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zepskies · 3 days ago

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BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: My day tomorrow is going to be a bit packed, so I decided to release this a bit early for you guys! So here we go! The first chapter of yet another new series, my first ever 1940s AU. 🥰 I hope you have fun on this one, because I sure did. Again, very much inspired by The Clock (1945), starring Judy Garland and Robert Walker. 💜

Prompt for @jacklesversebingo: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: For this chapter it’s “Cry Me a River” by Ella Fitzgerald

Word Count: 3.9K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, mentions of cheating, PTSD, historical tidbits

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Part 1: Legal Grounds

November 2, 1945

Dean idly read the pamphlet stacked with others on his brother’s desk, which advertised his new and successful enterprise.

Law Offices of Winchester, Bialystock & Bloom

What do you know? His brother had his own office, his own business, and his name on a pamphlet.

Dean couldn’t help but curl a finger around a steel ball on the abacus sitting at the head of the mahogany desk, right next to Sam’s nameplate.

He let it fly. The abacus began to clack as one ball hit the other.

Sam looked up from the deposition he was writing to give his brother a wry brow raise.

“So this is what you do, huh?” Dean remarked, crossing his arms.

Without his jacket, his suspenders were on display over his shoulders. His red pinstripe tie was still in place, but his white dress shirt was rolled up to the elbows. Meanwhile, his brother preferred to keep himself more presentable with his sleeves down to his wrists. Jacket on.

Dean glanced around the office, nodding at the line of bookshelves behind Sam, framing him as the bookish academic he’d always been. There was limited seating in here though, just a spare chair in front of the desk, and another to the right of it. Dean stood on the opposite side.

“If you’re bored, all you have to do is say so,” Sam said. “Which is strange, considering we’re smack dab in the middle of a city that never sleeps.”

He was right, Dean could concede. His little brother had given him a veritable list of things to do in New York City: visit the park, go to the zoo, see a picture show, visit a nightclub, or sample a host of restaurants that Sam knew Dean would probably enjoy.

He’d seen a lot of this place in the week that he’d been here visiting Sam, but a good deal of it he’d either spent alone, or with any willing young lady Dean came across, thanks to the demands of this office. If he was honest, entertaining young ladies was eating into the wallet in his trouser pocket, and the hustle and bustle was starting to be a little much for him.

“You don’t get tired of it?” Dean asked, gesturing to the out there beyond them. “The, uh…the lights, the noise, all the people?”

Sam picked his head up from his paperwork to consider the question. “No, I like it. Keeps my mind busy, and…I guess it makes me feel alive, you know?”

Dean supposed he could understand that, so he nodded.

Sam wasn’t fooled though. He thought he could tell what was running through his brother’s head, watching him fidget, and turn his head a bit sharply when a bus honked loudly outside the office’s glass doors as it thundered past.

It had only been two months since the end of the war. Two months since he and Dean met back in their family home in Lawrence, Kansas after three years fighting on two different fronts, in two different countries.

Both of them had enlisted, but Sam had spent most of his time in London while he was deployed, helping British Intelligence. Dean had clawed his way out of Normandy, and later, out of the Ardennes—the last offensive before the end.

Their experiences might as well have been worlds apart, but one thing remained the same: it had been three years in which neither brother knew if they’d see each other again.

Now, Sam saw the signs. Dean seemed a bit jumpy, overstimulated, but willing to be here to spend a little more time with Sam before he went back home. Guilt prickled in Sam’s gut.

“I’ve got some work here to finish up, but afterwards let’s go to dinner,” he suggested. “Maybe see a show?”

Dean’s lips flickered at a smile. “You’re burning both ends of the candle. You know that, right?”

Sam opened his mouth to reply, when there was a knock on one of the glass doors—at the entrance to the small building. Their heads turned, and through the open door of his office, they spotted you standing there in the evening light. You wore a wide-brimmed hat on your head and a scarf underneath, wrapped over your hair and under your chin to shield your face. You knocked again with a hand covered by a leather glove, more persistently.

Cocking his head in confusion, Sam stood from his desk and left the room to let you in. Dean hung back and sat on the corner of the desk to wait. He withdrew a cigarette from the pack and a lighter from his pocket as he did so, but he heard you talking with his brother by the door.

“I’m sorry. We’re closed, miss,” Sam informed you.

“It’s still two minutes until closing. At least, according to my watch.”

“…Well, I suppose you’ve got me there.”

“So can I come in? I need to speak to a lawyer.”

“You sure it can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid it can’t, sir.” Your tone was firm, and it more than implied that you wouldn’t be moved. Sam paused then, perhaps to take a steeling breath.

“All right. Come with me, please.”

You later followed behind him through the hallway and into the office. With a lit cigarette between his fingers, his arms crossed, Dean took note of you. He subtly glanced down at your crème-colored blouse, neatly tucked into the long, burgundy skirt (with lipstick to match), your modest, classy heels, and the way you wore your hair. His brows subtly raised. He’d met quite a few girls this week, but he hadn’t seen a lady like you in quite some time.

