxiety in the pit of your stomach in anticipation of whomever is on the other side of it. You relax almost instantly when it's Packy who walks into view.

With a cheeky grin, he approaches the laptop and all but shoves his face into the camera. “Well, Y/N, what's the craic?” He laughs, and you can hear Cillian's light giggle behind him.

“Hiya,” you smile brightly back. “You lot out on the piss tonight then?”

Packy purses his lips and shakes his head comically, “God no, no getting on it tonight.” He insists as he steps back from the laptop. You can see Cillian loitering with a little awkwardness, like he's a little on edge now that somebody is in his space, but beyond his hand being close to his mouth, he gives no other indication of unease. “Well, I suppose we could?” He looks to Cillian and you watch Cillian's brows rise up, “Well Sophie's fella is driving, there's no use everyone being a pioneer for the night.” He laughs and Cillian shakes his head with a bright smile.

“You'll have to take his shoes off for him if that's the case, he's not so good with them after a few.” You speak up, and while Cillian makes a face and laughs lightly Packy doesn't seem to have heard you at all. “And take him to the toilet before you leave a bar, yeah? I'd rather not be WhatsApp’d another string of images of him peeing in the street.”

Packy laughs - evidentially he'd heard you that time and of the event in question - and points at Cillian who shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Don't worry, Y/N, if he gets it out in the street we'll give him a slap.”

Cillian frowns and bends at the waist, and stares straight into the camera. “You can fuck off,” he says with raised eyebrows, but all you can do is laugh. “No gatting tonight!” He promised, “Here, we’re away. I'll talk to you tomorrow.” He says with a genuine and bright smile. “Go on and watch your shite on TV.”

You laugh and wave into the camera. “Have a good night. Love you.” You say with a soft smile.

“Love you too.” He says with a serious expression. He gives a thumbs up and then the call ends.

You hadn't expected a call, so you try to keep the nice surprise of it as a pleasant thing and not dwell on the fact that he was now gone again. You decide to do as he suggested - bullshit TV. And maybe a takeaway.

You make your way down the two flights of stairs and into the kitchen. Immediately, you feel how cold it is and adjust the thermostat on the wall beside the sofa. You need to remember to change it back, or Cillian will be moaning about the cost to heat the place, and that it's a sauna in the bedroom. Back in the kitchen, you leave your phone on the island and begin searching through the kitchen drawers for a takeaway menu. You're certain there are Chinese and Indian takeaway menus knocking about, but by your third unsuccessful drawer, you're beginning to assume that Cillian has thrown them out on one of his mad moments of domestic service. About to surrender, you check in the fourth drawer, strewn with poorly organised cooking utensils, and ‘a-ha!’ to yourself mentally as you find the menus pinned beneath the ladle and wooden spoon. You shut the door with your bum as you turn around, hands occupied with scouring through the menus. Definitely Chinese over Indian, and definitely egg fried rice over Cillian's preferred mushroom rice. The decision of what to stuff yourself with along with the rice, though, is a harder one. Chicken balls and BBQ sauce, or a spice bag, or Cantonese sweet and sour chicken? You could get it all, and take a small amount from everything, and have the leftovers tomorrow, of course, but you weren't sure you were willing to spend fifty euro on a Chinese takeaway for just yourself.

You lean against the island as you look over the menu, and glance across when your phone begins buzzing and singing out ‘San Diego Song’ as it rings. You abandon your hunger for a moment and lean across awkwardly. You frown as “Síle” flashes on the screen. Answering the call, and pushing it onto speakerphone, you stand over the handset curiously. “Hi, Síle,” you say softly. “Everything okay?” You're a little taken aback that she's calling you at all, and even more so as his family knows he's in England right now. Why not just call her brother?

“Hiya, Y/N,” Síle says, bright and cheerful. “Sorry bothering you in the evening, but I know Cill is away. I wanted to ask, would it be okay if Griff and I stayed up with you towards the end of next week? We've an event in Dublin, and it'd be nice to see you. And I know Cill should be back home there at the end of the week, I think anyway, I'm sure he said….”

You remind yourself what day you're on now. “Friday,” you say. “He’ll be back on the Friday. In the afternoon, I think.”

“I'll ring him, and I'll talk it over, but you're home there now, so.” You hear her laugh.

“I mean, you're so welcome, you know that. And the boys will be up on the Sunday, too. Bet they'd be happy seeing you both. As long as you can stick your brother being a pain in the arse, and the sofabed up in the office. Though if the boys aren't staying then I'm sure you can use one of their rooms.” You say with a smile.

“Ah, you know us by now, Y/N, wherever we hang out hats.” She laughs again. “You're a star, Y/N, thanks a million.” she says with a quiet laugh. “And you're alright yourself, yeah?”

“Yeah, I'm okay. Working, and about to get a Chinese with as much chicken as I can stomach in Cillian's absence.” You laugh, and you hear her laugh too. “And you two?”

“Ah, yeah, sure we're grand. Same as yourself, working away and all.” She says, still bright and cheerful.

“That's good,” you smile.

“So if we say Friday, yeah? You're sure that's okay, now?” She checks.

You answer immediately in the affirmative. “Yeah, absolutely. Friday is fine. As I said, he's home Friday. And you'll stay for the weekend?”

“If youse don't mind - we've the thing in Dublin on Saturday daytime but it'd be good to be visiting for a few days, and to see Aran and Malachy.” Síle says cheerfully.

“It’ll be great to see you. But you might change your mind on Friday when Cillian gets home. He's not been getting a lot of sleep, and you'll find him going through you for a shortcut.” you laugh a little.

“Ah, sure hasn't he always been the same, girl!?” She laughs again. “Come here, Y/N, I'll let you get on with your Chinese takeaway. I'll talk to you both before, anyway, but otherwise I'll see you soon.”

“See you soon, Síle.” You say, and hit the cancel button on the phone. You do wonder, now, if Cillian should have been involved in the decision but you're fairly sure he wouldn't tell his own sister to get a hotel! Still, you open your texts and send a message across to Cillian, letting him know Síle’s request and that you have agreed to it.

“Dinner good? Síle rang me - she and Griff want to stay here next Friday & over the weekend for something they have in Dublin. I said no problem. I know you're back on Friday too but we can have a quiet evening anyway. Maybe call her? Love you x.”

You return to your menu, having mentally made made your choices whilst on the phone, and then scour through the app on your phone to find the Chinese that actually corresponds to the menu. Finding the ChowTown restaurant on Church Road, you put through your order and grimace at the delivery charge before finalising. Just as you go to set your phone down, Cillian's text reply comes through. You slide down the notification bar and click to open it.

“She texted me that she'd tried to ring. Didn't get any call. No bother anyway. We can get dinner or something. Can throw them in Aran's room, not like he's using it. The restaurant is loud, I want to go to bed ha ha. Love you.”

You smirk as you swipe away the message, and push your phone into the pocket of your hoodie. You slink over to the sofa and drop down, immediately flicking the TV onto Amazon Prime and began to search for a film you know Cillian would turn his nose up to, but that you really wanted to see. The only benefit you found to the little bastard being gone was that you could indulge yourself in things he didn't like - or didn't approve of - but even that didn't make his absence worth it.

You booked the Friday off as annual leave and spent the day ensuring you had the house in order - not that either of you were particularly untidy - and that all three of the available beds had clean sheets in case there was a case of musical beds once Síle and Griff arrived. You finished a quick grocery shop - wine, snacks, fresh fruit and veg, and bottled water - and finished your stint as Cinderella by sweeping and mopping the floor that covered the whole of the open plan space downstairs. Satisfied, as you stand in your gleaming kitchen, you light the wood wick candle that had been gifted to you at some point over the last twelve months and left it in the centre of the island. You love the crackle of the wooden wick, and it doesn't take long for its vanilla and coffee bean scent to start filtering around the space. It's three o'clock in the afternoon, and you're finally satisfied that you now look like you live in an untouched show home and that it smells so clinically clean that nobody will ever guess that you're human and eat or drink anything at all.

You fill the kettle with water and set it on to boil. Despite the offer on more than one occasion to collect him at the airport, Cillian had declined as he wanted to do something before coming home so all you were doing now was waiting - which you hate. You place the coffee press beside the kettle and spoon in the ground coffee, then stand awkwardly as you glance around you. Why did waiting for something always make you feel like you could do anything else? But you were excited to see him, and you were both excited and nervous to see his sister and husband, too. You were looking forward to one of your favourite phenomenons, too - Cillian's accent getting stronger in the presence of someone else from Cork!

As the kettle comes to a boil and silences, you frown. You're sure you heard the crackling of the gravel outside, but it could just be the candle crackling. Still, your stomach flutters and you walk towards the front door to peer out of the glass in the room if the door and check. Sure enough, you can see a car and a lone figure, though the mottled glass that doesn't allow a clear view out, but you'd know that figure anywhere. It does help that he's lugging a wheeled bag awkwardly along the gravel as the car reverses away. You unlock the front door and pull it open, smiling brightly as Cillian looks up at you. The beanie is ever present, his glasses are perched on his nose, and the look of exhaustion mixed with a smile across his face feels like home to behold.

“You're back,” you say, smiling brightly.

His smile widens a little as he reaches the door, “I'm back.” He says, letting go of the bag on the doorstep. He wraps his arms around you immediately and you snake your arms around his back. His kiss is soft and loving, and he tastes like coffee and smells like himself. You move to rest your head on his chest, still standing at the door. It's been a long couple of weeks and you've missed the presence of his body in the house. He laughs a little and squeezes you before letting go. “C'mon, let's get in.” He says, and begins trying to pull your arms from him. You let go, smirking, and close the door on the outside once he's in the door. “God, have you disinfected the whole house?” He asks, looking around him, as he releases his bag once again beside the coat hooks.

“I have,” you nod with a smile. “How was the flight?”

He juts his chin up, “Ah, same as always.” He sniffs. “Will we whack on the kettle? I need tea.” He smiles.

“It's just boiled actually. Which tea do you want?” You ask as you turn your back on him, as he takes off his shoes and coat, and make your way to the kitchen.

“Oh, whatever you get,” he says. A moment later, he has his arms around you from behind, his chin on your shoulder, as you pour water from the kettle into a mug with a herbal tea bag inside. “God…” he grumbles against your cheek, “Missed you.”

You smile, “I've missed you too. It's been a long couple of weeks.”

“Síle give a time for today?” He asks, and unwraps his arms from you as you push his mug along the counter for him to pick up. Taking the mug, he yawns tightly and noisily.

You shake your head, and turn to face him. “No, just that she'd be here today.” He nods slowly and yawns a second time. “Did you not sleep last night?” You ask, smirking.

He shakes his head, “I did, but…” he shrugs his shoulders as he yawns a third time. “Fuck sake.” He stretches his eyes wide as his jaw snaps shut. “You didn't hear from the boys this week, did you?” He asks and then sips at his tea.

You shake your head, “No, I mean I did text on Thursday about Sunday and Aran said he'd be coming, I didn't get anything from Malachy. But otherwise, no.” you say. “Why?”

Cillian frowns, “Ah, I was on the phone to Aran on Tuesday, I think, and he was in a bit of a mood. Couldn't get out of him why, but he told me he didn't want to come over on the weekend, that it was pissing him off.” He shakes his head.

“Well, like I said, Thursday’s text said he'd be here. You said he was in a mood, maybe he was just being a shit with his words.” You reason.

Cillian nods, “Yeah, I get that. But, I don't get why, like.” He shrugs.

“School, a fight with his mum, pissed off with his brother, hormones…” you list, smiling at him. “He's a teenage boy, don't take it personally.” he rolls his eyes at you as he sips at his tea again. “I'll throw your bag upstairs. Do you want to get the washing out first? Save bringing it up to bring it down again.”

“Ah leave it, I'll do it there in a minute.” He says, shaking his head. He sets his mug down onto the counter beside him and holds his arms open. “Come here,” he raises his eyebrows. “Didn't get enough there before.” He grins at his own cheesy line. But you oblige, and fold yourself against his chest as his wraps his arms around you tightly. His chin rests on the top of your head, and he breathes deep and contented breaths that soothe you as much as you assume they do him. You're not sure how long you stand there, comfortable and close, but you're disappointed when there's a heavy knock on the front door that signals the end of the intimacy.

You sigh and push yourself up out of his embrace. “That'll be your sister.”

He sticks out his bottom lip, “Fuck,” he raises a single eyebrow. “I was hoping for a quickie before they got here.” You slap your hand against his arm, tutting but smiling, as you walk towards the front door. All you can think now is, Let the Corkonian takeover begin!

Cillian’s shift in brightness surprises you massively as you'd open the door and welcome in his sister and her husband. But that chirpiness only lasts for the time it takes to make dinner and settle around the dining table before he is yawning, and exercising his right to live with a perpetual bitch face. He chats, and isn't rude at all, but you can see as you all ate that he is heading speedily towards switch off mode after three weeks working flat out. He smiles as Griff talks about work, and as Síle explains what they're up to tomorrow in the city, and you reach across the table and tap your fingers gently across the back of his hand.

“Do you want another?” You ask, and nod towards his empty beer bottle before him. When he nods briefly, you take to the empty one as you stand up. “Another drink, guys?” You offer. They're all seemingly enjoying the thrown-together meal, and that's helped to alleviate some of your anxiety about things going well while they're here.

“Another glass of wine would be lovely,” Síle smiles brightly. And you're a little surprised when Griff declines and gestures towards his still half full beer.

You excuse yourself to the kitchen, with Síle’s glass and Cillian's empty bottle, and take a moment to breathe before you replace their drinks. They're lovely - all of his family are, in fact - but you consistently fear doing anything wrong in case their opinions of you turn sour and they begin to see you as you'd always feared they would after the affair. As you close the fridge door and set Cillian's beer onto the island, you hear footsteps around the wall from the dining room and look up. “You okay?” You ask, as Cillian approaches, carrying his knife and fork.

He nods with a soft smile just about pulling his lips, “Knocked them onto the floor,” he rolls his eyes. He walks around to the sink and throws them in and takes a clean set from the drainer beside it. He turns and leans back against the sink. “Y'alright?”

“Yeah,” you nod and smile. “You look done in.” You say, softening your expression sympathetically.

He nods his head, “Think it's because I've stopped, you know, after going for nearly a month.” He smirks. “We’ll roll into bed in a wee while,” he says and raised his eyebrows. “Throw me out the opener, there,” he says as he pushes away from the sink and picks up the beer bottle on the island. You hand it over, and as he pops off the cap, you pour Síle's glass of wine, and you return to the dining room with him just a step or two behind.

“When are you back in England, Cill?” Síle asks as he sits down across from her. She gives you a bright smile as you hand her the refilled wine glass.

“Tuesday,” he says with a nod, then takes a drink from the bottle. “This yoke tomorrow, is it like an exhibition?” He asks. She'd mentioned that they were attending an arts event not too far from the wax museum just off O’Connell Bridge, in a small building that gave nothing away.

“I suppose,” Síle shrugs. “Griff's friend has work that is in it.”

Cillian turns down the corners of his mouth and raises his eyebrows, “Cool,” he smiles.

“And the boys are well?” Griff asks, “We do be interacting there on Facebook with them but you wouldn't be quick getting a reply from them.” He laughs.

Cillian clicks his tongue, “Phones never out of their hands, but sure if they answer a text it's a miracle.” He smirks. “But they're grand. Aran’s got the leavers soon so he's busy, and between the girlfriend, college and that wee job in Eason’s, Malachy does be hard to pin down.”

“I'm looking forward to seeing them on Sunday, Y/N said they'll be here.” Síle says, and places her cutlery down to reach for her glass.

“Yeah, dinner here every week. If I'm home, I do get Aran from school. Malachy stayed here the night before I went back there.” Cillian smiles, “I said to Y/N, wrecks the head that they're growing up.” He smirks, but you can see the nostalgia there.

“I only spoke to Yvonne a few days ago, she was wishing Griff a happy birthday and just chatting on about the boys. Do you get talking to her much, or just the kids?” Síle spoke delicately, without malice or deliberate stirring, but you still find your stomach dropping.

Swallowing his mouthful of beer, Cillian sets the bottle back down and shrugs his shoulders. “The odd bit, but it's usually only if it concerns the boys. Last I spoke to her was before I went away just to give her the dates when I'd be home because I knew the lads wouldn't remember.”

“And it's awkward?” She presses on and you catch Cillian's quick glance in your direction.

“It's grand,” he says and waves his hand. “I didn't know you two were still in touch though.” He says, and you examine the frown on his brow - is he angry, confused, both?

“Don't be reading into that,” Síle says quickly, “It's only to ask about the kids. And you two were together years, Cillian. I know things were difficult before you split up but I can't be a bitch to her entirely; she's raising my nephews.” You find yourself understanding Síle’s stance somewhat. “Are you gone moody now?” She challenges her older brother with a comical expression.

He shakes his head, once again turning down the corners of his mouth. “I'm not, no.” He sighs. His mood has shifted slightly, you can tell, but you're not sure what he's thinking of feeling.