Should’ve shaved this morning. The thought was accompanied by the way he swiped a subtle hand over his prickly chin.

You gave him a cursory glance in turn, and offered a polite, “Hello.”

He stood from the desk and switched his cigarette to his other hand, so he could shake yours.

“Hey there. Dean Winchester,” he said. He offered a smile with no small amount of charm. “Pleased to meet you…”

You dutifully gave him your first name only. He found that a little strange, but you soon slipped your hand out of his and focused on the nameplate on the desk, followed by Sam himself.

“So you’re brothers,” you realized. “Do you work together?”

Dean scoffed. “Nope, I’m just here to distract him.”

Sam tossed him a sidelong glance. There was a subtle edge of bitter truth in there somewhere, and you didn’t seem to miss it. You looked between the two men, a hint wary.

“Well, as I said, I’m here to speak to the solicitor,” you said.

“That would be me,” Sam nodded. He went to his desk and sat down behind it, gesturing for you to do the same in front of him. You obliged him, smoothing your hands down your skirt once you were seated. “How can I help you?”

You met his eyes with a directness that surprised him a little.

“I want to divorce my husband,” you said.

To say it shocked the room would be an understatement. Behind you, Dean gave his brother a pair of raised brows. Sam didn’t allow himself to react too much in order to remain professional, but he still tilted his head, blinking, before he focused on you again.

“What’s your husband’s name?” he asked.

“Michael. Michael Milligan.”

“Why do you want a divorce, Mrs. Milligan?”

Here, your gaze fell to the folded hands in your lap.

“I have reason to believe he’s been unfaithful,” you quietly replied.

Once again, there was a pregnant pause.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam said. His sympathy was genuine, because he could see the way you’d hesitated to say the words, like they embarrassed you, shamed you, and saddened you all at once.

“But I have to ask,” he added, “do you have proof?”

Dean glanced his way, his brow raising once again. Sam knew what he was thinking, just as he saw how you frowned as well. But there was a reason why he asked, and it wasn’t to be unkind.

You sighed. “What kind of proof?”

“Pictures. Letters. A witness. Something of legal standing that we can use as leverage and as grounds to grant you a divorce, whether he wants it or not,” Sam said.

You let out another heavy breath through your nose. “No, I don’t have anything like that.”

“Then what makes you so sure he’s steppin’ out?” Dean chimed in. By now he was leaning against the wall, off to the side where he could smoke with the window cracked open. It let in the sounds of cars and distant honking, people traversing the sidewalks.

You turned in your seat to give him a tight look. “If you must know, there’ve been…signs. I won’t trouble you with the details, but I’m sure.”

You met Dean’s gaze, and then Sam’s firmly.

“So will you help me?” you asked him. Sam nodded.

“Yes, I’ll look into your husband and try to find some evidence of his…extracurricular affairs.”

Your lips pursed. “And how long will it take?”

Since you were being so direct, Sam levelled you with honesty.

“It may take time,” he said. “Realistically, we’re looking at months, even after I find what we need… It would be easier to legally separate.”

You had been slowly deflating the more he spoke, but now your expression became stony.

“Mr. Winchester,” you began. “I don’t want to just be separated. I don’t want to live in our apartment, let alone share his bed or wear his last name.”

Despite your best efforts, your voice began to shake. Tears welled up and stung in your eyes.

“I don’t want anything from him, other than his signature on the damn papers,” you said. “The case is that I can no longer tolerate that man in my sight, much less in my life. Will you help me? Or should I look for another lawyer who will actually do his job.”

Sam and Dean shared a glance. For his part, Dean couldn’t remember the last time he heard a woman curse. Despite your outburst, the tears clinging to your lashes stirred both men.

“I understand, Mrs. Milligan,” Sam said. “I’ll help you. Don’t worry.”

He began to look for his handkerchief, but you retrieved one of your own from your purse and quickly dabbed at your eyes, sniffling. You were embarrassed.

“What about your fee?” you said, withdrawing your checkbook. “I, um…I have a little money stashed away. I’ve always worked, you see.”

Sam nodded and went over what his rate would be going forward. Once the two of you came to an agreement, you signed the first check right then and there, even though he felt bad for even taking it from you.

You were still sniffling, and twice you dabbed under your eyes to make sure your face was dry. When you handed over the check, your hands shook, just a little. Sam wouldn’t tell you that he discounted his usual rate.

Again, he mentioned that he would need some time first to investigate your husband and begin collecting evidence for your case. He asked you for any documents you could safely bring him of your finances, for example. You agreed to do an investigation of your own.

“Just be careful,” Dean cautioned. He was getting an idea of what kind of man your husband was, but Dean couldn’t be too sure of what the man was capable of. He’d hate to hear of a girl like you getting hurt over a few papers.

Dean put out the bud of his cigarette on the ashtray lying on the windowsill. He pushed off the wall to approach where you and Sam were getting to your feet. You gave Dean a nod of acknowledgement.

“I will,” you agreed. “Thank you both. I’m sorry I’ve taken up so much of your time, but I’ll be heading home now.”

“Did you take a bus or a taxi?” Sam asked.

“Oh, I walked,” you replied, and you checked your watch as you gathered up your purse. You headed for the coatrack, but Dean got there first, helping you into your beige wool coat. It went nicely with the burgundy you had on, namely on your painted lips.

“Thank you,” you said to him, but you still didn’t smile. You were a hint demurer now. It seemed with Sam’s promised help, the fire had dimmed behind your eyes and your tongue.

“How about I give you an escort, make sure you get home okay?” Dean found himself offering. “It’s getting pretty late on a Friday.”

Sam shot him a knowing look, but Dean ignored him, instead focusing on your face.

You hesitated. “It’s a bit far though. Out of your way, I’m sure.”

“All the more reason that you shouldn’t go it alone at this time of night,” he argued.

You considered his offer, and him, with a quick perusal. You seemed to be judging for yourself if he was trustworthy. Dean kept his posture straight, yet relaxed. Maybe he’d liked what he saw the moment he took you in, but after hearing your situation, he felt for you. It really was just an honest offer to walk you home.

“Where did you serve?” you asked. “The Army, the Navy, or the Air Forces?”

The question took him off guard for a beat, but he answered you.

“The Army,” he replied.

“Your rank?”

“I was a sergeant, ma’am.”

You looked at him a little more shrewdly, then you relaxed.

“I might’ve guessed,” you said. “All right, Sergeant. Let’s go then.”

You buttoned up your coat and turned to leave the office. Dean shot his little brother a raise of his brows and a what do ya know? kind of smile. He grabbed his dark brown jacket and hat and followed you out.

Sam’s smile was more reserved, with a shake of his head. He closed the door behind you and Dean and locked it. He still had some work he wanted to finish before tomorrow, and Dean’s little show of chivalry would give him time to do it.

Dean had his hands in his coat pockets as he walked with you down the long city sidewalk. Night had drawn into the November sky, but with all these lights, he couldn’t see many stars. It was also cold as all hell. The frigid wind slapped at him every time they turned the corner of a building, snapping right into his bones.

Still, he supposed there was a kind of attractiveness to the city at night. The stores and their signs were all lit up gold and other neon colors. Couples and families walked together, all done up nice for wherever dinner reservation or movie they were trying to get to. It begged the question of what your husband was doing right now if he didn’t notice his wife out at this time of night.

“Where’s your husband tonight, if I might ask?” said Dean.

You shot him a look, reading between his lines.

“He claims to be working late virtually every night of the weekdays,” you said, “but he usually comes home stinking of alcohol.” Your eyes dimmed, even with the pretty lights shining in them. “He was in the Army as well. A corporal. He’s had a hard time adjusting to being back home, and I know that… He doesn’t sleep very well. And do you know, he had a hard time finding work for a while too. Luckily, he has his father’s business to fall back on.”

Dean tried not to show how much your words resonated with him. He didn’t think it a good thing to have common ground with your husband, if he was the kind of man you said he was.

“Yeah? What’s his business?” he asked.

“He manages a meat production plant, of all things,” you said.

“Ah, located in the Meat Packing District, I presume?”

“You’d presume right.”

Dean nodded. “I get it. I inherited the family home back in Lawrence. I just need to figure out what’s next.”

“Lawrence?”

“Kansas.”

“Oh, the Midwest,” you inclined your head. “What’s it like there?”

Dean scoffed. “Dusty.”

You almost laughed at that. At least it earned him your first smile of the night.

“Do you have an idea of what you’ll do for work?” you asked.

Dean chuckled. “Not just yet. Didn’t plan that far, you know?”

“Why not?” you asked.

“Hmm. Guess I didn’t see the point,” he replied with a mild shrug. It hid a deeper, darker well inside him. The part of him that hadn’t thought he’d make it back home after the war.

You turned to him then, and you saw it behind his eyes. The two of you walked in silence for a little while as the neighborhood blocks began to shift and change, becoming somewhat quieter, more residential. Dean put himself between you and the sidewalk when a taxi zoomed by too close to the curb, resting a hand on the small of your back for protection.

Part of you trilled inside at the small touch, but you immediately beat that reaction down. Dean Winchester was an attractive man, to be sure. His hair was a lighter brown than his brother’s, and shorter too. He had an air of roguishness about him, even though he’d been perfectly pleasant so far.

But by the way he eyed you when you came into the law office, you had a strong feeling he was a flirt. You had no room for that in your life, and not only because you were still a married woman.

Yet, there was something about him that…well, made you curious.

“I was a nurse,” you said eventually, earning his attention. “I was there when they liberated Paris.”

Dean turned to you with newfound interest lighting his green eyes. “You were at Normandy.”

You nodded. “For a while. Almost a year before D-Day.”