“Cill,” Síle sighs. “I'm not ringing up and inviting her down, that's not what's happening. Birthdays, celebrations, yeah? That's all. And I just ask after the boys.” She explains.

“You can ask me,” he looks at her with a serious expression across his face. “I'm not so fucking far removed from my own kids that I couldn't answer ya.”

“I didn't say you were…” Síle says, and you can see she's taken aback by his snapping. “Cillian, I…” she shrugs her shoulders. “I shouldn't have said anything. I mean the conversations are so infrequent, it's just a touching base sort of thing occasionally…” she ambles for any way to fan out the flames, but you get the sense that everything she says digs her in deeper.

“It's been three years since the divorce, four since we split, and you're only now telling me that the two of ye are taking?!” He sits back in his chair and you feel awkward and anxious. You glance across the table and you can see your feelings echoed in Griff's expression. “I'm their fucking father, you can ask me, for fucks sake, Síle!”

“Cillian…” you reach out your hand as he gets to his feet. You appreciate his upset fully, but you suspect the ferocity of his reaction is rooted in his fatigue. Nobody says a word as he storms away, beer bottle in hand. You exhale heavily and glance first at Griff, then at Síle. “I feel like I warned you,” you say, trying to make light of the atmosphere as it pressed heavily down on the three of you.

You're grateful that she at least gives a grim laugh in response. “Yeah,” she shakes her head. “You did.”

[mutalune]

I woke up at a reasonable time I contacted my realtor I picked out houses to look at this weekend I set up an appt with my mortgage person I did my dishes I did my laundry I took out the piles of trash/empty boxes/etc I decluttered every surface in my apartment I dusted I picked up so much junk that was on the floor I put clothes away I shoved a lot of stuff into boxes and put the boxes in a closet/corner/etc I cleaned my water bottle I cleaned the bathroom I cleaned the window and window sill that I use for late night moody gazing time I fed myself I reviewed my finances I brushed my cat

and I finally feel 72% less overwhelmed by life than I have in ages

All of this is stuff that has been needing done for a long while and somehow I’m supposed to manage these things while also working every day? I’m never going to manage that man I’m going to have to build in “get my life together” staycations into my work time off from now on which is. A bit annoying as that means I have less time off to use for fun things like ACTUALLY GOING ON VACATIONS and doing fun things but I will adjust my life as I need to remain sane because I will love myself and meet myself where I’m at instead of trying to force me to be a way that I’m not 😙

And now. It is 5PM. I have worked enough today. It’s now edible + sudoku + bob’s burgers time baybeeeee 😎

[zepskies]

Oh God, here we go!!

With a mouthful of Donno’s Special of the Day sandwich, Beau came to stand behind a whole group of people who had gathered around a laptop screen propped up on his desk.

Ahaha I love this mention! 😂

In all honesty, he had a confession to make: He’d never watched a single of Diane’s videos to the end. He knew you’d probably watched them a thousand times, but he couldn’t do it. He had watched parts of it, sure, but never the bitter end. He didn’t know how you'd done it. He always figured you were a lot stronger than him.

Hmm interesting...

Turner hadn’t frisked you again – big mistake.

Ha! I love her, she's such a badass.~

Why couldn’t it have been the Friends set in Hollywood? Instead, you had to visit Diane Newton’s arts and crafts project.

He gasped a breathless sound, his eyes growing wide and white. You let go and stepped back. You’d never killed someone before – not like this at least.

Ho lord, I was on the edge of my seat throughout this ENTIRE scene, proverbially biting my nails. 😬😬 Especially wincing at this part:

The roaring Grizzly kicked you right into your bear trap injury. With a painful scream and a searing pain, you fell to your knees and clasped your wound.

(Good metaphor/play on words there though 😅)

You wanted to scream till your lungs were depleted of all oxygen, but you didn’t have enough air for a breakdown in this bunker. You took one last deep breath to ground yourself and closed your eyes.

Ugh, she's so much stronger than me. I'd be a blubbering mess on the floor, poor thing. 😭😭 But it was so interesting watching her try and figure out the puzzle of this room (and Diane's game). I love those moments where you as the audience know there's an answer here somewhere, but you just have to watch on edge as the person works it out in desperation. 🥲

And on the flip side, this is torture for Beau, a man of action, to not be able to do anything. To just wait and see if anything changes.

You stopped then, your body slumping against the wall, too drained to write any more. You didn’t need to. The message was clear.

This is so truly intense -- it's cinematic in so many ways, and I'm loving this suspense...

But most of all, you had thought about Beau. Simple things. The color of his pine green eyes. The smell of his leathery cologne. The sound of his hearty laugh. The warmth of his large hands. Would you ever see, hear, or feel those things again?

And then – water. Cold, relentless water began pouring in, cascading through the new hole in the roof, spilling across the floor in an uncontrolled flood. Fuck.

Oh God, oh God, oh Goddddddd!!!!!!!

He stumbled back onto his feet, his trembling hands picking up a small, golden band. His chest seized. The ring.

Oooh I'm sensing some symbolism here, despite the gravity of the situation!! lol GO, BEAU, GO!!!!

His mind kept circling back to you. You were trapped down there. Trapped and drowning. I’m coming, darlin’. Hold on.

GAH! This is the delicious White Knight-saving angst that I live for. 🥹

Tears blurred his vision as he pressed his ear to your chest, listening for any sign of life.

When I tell you my heart was in my throat during this entire scene, but this is the part that gave me stomach flips...

And for the first time in days, Beau let himself breathe as he steadied your trembling frame in his embrace.

But there was one thing you had always cherished during your involuntary stays: Pudding.

Lmaoo this kind of pudding??

While your brain had adjusted, your heart remained steadfast. Randy had recognized it too and conceded. When he left your bedside, you sent him a smile with tears brimming in your eyes. A chapter closed. A song ended. But your heart was at peace.

Aww in a way I do still feel bad for Randy, but "dissolved;" I think that's the right word for it as well. I love that last line in the scene. 💙

Beau and Randy's parting was bittersweet, but Beau's apprehension coming to the reader's hospital room was honestly kind of adorable (since we already know where this is heading) lol.

“Oh, it was,” Beau confirmed, your heart expanding with a breath of relief. “Going with an insanity defense here. So… what does that mean?” Musingly, you bit down on your lip. “I don’t know. Guess you’ll have to come closer and find out.” Beau’s lips hiked to a wide, genuine smile for the first time in days. His feet began moving toward you.

Awww haha, they're so cute!! I would've loved to see that reunion kiss. 🥹 But I have a feeling these two are finally off to their happy ending...

“How’s the ankle? That stool looks uncomfortable,” he noted, brushing his beard. His head tilted. “You need a pillow? Imma grab you one. Anything you need, darlin’. Officially retired since yesterday, you know? I’m here all day. Just say the word, and I’ll make it happen.”

Lol that is peak Beau behavior there! I love the rambling and the adorable fussing. Makes my heart so full. ❤️ Especially how she's just like, "sit down and be with me, you fool." 😂

I also found it very interesting how they both decided to retire. They've clearly been through the absolute wringer, plus the whole matter of Beau probably never feeling safe in that office again, and the reader needing time upon time to recover from all that trauma. It's a lovely new chapter for these two to have a quieter life together, whether or not they have kids down the line (though I love that conversation they had. Beau's line of “Look, I’m already retiring from the job – I don’t wanna retire from life,” had me dead lol). 🥹

This was a crazy ride of a series, but beautifully weaved with a lovely finish. Amazing job, my friend!! 💕💕

Polaris – Chapter 13

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

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, major angst, kidnapping, confined spaces, violence, injuries, drowning, CPR, life-and-death situations, the fluffiest ending (If any of these warnings trigger you, stay away ⚠️🫶)

Word Count: 7.4k

A/N: We're here! Last part, babes 😘 Thank you guys so much for sticking with me on this one. I know it was another wild ride, but I appreciated your sweet, insightful, and funny comments throughout 🥹🤍

Ready? Don't forget to breathe 😉

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 13: Sure And Certain

“What’s she doing?”

With a mouthful of Donno’s Special of the Day sandwich, Beau came to stand behind a whole group of people who had gathered around a laptop screen propped up on his desk.

He threw another sandwich wrapped in paper on the desk in front of Randy, who sat comfortably in his chair and nodded a ‘thank you.’ Behind him, Jenny leaned casually against the window sill with an intensely knitted brow. Cassie and Denise, on the other hand, had grabbed themselves a set of uncomfortable, worn chairs from the break room and sat on each side of Randy, staring musingly at the screen.