Dean let out a short, if humorless chuckle, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, that’s where I was. At that time, at least,” he said. You gave him a similar look; respect, and perhaps finding a kindred spirit.

“I did what I could do before, during, and afterwards,” you said. “I think that’s all we can do now, Mr. Winchester.”

“Call me Dean,” he said. “If you like.”

A second smile almost tugged at your lips. You nodded in agreement.

“Dean,” you said.

In another ten minutes, he was walking you up to your porch at your apartment building. You travelled up the four small steps, while Dean stopped at the second one. For the first time, you had the vantage point above him as you turned on your heel to face him. You were about to thank him when he shook his head, scoffing.

“This guy must be dumb, deaf, and blind, sweetheart,” he said.

Your face warmed in a blush, and you gave a rueful smile when you realized what he meant. He was looking up at you like someone who couldn’t understand your plight. You knew the feeling.

“That’s kind of you, but you don’t have to do that,” you said.

His brows furrowed. “Do what?”

“Try to make me feel better,” you said, scuffing the toe of your sensible heels against the brick platform. Dean crossed his arms.

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because the fact of the matter is, Sergeant, words don’t move me anymore.” You picked up your gaze from the ground, and you met his. “Flattery is just a pretty way of lying, and I’ve grown to really, truly hate lying.”

It took him a moment, but Dean nodded.

“I guess that’s fair,” he said. He had to stop himself before he proved your point with a smart word on your pretty smile. Although, it wouldn’t have been a lie. He tipped his hat up. “Goodnight then, Mrs. Milligan.”

You stopped him from leaving with just your voice.

“Please,” you said, your eyes briefly closing. “Just…call me by my name. My first name.”

Dean slowly smiled. “Perfect. I like your name better anyway.”

This time, your smile in return was genuine, if tinged with amusement.

“Goodnight, Dean,” you replied.

He gave you a charming grin and a more casual soldier’s salute. Then he stuck his hands back in his pockets, turned on his heel, and began to walk back the way he came. You couldn’t help but watch him go for a second or two. His legs were slightly bowed under his slacks, you noticed.

With a blush, you shook your head to rid yourself of those silly thoughts. You closed the door.

That night, Michael came home late, as usual—this time at two in the morning. He reeked of alcohol, also per usual, but this time when he rolled over towards you in bed to say goodnight, you stiffened. He also smelled like a woman’s perfume. Expensive stuff.

This was one of those signs you hadn’t wanted to tell Sam Winchester. Frankly, it was crude and embarrassing.

“Sorry it’s so late, darling. Got held up,” he said, kissing your shoulder through your nightgown. His fingers played with the ends of your hair while you laid facing away from him.

You squeezed your eyes shut. You were fighting every instinct you had inside you that wanted to recoil from his touch and bolt out of the bed. When just a few months ago, his touch was all you craved, almost desperately so.

“Where were you?” you asked. Somehow, you kept your voice steady and calm. “You weren’t at the office all this time.”

“Had a couple of drinks with the guys after,” he said with a shrug. “Sorry. The night got away from us, but, uh…I’ll be home on time for dinner tomorrow.”

With your back turned to him, you were able to roll your eyes.

“What’d you make tonight, outta curiosity?” he asked.

“Egg salad sandwiches,” you replied flatly.

“Hmm. No real loss there then.”

Your teeth clenched. “If I thought you were actually going to be home when you said you would, maybe I would make a rump roast with all the fixings.”

Michael paused, but then, he grasped your shoulder, slowly turned you around in the bed until you were facing him. His face was sterner.

“Excuse me?”

You remained quiet. Your gaze travelled downwards, avoiding his.

Michael huffed, shaking his head. “Sometimes you got a real mouth on you. One of these days, you just might regret it.”

He turned his back on you, laying on his side. You did the same while trying to stem your tears.

When did this become your life?

AN: Oof, sorry for all that angst at the end there, but I hope you liked the first chapter! Did you enjoy soldier!Dean and soldier/lawyer!Sam? Do you want to find a dark alley for Michael yet? 😅

And are you ready for what's coming up next? 😘

Next Time:

Dean both could and couldn’t believe it. He might not have been a saint himself when it came to the fairer sex, but if he went through the whole ordeal of marrying one, let alone a straight-shooting woman like you, beautiful, clever…

“Geez,” he muttered. “He could’ve at least waited until the ink dried on the certificate.”

Sam nodded in agreement. He picked up the receipt to the Cotton Club, and he shot his brother a grin.

“Wanna go to the club tonight?”

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honeyedmiller · 2 days ago

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A Burning Desire part eight

firefighter!joel miller x f!reader

series masterlist

rating: 18+, minors do not interact.

warnings: fluff, vulnerability, shimmer mention!, brief mentions of past verbal abuse, angst, mentions of pregnancy (reader’s sister), extremely inaccurate descriptions of how insurance / payout works (just go with it, it’s fiction lol), smut (fingering, m!oral receiving, masturbation, phone sex), no use of y/n. if there’s anything i missed, please lmk.

word count: 10.6k

synopsis: joel and tommy are sent on a dangerous work trip.

a/n: fuck. thanks for being so patient with me. there’s hints of foreshadowing in this unrevised (sry) monster of a chapter, and the next chapter will be angsty. i hope you enjoy tho. thx for sticking around and reading my silly little story <3

Getting back into the swing of things after the holidays has always deemed itself to be arduous. You’re lucky you work from home, but you’d taken on the responsibility of getting Sarah out of the house in time to drive her to school. It’s not that you mind at all, you just hate getting up out of a warm bed, especially when you have Joel as your own personal furnace now.

Having two weeks off of said responsibility was nice because you and Sarah got to sleep in and you made her breakfast with hot cocoa nearly every morning before you had to clock in for work. She’d spend most of her break over at her friend’s house or reading a book either in the living room or her room, anyway.

She has since gone back to school, and having the house to yourself again is still a bit unnerving, which is why it’s nice on days like this where Joel has off from work and can spend some time with you. Even if you’re stuck in your home office on days like today, he checks in on you once in a while to make sure you’re doing okay.

Today has been particularly hard, only because the client you’re working with is demanding as hell and your boss is jumping down your throat to make sure you appease said client. Your face is buried in your hands as you sit and decompress for a minute, and that’s when Joel decides to check in on you. It’s like the man has spidey senses for when you’re going through it or something.

“Hey baby, I brought you some—” He stops short when he sees the state you’re currently in.

“You okay, honeybee?” His voice is gentle and honestly concerned, and your heart melts yet again at how sweet he is.

“Work’s just stressing me out a bit,” you answer truthfully. You look up at him from your seat as he stands beside you, setting down a small bowl of fruit for you to snack on next to you on the desk. You softly smile at the fruit before looking back up at him. “Thank you, handsome.”

“Ain’t a thing, baby. ‘M sorry you’re so stressed. Anythin’ I can do to help?”

He steps behind you now and his large, warm hands land on your shoulders before he begins to massage them. You groan softly and loll your head to the side, rolling your lips into your mouth before shaking your head.

“Nah. Luckily this is my last day dealing with this client, so it’ll only be for a few more hours. Thank you though, baby. It means a lot.”

You reach up and grab one of his hands, giving it a thoughtful squeeze before you let go to reply to an email your boss sent you.

“Well what if I told you that I have a date planned for us this weekend?”

You look up at him with furrowed brows. “Where?” You ask, excitement taking over your body.

“Well, I know everythin’s been kinda hectic with my accident and me healing, your sister’s news, you movin’ in, the holidays, and Tommy and Maria’s engagement. We’ve been so busy n’ we’ve barely had any time to ourselves outside of the house in a while, so I wanna take you somewhere kinda peaceful.”

He doesn’t give away too much, but you’re already on board.

“You’ve got me intrigued. Can’t wait to see what you have up that sleeve of yours.”

“Good, ‘cus I also bought you a couple ‘a things to go along with this weekend’s date.”

“Oh?” You give him an incredulous look, but his boyish shit-eating grin is all you need to see to not ask any further questions, no matter how piqued your curiosity is.

You smile up at him and shake your head, focusing back on your work. You sit in silence for a couple of minutes as he continues to massage your shoulders while you type away.

“I’m gonna go on a run. I’ll be back in time to fix you up some lunch.” He kisses the top of your head before you look up at him with a small smile.

“If I wasn’t glued to this desk right now I’d join you,” you laugh. “Be careful out there, baby.”

“Always am. Maybe I can exercise you in another way later on,” he says, smirking down at you with mischief written all over his face.

“You’re insatiable, Mr. Miller.” But the idea doesn’t sound half bad.

He holds his hands up defensively. “Can’t blame a guy for wantin’ to love his lady right, can you?”

You roll your eyes with a laugh and tug him down gently by his shirt before giving him a lengthy kiss. You release him and pat his abdomen twice. “Have fun on your run, cowboy.”

After a long week, the weekend finally rolled around and Joel still wouldn’t tell you exactly what you two were going to do on your date.

He just kept reassuring you that you’d love it, and you’ve slowly learned to just go with the flow and not ask anymore questions.

He insisted you wear a blindfold this time, and made you get into his truck as he took the next few minutes to put whatever it was in the back seat before you both took off.

You ride passenger for about thirty minutes or so with soft tunes of George Strait playing in the background before you hear gravel crunch under the tires of the truck as Joel turns left.

“You aren’t exploring a new kink right now, are you?” You snort, turning your head in his general direction. “Blindfolding me like this just to take me in the middle of nowhere and have deliciously rough sex with me and make me fall in love with you even more, hm? Is this your diabolical plan?” You can’t help but wiggle your eyebrows at your own absolute absurdness.

He chuckles deeply and you can practically feel him rolling his eyes at you as the brakes squeak slightly and the truck comes to a slow stop. It’s silent for a moment before you hear him move, and you feel the heat of his body right next to you.