“I think she’s meditating,” Denise put forth.

“No, I think she’s sleeping,” Jenny said dryly.

“I don’t know…” Cassie’s brow furrowed.

Beau frowned as he stepped forward, stealing a glance at the livestream himself. You were still lying perfectly motionless on the long metal table in the middle of the room. They knew you were alive, though. They had watched you crawl up there and lie down. Sometimes, your eyes were open. Sometimes, they were closed for long periods of time.

“She’s still doing what she’s been doing for eight hours now,” Beau huffed. Honestly, he’d be more worried if it wasn’t so damn frustrating.

“Maybe the poor thing’s in shock after everything she’s been through,” Denise suggested sympathetically.

Beau hoped she wasn’t right. Seeing you give up didn’t sit well with him. He couldn’t watch you lie there alone in the cold until there was no air left anymore.

In all honesty, he had a confession to make: He’d never watched a single of Diane’s videos to the end. He knew you’d probably watched them a thousand times, but he couldn’t do it. He had watched parts of it, sure, but never the bitter end. He didn’t know how you'd done it. He always figured you were a lot stronger than him.

But maybe you’d seen something on those videos he didn’t know but had to.

“Y/N?” Randy scoffed at Denise’s proposal with conviction and shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t give up, and I doubt Turner scared her that much. She put a screwdriver in the guy, for crying out loud,” he argued his objection. “No, she’s thinking.”

Beau hated to agree with Randy but hoped to hell he was right.

“Maybe,” Cassie mused and squinted her eyes at the screen. “I think she’s staring at the light above her.”

With narrowed eyes, everyone drew in closer to the screen and observed you.

“I think Cass is right,” Jenny said and retreated to her old position, smirking.

Beau frowned anew and flailed his arms. “Why?”

Fucking Hal Turner.

He got you with a shovel, tied your hands, hauled you back to the cabin and sedated you.

You woke with a few meager slaps across your face before groggily being dragged through the woods at night on unsteady legs. You slipped in and out of consciousness a few times, but you knew Turner wasn’t strong enough to carry you, so he had to keep you awake enough to walk, but sedated enough to not fight back.

You, however, tried to memorize and plan as much as your dazed mind possibly let you. You remembered how long you’d walked from the cabin to the bunker – about thirty minutes. You knew which direction you’d walked as you’d glanced up at the stars – north. And you knew you had hiked slightly up, but not more than twelve degrees. You remembered the faint sounds of a river splashing close by.

Most importantly, you could still feel the screwdriver tucked into your sock in your left boot.

Turner hadn’t frisked you again – big mistake.

As soon as you’d reached the spot of the supposed bunker, you frowned when Turner removed a pile of leaves, moss and dirt from the forest floor and opened the metal hatch that hid underneath.

Oh, hell no…

You weren’t getting in there. If you hadn’t known it before, you surely knew it now.

You would’ve been fine with the cabin because you knew Beau and the department would eventually find it. He’d get a list of their properties and find it. Denise had been in charge of those, and she’d been meticulous.

You would’ve been fine with an above-ground bunker, or even halfway above, too. Once the team would find the cabin, they’d know Turner and you couldn’t have gone far. They’d find the blood and test it, realizing with relief that most of it wasn’t yours. They’d know you’d be in the general area, and Beau would move heaven and earth to find you.

But this thing? They’d never fucking find you here.

Roughly, Turner shoved you down the tight metal stairway, leading to a room you knew only too well from videos. Now, you were here and saw it all for real, like glimpsing behind the scenes of a movie set.

Why couldn’t it have been the Friends set in Hollywood? Instead, you had to visit Diane Newton’s arts and crafts project.

Hal Turner cut your ties – again. And you saw it as your perfect way to escape. Again.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

With your elbows and shoulders, you shoved Turner backwards and bent down, quickly retrieving the screwdriver from your boot. You spun around and thrust it straight into his left carotid artery.

He gasped a breathless sound, his eyes growing wide and white. You let go and stepped back.

You’d never killed someone before – not like this at least.

But then Turner inhaled a deep breath of air – strained, angry, fighting. And you finally understood where the phrase white-hot rage stemmed from.

The roaring Grizzly kicked you right into your bear trap injury. With a painful scream and a searing pain, you fell to your knees and clasped your wound.

He then fled up the stairs like a rat through a sewer cover, tossing the hatch shut behind him. There was the sound of a thick lock before some shuffling followed. At least he couldn’t have done a good job on covering up the entrance. Maybe they’d find you easier this way.

Better yet, you hoped Turner would succumb to his fatal injury not too far from the hatch. If they found his body close by, they could find you too, right?

At least you’d gotten the bastard…

You wanted to scream till your lungs were depleted of all oxygen, but you didn’t have enough air for a breakdown in this bunker. You took one last deep breath to ground yourself and closed your eyes.

Then, you opened them.

The bright neon light flickered above as your eyes darted around the room. The space was sparse, concrete walls peeling in places, as though even the structure was trying to escape. You didn’t want to think too much about how long you would be trapped here.

You already knew this place by heart and what would happen if you didn’t get out.

At the edge of the corner, sat a row of rusty metal lockers. Shuffling over on your good leg, you opened the shrieking door and found that the lockers held various odds and ends – tools, cans, an assortment of chemical bottles with faded labels, and a single, cracked lightbulb resting on its side.

The other victims had received these items as well but never pieced enough of it together to escape. A few drank the chemical bottles for a quicker death out of sheer desperation. While you unfortunately couldn’t solve Diane’s little riddle either, you swore to yourself poison would never be a last resort.

You’d seen those deaths – they had neither been quick nor painless.

You found a first-aid kit as well and lowered yourself to the cold ground, bandaging your ankle. As you tightened the bandage to stop the blood flow, your eyes glanced up the shelves.

Your breath hitched. In the back of your mind, a vague memory from your 7th grade science teacher stirred – something about pressure, something about triggering a chain reaction. You tried to push it away but the thought wouldn’t leave. Maybe an escape was possible after all. There were things you could use – you just needed to figure out how.

The jar of white powder caught your eye. It was too fine to be salt. The label was half-scratched off, but you could make out the word "sulfate." Next to it, a small container of copper wiring lay scattered across the shelf – tiny, thin strands coiled tightly like little snakes, their sharp ends glinting in the harsh neon light.

You pulled at your sleeves nervously, staring at the broken lightbulb once more. If you twisted it carefully, the filament inside would snap. Maybe. Then there was the sharp wire… You let the idea float in your mind for just a moment longer before shaking it off.

And there was that other thing. Something buried deeper in the corner, an oily rag, half-soaked in a pungent smell you couldn’t quite place. You made a mental note. They weren’t much, but they were something.

If you could just piece it all together…

Tiredly, you heaved yourself onto the large metal table in the middle of the room. It was harsh, cold, and uncomfortable, but it was all you had. You lied down on your back and stared at the ceiling, at the flickering neon light above you. Then, you closed your eyes again.

Think, think, think…

For hours, Beau had now stared at the grainy footage, watching your unmoving form. The neon light flickered overhead, casting long shadows against the cold, cement walls of the bunker. His hands were trembling as he gripped the armrests of his chair, his body taut with the weight of helplessness.

The others had left his office a while ago, scrambling to find a way to get you out. There was a search going on, a team of skilled rescuers turning over every stone in the general vicinity of the cabin. Beau knew you couldn’t be far from there. And still, he feared he wouldn’t find you in time.

Truthfully, he knew the only one that could get you out was you. If you just stopped lying there…

Nothing. Not even a twitch. What the hell were you thinking about?

You were alive. He knew you were, reminding himself of that fact on an hourly basis. But for all the good it did, it didn’t matter. The silence on the feed was more suffocating than any sound.

But then…

A subtle movement. A shift in the shadows, so slight that at first, he thought it was just his eyes playing tricks on him.

His heart skipped.

Your fingers twitched, just enough to catch his attention. And then, slowly, agonizingly, you dragged yourself up, struggling to sit. He watched the quiet shuffle of your body across the concrete floor. You were alive. You were still fighting.

“Guys!” his gruff voice called loudly for the cavalry, but he didn’t wait for them to flood into his office.

Beau leaned forward in his chair, holding his breath. His heart hammered in his chest as you lifted your head, your eyes flicking briefly to the camera – aware. You knew he was watching.

Your movements were shaky, too weak for anything swift, but they were purposeful. You scanned the room with desperation. The broken lightbulb in the rusty locker, jagged glass fragments scattered on the shelf, caught your attention.

You reached for it.