“Not today, sweet girl.” The deep raspiness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. He huffs a laugh before kissing your cheek and taking off your blindfold.

You blink a few times as your eyes adjust to the light, the sun shining brilliantly on land—lots of it. Something shimmers in the distance, and you realize it’s a creek that runs along a trail that looks like it’s meant for horseback riding.

Then it clicks. You look at him with pure excitement in your eyes.

“Are we going horseback riding?”

He can’t help but grin at the giddiness in your tone. “Yeah baby, we are. Figured we’d eat first, though. Packed us some of our favorites and thought we could make a picnic of it as we sit by the creek.”

Your heart absolutely flutters and grows ten times fonder for the man in front of you, if that’s even possible. You try to hold back your tears of gratitude, but one can’t help it and slips down your cheek.

Joel wipes the tear with his thumb as he leans in to kiss your forehead.

You grab his face gently in your hands before admiring his beautiful brown irises.

“Oh, Joel,” you choke out, leaning in for a loving kiss. You rest your forehead against his as you sniffle once. “This is so thoughtful. This place is beautiful. Thank you.”

“‘Course, my honeybee. Life has been too hectic lately n’ I wanted to treat my woman to somethin’ a little more… relaxing.”

“What a lucky lady she is,” you giggle, smiling against his lips and giving them one more peck before you pull away. He opens his door and hops out of the truck, jogging over to your side to open your door before offering his hand to you. You take his hand and he helps you out, feet hitting the ground with a thud.

You both gather the stuff for the picnic before making your way over to the creek that was no more than a hundred yards away.

You set up the blanket on some soft grass as Joel puts the cooler down beside you both, and you sit down across from each other. You admire the atmosphere, with the sun beaming enough to warm you up some and the song of birds chirping in the trees. The sound of water flowing up the creek adds to the blissful ambience, and you sigh in content before noticing a house off in the distance.

“Does someone live over here?” You ask, stretching your legs in front of you as you lean back on your palms to hold yourself upright.

“This is actually my uncle’s land. Tommy n’ I grew up playin’ in these fields and this creek. We’d used to help him on the ranch to earn some extra allowance durin’ the summertime when we got older.”

You imagine a little Joel and Tommy running around in these fields whose grass sways with the gentle breeze—and then you’re picturing kids of your own. Kids that you’d eventually have with Joel. Hearing their little squeals of joy, chasing them around in the soft grass, making new memories for years to come. You imagine Sarah would be the best big sister, despite any age difference they might have.

“This place is beautiful, Joel. Does your uncle still own the land?” You ask, eyes shifting back to him.

He nods. “He does, but he’s had to hire help since he’s a bit too old to take care of the place himself. I know for a while he’d been thinkin’ about sellin’ it, but he says there’s just too many fond memories tied to this place.”

“That’s understandable. I can just imagine a young you and Tommy causing a ruckus around here,” you laugh, and he nudges your leg with his own.

“Don’t mean our mama and pops didn’t talk some sense into us,” he chuckles, face tilting toward the bright blue sky.

“Looks like it did you two some good. They’d be proud of you both, I’m sure. Wish I could’ve met them.” You give him a sympathetic smile, and he gives you a small sad one in return.

“They would’ve absolutely loved you, baby. I can just hear my mama now: ‘Bout damn time you wanna get settled down with someone nice,’” he sighs and reaches for you, and you maneuver yourself onto his lap. You rest your head against his chest as he wraps his arms around you, giving you a small squeeze while kissing your hair.

“She sounds like a lovely woman,” you say, nuzzling into his strong chest.

“She was. I’m very lucky to have had parents that gave my brother n’ I a great example of what true love really looks like, whether it was through their relationship with each other or the love they showered us with. I knew even back then that what Sarah’s mom n’ I had wasn’t true love. It was staying together out of convenience because she’d gotten pregnant. I really tried with her, but nothing made her happy. She became verbally abusive toward me after a while, too. It got even worse after Sarah was born. She didn’t want to be a mother. After everythin’ her and I went through, even after she left us, I’m grateful for her bringin’ my daughter into this world. I love my baby girl more than life itself,” he sighs, taking a breath for a minute as he recounts his past.

“Raisin’ Sarah as a single dad truly was full of trials and tribulations. I did have help from my family, which I’ll always be grateful for, but I was doin’ it all on my own for the most part. Havin’ the odd schedule I have now and makin’ it work around Sarah’s took a long while, but we finally got it down. Nobody had ever wanted to stick around after a night together because they thought that me havin’ a kid was too… complicated. I can understand it from their perspective, but truthfully, nobody ever gave me a chance to get to show them the real me. They just saw me as someone they can check off their bucket list and mess around with because of my job and the uniform I wear. And then you come along, unexpected, knockin’ me off my feet in the best way possible and showin’ me that love is still in the cards for me. You’re it for me, baby. I don’t think I can ever express my gratitude to you for showin’ me what it feels like to be seen and—god—to be loved the way you love me.”