Beau’s stomach twisted. No, don’t…

But it was too late. You pressed the sharp edge against the skin of your palm, wincing with the effort as blood began to bead at the surface. His breath hitched, fingers curling into fists at his sides. The blood flowed in slow, steady streams, painting your hand.

You didn’t flinch.

You moved with a practiced precision, grimly intent. With shaky fingers, you scooped some blood on your pointer finger and pressed the pad to the wall, your arm trembling as you began to write.

Seismograph.

Beau’s eyes locked onto the word, his brow furrowing.

Seismograph?

You were so weak. You could barely hold yourself up, and yet, you were still thinking. Still trying. Then you turned to the wall once more, collecting more blood on your finger as you struggled to form the second word.

3 hours.

You stopped then, your body slumping against the wall, too drained to write any more. You didn’t need to. The message was clear.

The feed cut to static for a brief moment, the camera buzzing with distortion, before it returned to the silent, unchanging image of your still form against the wall. But Beau wasn’t looking at you anymore.

His mind raced, blood thundering in his ears. Seismograph. 3 hours.

A tremor ran through him – an earthquake in his chest.

Seismograph. You were giving him a clue. Something seismic. A signal of some kind. His gut twisted. He was supposed to know what it meant.

3 hours. What did that mean? Three hours before something? Three hours after something?

He didn’t have time to analyze it. You were sending him a lifeline. And whatever it meant, he was going to find you.

“What’s going on?” Jenny was the first to thunder into his office, her heart beating fast in her ribcage. She came to stand behind Beau and glanced at the screen, her brow knitting at the crimson words on the concrete wall in the same way his had. “Seismograph. 3 hours,” the blonde read aloud. “What does it mean?”

Cassie stood quietly in the doorframe, listening and thinking. “What is in those lockers?”

“I don’t know. We never found a bunker before, and Diane sure as hell ain’t telling us,” Beau huffed frustratedly.

“But there are chemicals of some kind,” Jenny pointed out, squinting her eyes at the laptop.

“Maybe she’s building a bomb,” Cassie proposed.

Beau pondered the theory for a beat. Then, he nodded. “We already know the area of the bunker. We could probably find her exact location through the tremors.”

“With a seismograph,” Jenny finished the thought. “Well, let’s hope she doesn’t blow herself up first.”

Beau hoped that, too. He didn’t even know you possessed bomb-making skills, but he figured you hadn’t known that fact about yourself either. This was by far not a thoroughly planned undertaking.

“Alright, get a damn seismograph here. I don’t care where you get it or what it costs. We’ve got three hours,” Beau barked his orders with a racing heart.

Your message had just bought him time, and he wasn’t going to waste it. You were still alive. He could still save you. And he wasn’t going to stop until he did.

Your breath came in short, labored gasps as you hunched over the crude metal table in the dark, sterile bunker. The faint hum of the camera feeding into the livestream echoed through the silence, the red light blinking softly as its lens captured your every movement, broadcasting your quiet panic.

You knew Beau was watching. They all probably were. You could almost feel their eyes on you, their silent judgment, their hope that this would work. They’d see the sweat glistening on your brow, the faint tremor in your hands as you worked on your little science fair project.

But it wasn’t fear that made you shake now. It was the cold certainty that time was running out.

You carefully twisted the wire around the small, makeshift device you’d cobbled together from the limited supplies at your disposal. Every movement was deliberate, every breath controlled, even as your mind raced a marathon. You lifted the device to your ear, listening for the faint click as you tightened the final screw. Done.

The one thing they had to get right was the seismic readings.

The bomb was crude – imperfect – but it was all you had. The plan was simple: blow the door open if you could, cause a seismic tremor, and hope the team could triangulate your location. They would track the explosion on the seismograph, find your coordinates, and come for you.

If you were lucky.

Maybe you should leave another message behind for him. In those hours you had lain on the table and pondered, you had thought about your escape. You had also thought about various torturous ways to kill Diane. You had celebrated your little win against Turner. But most of all, you had thought about Beau.

Simple things. The color of his pine green eyes. The smell of his leathery cologne. The sound of his hearty laugh. The warmth of his large hands. Would you ever see, hear, or feel those things again?

A tear streaked your cheek that you swiftly wiped away. Sobbing would cost you too much goddamn air. You couldn’t afford it.

You stole one last glance at the camera, your face a grim mask of resolve. Then you moved quickly, setting the device in place. You looked at the door on top of the steps – solid metal, bolted shut, impossible to open without the right tools.

Tools you didn’t have.

You hurried down the stairs and pushed the metal table onto its side, using it as a shield from the blast as you hunched down low behind it. It had been a little over three hours. It was time. With a sharp breath, you pushed the button of the remote detonator.

The explosion hit like a fist. The sound was deafening, but muffled in the confined space. Your ears rang as the shockwave slammed into you, throwing you back against the cold, unforgiving concrete wall. Your head spun, and for a moment, everything went black.

Then came the tremor.

It rippled through the ground like a violent pulse. The bunker groaned – metal creaking, concrete cracking. The lights flickered and went out, plunging you into near-total darkness, save for the dim emergency glow above the door.

And then, with a deep, bone-rattling crack, something shifted above you.

You scrambled to your feet, disoriented. What the hell was that?

A series of sharp, cracking sounds echoed from the ceiling, followed by a wet, muffled splintering. Your breath caught in your throat as a large root – gnarled and thick as a limb – suddenly pierced through the bunker’s ceiling, splintering the metal and concrete. The roots of a large tree slithered down – a slow, creeping thing – and it didn’t stop. It tore through the ceiling like it had been waiting for this moment, its jagged edges scraping against the walls.

And then – water. Cold, relentless water began pouring in, cascading through the new hole in the roof, spilling across the floor in an uncontrolled flood.

Fuck.

Your heart pounded wildly as you stumbled backward, the water already rising around your ankles, creeping steadily toward your knees. You could hear the steady drip of water splashing against the cold, metal floor, each drop sending a ripple through your chest.

The livestream camera remained on, the blinking red light still steady, but your mind was running a mile a minute – panic rising like a tidal wave. You had no time. You had to move, had to act. But the water was already rising faster than you could think. The air was thick, the walls seemed to be closing in on you, and the roots above groaned ominously as if the earth itself was about to swallow you whole.

You ran toward the door, your boots splashing through the growing puddle. But aside from causing a giant hole in the ceiling, the bomb hadn’t done enough damage to escape. The root’s tendrils were still creeping down from above, twisting around the ceiling. You could hear the scrape of it, its thick fingers reaching into the dark corners of the room.

The sound of the water filled your ears as it surged up around your waist. You stumbled, falling to one knee as the icy liquid engulfed you. Your chest tightened, panic clawing at your throat.

It was too much. The explosion, the quake, the roots, and now the rising water – everything was converging at once. A part of you knew this was it. You wouldn’t get out. They wouldn’t get here in time to save you. But a small flicker of hope was still alive in your heart.

You clutched the camera’s wire, the blinking red light still visible in the murk, as if it was the last lifeline you had left.

“Please,” you breathed, although you knew they couldn’t hear you, but your voice was barely audible over the rush of water anyways. “Please, find me.”

The woods were dense, the trees thick with fog and shadows. Beau ran through the underbrush, his boots pounding against the damp earth, the scent of pine and wet leaves filling his lungs. Sweat stung his green eyes, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he pushed his body beyond its limits. His heart thundered in his chest, not from the exertion, but from the terror building inside him, growing with each passing second.

He’d found it.

The seismograph had done its job. The tremor from the explosion had sent ripples through the earth, and in those ripples, he’d pinpointed the location. There was no time to think, no time to second-guess. He didn’t know how much time you had left, but the second the signal went off and the icy water of a nearby river had wound its way into the confined space, rising like a tide as it flooded the bunker, he’d known it could only be minutes till you took your last breath.

Beau’s mind reeled at the thought.

He stumbled over a fallen log, his eyes never leaving the ground ahead of him. He was so close. It had to be here. He had seconds to make it. He knew it had to be deep. The bunker was buried beneath the forest floor, hidden like a trap, and there was only one way in: a hatch maybe, barely visible among the trees, the earth heavy with moss and years of neglect. He had to get there – now.

He could hear the team searching all around him, crying with calls of your name that echoed through the trees. As he stared up through the tops of the towering pines, he could see the North Star twinkling brightly above him. His heart twinged. His gaze dropped and then landed on the far beam of his flashlight. Something flickered in the distance, just a few yards away from him, buried in the moss.

He stumbled back onto his feet, his trembling hands picking up a small, golden band. His chest seized.

The ring.