You soak his words in before wrapping your arms around his torso. You press a kiss to his stubbled jaw, letting him silently know that you’re here for him.

“Thank you for opening up to me,” you murmur, tracing your fingers over his back in a soothing motion. “I can’t even imagine what that was like. I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that.” Your voice holds a gratefulness and sadness that isn’t missed, and he shakes his head.

“Thank you for allowin’ me to be my true self, emotions and all,” he says, and you hug him tighter. You recall him telling you that his ex would tell him ‘real men don’t cry’, and your heart hurts for him even more. How could somebody be so cruel to such a loving man?

He sighs and lays down, sun glistening against his beautiful golden skin. You admire his handsome features and softly smile as you bring a hand down to run through his curls.

He pops one eye open before giving your wrist a tug, and you land on him with an oof.

He chuckles and wraps his arms around you, trailing his fingers down so he can put both of his hands in the back pockets of your Wranglers.

“I love you so much, baby.” His voice is thick and low, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach.

“I love you too.”

The easiness of which the phrase rolls off your tongue is a beautiful thing, you think. You’ve come so far with opening up your heart to Joel, and he, you. You look down at him and savor the way his eyes look like a smooth whiskey in the sunlight, the way the skin around them crinkles when he smiles at you.

You lean down and finally seal your lips to his, and you feel him fully relax as he moves his hands from your back pockets up to the middle of your back and back down again. You stay like this for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of each other as the soft breeze causes the grass to rustle and the sound of water and lips smacking is a harmony lost in the wind.

It isn’t until you hear his stomach rumble that you pull apart from him with a laugh, maneuvering yourself off of him to sit up.

“Sounds like someone’s hungry,” you tease, reaching for the cooler.

“I’m hungry alright,” he says, leaning over to capture your lips in yet another searing kiss.

“I’m serious Joel,” you laugh against his lips. “You gotta eat.”

He sighs and puts his hands up in defeat. “Fine.”

You nudge him with a grin before opening the cooler, revealing sandwiches, grapes, chips, waters, two soda cans, and… chocolate covered strawberries. You raise an eyebrow at him as he smiles sheepishly at you.

“Chocolate covered strawberries?” You parrot your thoughts, moving to sit criss-crossed.

“I know how much you like them so… I made ‘em for you special.”

If your heart could burst anymore, this man would probably be the end of you with his unconditional love. You don’t know how much more you can possibly handle, even though you know you’re going to spend the rest of your life with him. It’s the little things like this that he goes out of his way to do for you that has never been done by anyone, so getting used to his kind gestures has been a rewarding challenge.

“Thank you, honey. This is so kind of you.” You lean over to kiss his cheek before handing his food to him, and you both dive into your meals as you enjoy the serenity surrounding you. Then a pressing thought pops into your head. It takes you a few minutes to conjure up the courage to ask Joel the burning question on your mind, but you eventually find the words.

“Are you serious about wanting kids with me, Joel?” Your voice is soft as you look around again, then meet his gaze.

He swallows his food before nodding. “I’m one hundred percent serious.”

Your heart flutters. “You don’t think the age gap between Sarah and her future siblings would be weird?”

Joel thinks about it for a moment. “No, I wouldn’t say weird. Might just take some time t’get used to. Ever since she was a toddler she’d been beggin’ me to give her a sibling, but I obviously couldn’t do that considerin’ I didn’t have anyone to… procreate with,” he chuckles at the last part. You laugh with him and nod, swallowing the last bite of your sandwich.

“I couldn’t imagine growing up without my siblings. Even when there were times we all fought, we all still laughed about it later on and got over it quickly. Bless my mom and dad’s hearts, ‘cus I know we were all a handful.”

You smile as you reminisce growing up with your brothers and sister. You’d want your future kids to have that type of sibling bond, too.

“I know what you mean. I remember when my mama and pops told me they were havin’ another baby. I was over the moon about it, ‘cus it meant I’d have someone by my side for life. Tommy might be a grade A pain in my ass, but I’m grateful that he and I grew up so close together and stayed that way throughout adulthood.”

“I think Sarah would be a great big sister,” you say, and Joel sports a proud smile that makes your heart melt.

“I think so too, baby.”

“I never thought I’d be talking about having kids with a partner ever again, you know. I’m happy we’re on the same page about this. I think it’s important to discuss this even before we eventually decide to take the next step in our relationship.”

He nods in agreement as he opens the tupperware that has the chocolate covered strawberries, taking one out before bringing his other hand to coax your mouth open. He offers you a bite of the strawberry, and he finishes off the rest of it after you take your bite.

“I’m happy too, baby. ‘S good that we can clarify things now. I’ve never been with someone who can communicate with me so easily, so I thank you for that. I really am just a lucky bastard who got hit on at a coffee shop,” he chuckles, shooting you a wink as you laugh.

“Thanks for taking a chance on me, Miller. Glad I didn’t disappoint.” And with that, you lean in for one last searing kiss before you both finish off the strawberries and dust yourselves off as you take the cooler and blanket back to his truck.