His ears picked up the babbling sounds of water. The river was close, only a few feet away. That had to be it. You’d left him another sign.

Grabbing his flashlight, his hands hastily searched the ground. His fingers brushed a thick patch of bramble, and then – there. His breath halted. Metal.

The hatch.

He skidded to a stop, his hands shaking as he dropped to his knees and cleared the leaves and brush away. The metal was a bit busted and bent out of shape, probably from the bomb, but the bolt that kept it tightly shut was still in tact. His fingers fumbled for the lock, every second stretching longer than the last.

“It’s here!” Beau yelled loudly, calling the others for help. “She’s here!”

His mind kept circling back to you. You were trapped down there. Trapped and drowning.

I’m coming, darlin’. Hold on.

Finally, his fingers found the latch, and with a metallic groan, the hatch creaked open.

The stench of damp earth hit him first – the cold, stagnant air of a place that had been shut off from the world for too long. His flashlight flickered as he shined it down into the narrow opening. The steps below were steep, the darkness absolute. He could hear the distant drip of water, and with it, a rising sense of urgency.

He didn’t waste time. Without a second thought, he grabbed the flashlight and began to descend, the metal of the hatch scraping against the edges of the door as he pulled it wide open. His breath caught as he stepped into the narrow stairwell.

The moment he hit the bottom, the sound of rushing water was unmistakable.

The tunnel was flooded. The water was rising fast, covering the floor in murky, black waves. The small concrete room at the base of the stairs had become a watery tomb, the level inching toward the ceiling.

He shouted your name, his voice crackling in the damp air.

But there was no answer.

Beau pushed forward, his heart in his throat, eyes scanning every inch of the flooded room. Your presence was all he could feel – your spirit, your strength, your last message. He had to find you.

A sudden thud echoed through the chamber, the faint sound of something – or someone – shifting beneath the water.

Beau’s eyes locked on the back wall of the room, where the water was thickest, swirling around a pile of debris. His mind screamed. The seconds were melting away, and he couldn’t afford to waste a single one.

The wall was crumbling under the pressure, but the thing that struck him wasn’t just the damage. It was the stillness. There was no movement. No air.

His pulse spiked as he waded through the rising water, kicking through the murk with his boots, moving faster now, hands trembling as he shoved aside debris.

Please, please, please…

And then, beneath the surface, a hand – limp, floating like a ghost. Beau lunged, his fingers brushing against your wrist, cold and unyielding.

He cried your name again, his voice hoarse with panic as he pulled you to him, cradling your body against his chest.

Your skin was ice-cold. Your hair matted against your face, your body limp in his arms. You were unconscious – or worse.

Don’t you dare be dead. Don’t you dare.

Beau’s breath came in harsh bursts, his hands fumbling against you, trying to find any sign of life. The water was rising too fast.

He wasn’t going to lose you. Not like this.

With a single, desperate motion, he hoisted you into his arms. He didn’t stop. His feet pounded the water-soaked concrete as he bolted back toward the stairs, his lungs burning, the world blurring around him.

Get out. Get out.

He could feel the water rising behind him, flooding the room with the force of a tide. He didn’t know if the two of you would make it. He didn’t know if he could make it.

But he was going to try. He was going to fight like hell to keep you alive.

The hatch was there, just ahead, the only way out. He pushed harder, faster, as the water reached his knees, then his waist. Every breath was a battle. Every second felt like an eternity.

With one final push, he reached the top of the stairs, stumbling out into the fresh air, gasping for breath, his legs weak beneath him. He laid you on the ground, your limp body draped across the earth.

Beau’s hands were shaking as he knelt beside you. “Darlin’,” he whispered, shaking you gently.

Nothing.

Tears blurred his vision as he pressed his ear to your chest, listening for any sign of life.

A faint, fragile beat.

You were still with him.

He could barely breathe, panic threatening to swallow him whole, but he knew he had to keep it together.

He leaned over your body, his hands moving quickly. “Come on, darlin’. Come on…” His voice cracked as he positioned his hands, interlocking his fingers over your sternum. He gave two hard compressions, the sound of his palms meeting your chest too loud in the thick silence.

Still nothing. Your skin was frozen, your lips tinged blue.

His breath hitched, and he started again – one, two, three…

His heart hammered in his chest as he leaned down, pinching your nose and sealing his mouth over yours. He breathed into you, feeling the faint rise of your chest beneath him.

Please, please, don’t leave me.

He gave you another breath, then returned to the chest compressions – one, two, three…

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly, each moment more desperate than the last. His hands moved faster, his fingers slick with water and sweat as he pressed into you again and again. He wasn’t thinking. He couldn’t.

He hadn’t even taken note of the crowd that had gathered around him, watching the dire spectacle.

Finally – after what felt like a lifetime – your body jerked beneath his hands. You gasped, a harsh, ragged breath, and Beau nearly collapsed in relief. He cradled your head gently, his green eyes searching your face as you coughed weakly, water spilling from your mouth.

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” he breathed into your hair, his voice thick with emotion and eyes filled with tears as he kissed your crown repeatedly, his hold tight around your body.

You opened your eyes, just a sliver at first, and then you blinked, your hand weakly reaching for his cheek before it dropped to his chest.

“Beau…” you whispered, your voice barely a breath before you let out the first few sobs and coiled against him.

“It’s alright. I’m here.”

And for the first time in days, Beau let himself breathe as he steadied your trembling frame in his embrace.

Hospitals weren’t your favorite thing in the world. In fact, you had pretty much avoided them your whole life. You’d screamed your way through your tonsils surgery when you were five. You refused to get your broken arm cast when you were fourteen. But there was one thing you had always cherished during your involuntary stays:

Pudding.

Randy was the first person that stopped by early in the morning. You didn’t know if that decision had been a collusive one, agreed upon by the whole team, but you were grateful for the visit – more grateful when he brought you your sweet treat.

Something had been going on, though, while you were locked up – you could tell. As you’d clung to Beau’s chest last night in the forest, you caught Randy in the crowd around you before he ducked his head and retreated into the shadows. Your heart broke at the sight.

Beau didn’t leave your side, though, even riding in the ambulance with you while reassuring you throughout. He held your hand tightly, but his shoulders were stiff. And when they wheeled you out of the emergency room, the doors closed in front of him. You hadn’t seen or heard from him since.

You’d only slept for about five hours, but it had been a deep slumber. You had been out like a light. But as soon as you woke, you felt the aches of your body. There wasn’t a single limb or organ that didn’t groan in pain. Your ankle was the worst, though – the doctors told you you were lucky you got to keep it by the degree of infection it had suffered. The murky water of the river surely hadn’t helped cleaning it.

Sepsis, hypothermia, drowning, and lifelong trauma were just a few of the things you had to recover from.

There was also the dissolution of your marriage – you’d finally found the right term. Not widowed, not divorced – dissolved.

Randy stayed for three hours, and you had an honest and long talk. Oddly enough, being in his presence didn’t feel strange anymore. It felt familiar.

While your brain had adjusted, your heart remained steadfast. Randy had recognized it too and conceded. When he left your bedside, you sent him a smile with tears brimming in your eyes.

A chapter closed. A song ended. But your heart was at peace.

Beau’s heart pounded furiously in his chest as he stood glued outside your hospital room. Every laugh that echoed through the door felt like a gut punch.

Randy had asked to speak to you first. Beau had granted him the request – not that it had been really up to him. But Randy had been gracious last night, and the sheriff knew it couldn’t have been easy.

Beau had arrived at the hospital around noon, only to find you and Randy were still talking. Not only talking but laughing. While his heart murmured a tiny bit, he supposed it was a good sign. Who said you had to throw plates or the occasional vase at each other?

Twenty minutes later, Randy finally exited and ran straight into Beau around the corner, who had leaned against the wall and tried to answer the many nosy questions of the group chat. He didn’t know why the hell Cassie had invited him into this one…

“Oh, hey.” Randy chuckled lightly as he bumped into Beau, eyeing him with a suspicious brow. There was the flash of a smirk on his face.

Eager, are we? Beau could read Randy thoughts, even though his former friend refrained from saying them out loud.

“Hey.” Beau’s voice was low. He swallowed thickly as he tried his hardest not to avert his gaze to the linoleum flooring. “How is she?”

“In good spirits,” Randy replied but then paused. “For now. I think the morphine’s kicking in.”

“So, uhm–”

Beau didn’t know where that sentence would end. Flat-out asking Randy how your conversation went would’ve just been pathetically nosy – and rude. His mama had raised him better than that.

“I’m going back to Houston,” Randy still answered the unasked question.

“With, uhm–” Your name hung on the tip of Beau’s tongue before he bit down, noting Randy’s shaking head.

“Don’t push it.”

“Right…” Beau smacked his lips and cleared his throat, his hand scratching the nape of his neck. “So, what about you and me, huh? I know right now’s a stretch, but maybe down the road we could grab a beer?”

Randy’s lips pursed at first – unsure. But after a beat passed, he nodded slightly. “Maybe, yeah.” He hesitated. “Hit me up if you’re ever in Houston, alright?”

“Yeah, alright.” Beau’s lips twitched to a smile of surprise, but he still wished there was more he could do, more he could offer. It didn’t feel enough. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Randy gave him a tight-lipped nod and patted him on the shoulder as he passed him. “You too.”

Beau watched Randy angle towards the elevators before exhaling a deep breath. Green eyes then drifted to your door. His heart was both elated and heavy. Questions circled in his mind.

What now?

The case was as good as over. Would you leave now? Where would you go? Beau knew your home was in Houston. Should he move back there, too? Would you even want him to? He’d broken up with you. Again. Were you still mad at him for it? He had tried to restrain himself last night, not knowing where the two of you stood. He held your hand in his, even though it was your whole body he wanted to keep holding in his arms.

You’d chosen no one. Maybe this was a day of break-ups for you.

Beau’s knuckles softly knocked on your door before he entered. Unsurely, he stood until your eyes glanced up and found his. A smile rose on your lips.

“Hey, there you are. You just missed Randy,” you said.

At a loss for words, Beau stared at you for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest. You still looked pretty rough – hooked up to IVs, your face and arms covered in bruises and cuts. But at least you were here – alive. There was some color back in your cheeks. Until a few hours ago, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to see you again.

“Oh, uh, passed him in the hall,” Beau finally said and obnoxiously cleared his throat. “Said he was going back to Houston.”

“Yeah, he told me. I gave him my apartment,” you said, your voice a casual melody as you ignored the tension that was building between you two.

Beau’s brows shot up. “You gave him your place?”

“Least I could do. I sold his home.”

“Where are you gonna stay?”

“Oh, I don’t know yet. Guess I’m kinda homeless now. Again,” you said and hid the hint of a smile. You could see his wires were crossed.

“Hmm,” he hummed and shifted on his heels.

“Thank you,” you then said softly, trying to fight the tears that pricked your eyes. You swallowed heavily. “For saving me, you know? Bringing me back to life…”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied with a tight-lipped smile and a shake of his head, although a lump formed in the back of his throat at the haunting image of you, limb in his arms. He never wanted to see something like this again. He never wanted to feel that crippling, numbing fear ever again.

You snorted slightly at his understatement, fumbling with your fingers in your lap. “Feel like I have to. They told me you gave me CPR for three minutes straight. They said I was pretty much gone.”

“They’re exaggerating. It wasn’t that long,” he brushed off. “‘Sides, I wasn’t gonna let you die on my watch.”

“Like I said, thanks,” you reiterated and sent him a smile. “So, why are you standing so far away like I’m radioactive?”

Beau pursed his lips. “Well, you are kinda my kryptonite, darlin’.” He scratched the back of his neck, his boots still not moving closer. “Don’t really know where we stand, y’know? I mean, last time… that morning��� I guess I’m tryna say I’m sorry for puttin’ you through that. So, on a scale from one to ten, how mad are you at me right now?”

“Well, if you put it like that… zero.” You grinned teasingly. “Hard to stay mad at you, considering you’ve saved my life, you know? I’m willing to forget your momentary stupidity. Well, if it really was momentary…”

“Oh, it was,” Beau confirmed, your heart expanding with a breath of relief. “Going with an insanity defense here. So… what does that mean?”

Musingly, you bit down on your lip. “I don’t know. Guess you’ll have to come closer and find out.”

Beau’s lips hiked to a wide, genuine smile for the first time in days. His feet began moving toward you.

Enjoying the warm rays of sunlight on your face, you exhaled blissfully as you sat outside the trailer, leaning comfortably back in your chair.

“There ya go – one extra black, extra strong cup of joe.” Beau handed you your favorite mug, his pine green eyes drifting to your injured leg, propped up on a wooden stool in front of you.

“Thank you,” you replied with a smile and practically inhaled the black liquid, its warmth filling you.

“How’s the ankle? That stool looks uncomfortable,” he noted, brushing his beard. His head tilted. “You need a pillow? Imma grab you one. Anything you need, darlin’. Officially retired since yesterday, you know? I’m here all day. Just say the word, and I’ll make it happen.”

Amused, you laughed a little. “I don’t need a pillow. The ankle’s fine. Just sit down next to me and enjoy the sun, will you?”

“It’s freezing.”

“I like how the snow twinkles in the sun,” you said and patted the chair next to you. With a groan, Beau sat down, wrapping his suede jacket a little tighter around himself while you sat cozily draped in the Sherpa jacket you had stolen from his closet. It was big and wide and warm and smelled heavenly like him. “‘Sides, I have a pretty nice jacket to keep me warm.” He frowned a little at you, but an amused smile twitched on his lips. “You said I should make myself comfortable – anything I wanted.”

“Didn’t think you’d raid my closet,” he huffed playfully.

“Hey, I only came here with a tiny carry-on.”

You’d been released from the hospital last night after spending a full week there. In the meantime, Beau had decided to hang up the sheriff’s hat, handing the badge off to Jenny – you’d fully agreed with the decision. You knew his heart hadn’t been in it for a while now.

He’d also asked you to move in.

And moreover, you’d finished your last reports and then handed in your resignation at the FBI. One serial killer kidnapping was enough for you. Diane had showed you where your limit was, and that was okay. You looked forward to a quiet life with the man beside you. It was its own adventure. God knows Diane’s life wouldn’t be as happy and peaceful behind bars.

Neither of you had spoken to her since your rescue. Sheriff Hoyt had handled all things on that end. By the amount of evidence they had to go through, Ted even surmised her trial wouldn’t start until three years from now. Until then, Beau and you had promised each other you wouldn’t waste another thought on her.

Well, you supposed you had to waste some thoughts on her. A big publisher from New York had already approached you about a book deal – and the money was more than good.

“Guess we’ll have to go down to Houston to get your stuff once you’re back on your feet,” Beau said.

Musingly, you scrunched your nose and hummed. “Not sure that’s necessary. It’s not gonna fit in the trailer anyways – not with your extensive closet.”

Amused, Beau pursed his lips and chuckled. He rubbed a hand through his beard. “Yeah, I was thinking about that… Maybe we should move. Get a bigger place, you know?”

“Do they make bigger Airstreams?” you murmured teasingly into your mug, cocking an eyebrow.

His tongue poked the inside of his cheek. “I was thinking more along the lines of a house. A ranch, maybe.”

“What about a houseboat?”

“Nah, that wouldn’t work with the kids. Try keeping a toddler in a life jacket all day,” Beau quipped, shaking his head. He didn’t even seem to notice what had slipped out of his mouth.

Your brow creased. “Kids?”

His wide eyes found yours, mouth opening and closing. He let out nervous breath. “Yeah, uh, something else I wanted to talk to you about…”

“Are you pregnant?” you joked and snorted into your coffee. Then, your brow furrowed. “Wait, am I? Did the doctor say something to you? Why would you smuggle tequila into my room if you knew?”

“No one’s pregnant, darlin’…” Beau laughed softly, his hand reaching out to cover your thigh. “I was just thinking maybe more a down-the-line kinda thing. In the, uh, near future, you know?”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “Well, uhm, I didn’t think that was on table. We’ve never talked about it. I mean, I honestly didn’t think you’d want to…”

“Kinda gettin’ tired of people always assuming things about me,” Beau retorted with a little smirk. He squeezed your thigh. “Kids are on the table, darlin’.”

“Huh.”

Clearing his throat, Beau leaned forward in his seat. “You know, I had a little chat with Randy…”

You scoffed in surprise. “He actually told you?”

“Bigger question is, why didn’t you tell me?” Beau’s brow raised almost scoldingly. He was a pretty great dad.

“Honestly? Because it’s none of your business. That was between me and my then-late husband,” you replied with a sharpness that matched his look – there was a playfulness lying underneath, though. You both knew the other had a point. You exhaled a long sigh. “Look, that was four years ago. A lot has changed since then. I haven’t really thought about it since Randy’s funeral. Then Mexico happened. God knows we were nowhere near ready for a conversation like this…”

You gave him a shrug of your shoulders and sipped on your coffee.

“So, you don’t want kids?”

“Do you?”

Beau chuckled lightly, his fingers tapping the chair’s armrest. “Look, I’m already retiring from the job – I don’t wanna retire from life,” he said. “Sure, for a long time, I wasn’t thinking about another kid, but Emily’s almost off to college. Would be nice to feel needed again, do it all over… I don’t wanna fish every day till I drop.”

You snorted a laugh.

“So? What d’you say?”

Biting down on your lip, you glanced behind you at the Airstream. Then you found his green eyes and grinned. “Yeah, I think we’ll definitely need a bigger place. Maybe something between a houseboat and a ranch?”

Beau could barely contain his smile but played along. “And what would that be?”

It ended up being a lake house. Beau fished every morning. You watched him and the sunrise from the window as you wrote your novel.

The baby arrived by next Christmas.

THE END

I think reader would be unstoppable in an Escape Room 😂

I so hope you enjoyed this last part, loves! What a wonderful journey it's been. Thank you to every single one of you from the bottom of my heart 🤍

And PS: I do have a little future one-shot in mind for them 😉

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@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@thebiggerbear @star-yawnznn

Everything Beau Arlen: @snowayumi

Polaris Series: @corruptedcruiser

[ganondoodle]

11 pm again and i spent my evening trying to draw but ending up deleting like 5 attempts again and i just want to cry

cant even get upset anymore, i just sit here looking at the wasted time and just kinda going 'yeah ... what did i expect' and the tears are already back :I

[chr0n1c-ag0ny]

(cw: talk of suicide, self harm, etc.)

Kunidazai's first kiss not being some moment of realization or confession of feelings, not some romance movie moment, it's not followed by smiles or laughs, or even words.

No.

Their first kiss came months after the pair had been partnered up at the ADA. Kunikida had thought he'd seen it all. He'd learned to call Dazai at least twice a day, once in the morning and once at night, three times if they didn't have work, more than that if Dazai never showed up. He'd learned how to tell a bad day from a bad day just by the sound of the other man's voice. He'd spent long nights and weekends and days off (most of which were sick days he took off for Dazai's sake) taking care of the other man, changing bandages hand holding his hand. He didn't think it could get any worse.

but it did, it found a way, Kunikida had stopped Dazai from genuinely making an attempt on his life (he'd stopped his more... spur of the moment attempts, the ones that had minimal effort or true intent to them, before. they were always scary even if he knew dazai would more or less walk away unscathed, but this was different), barging through his door just in time to keep the blade from hitting his wrist that final time.

Dazai wasn't there, for lack of a better word, sitting there, loosely conscious, as Kunikida re-wrapped new and old wounds, as he wiped the blood off of him, as he helped him change into new clothes. Kunikida could smell the alcohol wafting off of him, stared into blank, empty eyes, talked to deaf ears, hoping to coax his partner back from his absent haze, but nothing broke the blur his partner was stuck in.

he tugged him up off the floor and onto the couch, knowing it was a safe 'no-mans-land' both could sit on without waking up dark memories. he wanted to hold him, wanted to take him into his arms and never let go, but he didn't know if he was allowed, if he could touch Dazai like that, so he just sat and watched, not knowing what to do, when Dazai suddenly spoke.

"why?" his voice a whisper, "why do you even care so much?"

and he would try and put it into words, tried to tell him he deserved to be cared for and to have people worry for him, that he was his partner and it was his job to worry, that he loved him goddammit and he was scared of losing him, but nothing seems to reach Dazai.

he he leans forward, slow enough for Dazai to pull away even in the state he was in if need be, and kissed him. not on the lips, this wasn't a profession of love, no, no he presses his lips to the curve between his nose and his cheek.

- I don't want to lose you. I love you. it hurts and is stained with tears, but it's there and I don't want it to go away. I don't want you to go away. stay here, please, please stay here - He hopes to say.

the kiss is soft, so soft he's not sure Dazai could feel it, but any firmer and he thinks he might shatter his partner. He keeps placing little butterfly kisses to his cheek and the bridge of his nose regardless, tasting the salt of their shared tears. he doesn't even know why he did it, it wasn't something he ever thought of doing, but he didn't know how else to tell Dazai how he felt, so he showed him.

Dazai sinks into it, tries to make Kunikida kiss him in earnest, but Kunikida knows better than to try and let Dazai self medicate with physical affections, and instead takes him close, hugging him tighter than he's ever hugged anyone before, as if to hold the brunette together. Dazai lets him with a huff. Kunikida rests his lips against the man's greasy hair, holding his partner as close as he could. they're both crying. it hurts. the kiss burned and ached and might as well be a bruise festering on both of their faces. but neither of them would trade it for the world, cause there is some understanding in it.

Dazai calls Kunikida next time.

[millerflintstone]

This made me laugh, made me muse introspectively, got distracted doing that and then while scrolling tumblr on my phone, went back and replayed parts especially 16:26 through about 16:50.

[mashmouths]

does anyone remember "some nights" by fun.

(edit by @stabyou)

[candycryptids]

Hiya! I hope you're doing well today! I love your characters and how you've structered their bios! Since Chuusday is listed first, is she technically your official WOL or is it someone else? Do you canonically have a WOL in the first place?

Also, I find it SO sweet that you and one of your partners both play FFXIV and have characters paired together ;w; Did you meet ingame or long before either of you started playing? Either way I wish you both the best!!! <3 - gardenofballads 🌻

Awaaaah! Im doing pretty ok!!! Taking time to answer this as a wind down from Emerald Weapon Ex Brain Soupage. And I’m so glad! ;W; I think I butchered one of those “Get To Know An OC” thingies- uhh… oh [this one] actually! I chopped a lot out and I think added a couple different thingums instead because there was so much to that that it felt overwhelming to try to look at let alone fill out LOL but it was a really good jumping off point uvu;

And!!! Hilariously Chuu was my First XIV Character, so she’s dear to my heart for being the first one- but she very quickly made it known being the WOL even as an AU was something of a Joke (Her character showed great reluctance and even frustration at having to do So Much World Saving, maybe a side-effect of me rushing through MSQ to catch up with my other spouse [Who plays Talia, though they’ve got less time for XIV these days ;0;] and the rest of my friends who were all EndGame already at the time in Shadowbringers fhdjfjsjfs.) So I made…… many alts. Throwing spaghetti at the wall but I have SEVERE side-character/NPC brain and kept making “supporting cast” types =w=; it actually took me like. 3? Alts before making an ACTUAL WoL with my husband (Ishi’li and Kizuna) (as of Right Meow, they’re in post ARR, but we’ve been working on Keathan and Tuesday together because Keathan was… Keathan’s first character in xiv XD so we’ve been jaunting through the story together and experiencing every inch of it so we can pick and choose what The Boys™ get up to when we wanna focus on them x3)

🥰 I knew both speece during at least high school- but I actually knew Keathan as early as Elementary school hehe 😌 tho the speece didn’t proper marry until… i’unno, 2017? (For frustrating legal reasons, I’m not legally married, but. As it goes. Someday we’ll have money to visit the one state that has legal poly marriages. Also I struggle to remember our wedding year 🫢)

Since managing to make a Co-WoL with my husband I’ve managed to make one other Alt meant to be a Solo-WoL (Mochiie) but I have to really wrinkle my brain to sink time into playing him, since I’m trying to take screenshots throughout the story at what I find to be inspiring beats xD And even still he has an alt-universe where he’s just a side-character for the ‘Main Timeline’ (where there’s a bunch of spaghetti and like 8+ confirmed WoL’s and the Msq entourage looks HILARIOUS in canon, someday I’ll get all the data together and take pictures, but I think it’ll cook what’s left of my brain x’3) [it’s less concrete than anything I’ve posted about before or I’d try to explain it ;v;’ it’s just interesting mostly to see how the story gets stretched to fit around a larger community of heroes than a solo guy shouldering the whole burden lmfao.]

🌸🌸🌸…. I also hope you’re having a lovely week @gardenofballads !!!! I am tossing flower petals into the air around you !!! Thank you for the ask and well wishes n kind words 🥺💖 🌸🌸🌸

[thevampirearchive]

Finally I get to watch the internet find out how many of their fav philosophers were taught by woman. I always say they could never stand a chance against the average pre-teen girl, and people laughed. Their thoughts may have been profound to their followers, but some of us were socialized as girls..

[byanyan]

answered some things, replied to a few messages, and now i have new scratches added to the collection on my hands after trying to feed a rat meds she doesn't want....... i think i'm gonna slink off into a game for the night.

accomplished some things!! that's the important part!!!! tomorrow we will see about some ic stuff , brain willing, now that some of the ooc stuff is done :'>