You’re about to head for the stables in the distance, but Joel stops you.

“Wait, I have somethin’ for you,” he says, reaching further into his back seat. He pops his Stetson on and you bite your lip before shooting him a look.

“Haven’t we already established that you in your cowboy hat drives me absolutely wild?” You cross your arms over your chest as you continue to stare at him incredulously.

“Yeah, baby,” he laughs. “But now you get to match me.”

He pulls out another hat and spins around, plopping it onto your head. Your eyes also drift down as he hands you a shoebox.

“Joel, oh my– is this–?” You’re at a loss for words, and he sports a smirk on his face.

“Open the box, sweet girl.”

You do as you’re told, carefully opening the box to reveal a beautiful pair of brown leather cowgirl boots with white floral stitching across the front.

“Joel, these are beautiful. Thank you so much.”

“Ain’t a thing, baby. Try ‘em on.”

You slip off your sneakers and try on the boots, which fit perfectly. Joel adjusts the hat on your head before giving you his million dollar smile.

“Beautiful.”

“You think so, cowboy?”

“Absolutely. And y’know,” he pauses as he slides his hands comfortably on your hips, pulling you flush against his body. “Every cowboy needs his cowgirl.”

He gives you a twirl before dipping you, leaning down to kiss you before standing you upright.

You’re all smiles and giggles as you walk hand-in-hand to the stables, where one of the ranch workers greets you both with a smile.

“Hey Joel, you’ll be ridin’ Stella and Shimmer today,” the man says. Joel gives him a curt nod as the corner of his mouth twitches up into a half smile.

“Thank you, Drew.”

Drew tips his hat to you both before walking off to tend to the other animals near the stables, and you turn toward Shimmer as you begin to gently pet her.

“Hi beautiful girl,” you coo, stroking her snout. She nudges you gently and you grin before glancing at Joel.

“She likes you,” he says.

You beam at him before he chuckles and comes behind you, boosting you by your waist as you situate yourself on the saddle on Shimmer’s back. You continue to stroke her mane as you place your feet in the stirrups, grabbing a firm hold of the reins.

Joel follows suit as he mounts himself onto Stella, and clicks his teeth twice to lead the way out of the stables. Shimmer follows suit, and soon enough, you’re both riding side-by-side on the trail by the creek.

“Thank you for all of this,” you gesture your hand around you both before grabbing back onto the reins. “It means a lot to me. I had a lot of fun.”

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice hopeful.

“Yeah. It’s been absolutely perfect.”

You take a moment to admire him and how the sun’s golden rays shine on him as it slowly starts to set, casting a beautiful orange and pink glow in lieu of bright blue. He gazes at you with such a softness you’ve never witnessed before, and you think it’s a thing beyond love. Devotion, compassion, protection—all in a single look.

A look that has taken care of your heart when it was tender and aching, a look that has pumped it full of love again. It’s a look that flips your world around in the best way possible.

It’s a look that could make you cry. It’s funny, because you never used to be so in-tune with your emotions before. Before Joel, a majority of your life with and after Christian had you feeling so numb and devoid of any feelings or emotions. It was draining, and you didn’t think you’d ever be able to feel so lively ever again.

Well, never say never.

There are no words to describe the love and gratefulness you feel for this man riding beside you, but you know you’re going to spend the rest of your life proving it to him, even if it’s wordlessly done so.

A few months down the line, the ranch ends up becoming a small escape for you and Joel. When you both had free time, you’d slip away and drive to the open fields to enjoy the calmness of the water under the starry nights, laid up in the bed of his truck on top of a bunch of blankets.

It’s the only house around for miles, so it’s super private and quiet. It’s like your own little secret with him as you’d lay there, talking about anything and everything—and sometimes leading to more.

You’re in the middle of more, trying to muffle your moans with Joel’s mouth on yours as his fingers curl inside of you. You’re aching and needy, rocking your hips against his palm so your swollen clit rubs against his flesh. It’s intoxicating, the way his fingers move so perfectly inside of you.

You gasp against his lips as a dark chuckle rumbles in his chest.

“Thas’ it. Atta girl, jus’ like that,” he murmurs his praise as you rock your hips so willingly and meet every thrust of his fingers, so close to your release that your whines start to mesh with your panting. “You gonna be a good girl and cum for me?”

You fist his hair between your fingers and smash your lips to his in urgency, crying against him as a wave of toe-curling bliss surges through your veins.

”Oh, fuck!”

You gush around his fingers and down his wrist, and he lowly hums as your body convulses a few more times, stomach drawing taut as you come down from your high.

“Make such pretty messes, baby. So fuckin’ beautiful.” He kisses your forehead as he withdraws his fingers slowly, sweeping them over your sensitive clit to spread your arousal before bringing his fingers up to his mouth to suck them clean. You clench around nothing at the sight as your head falls back against the makeshift pillows, gaze bleary as you try and slow your breathing and heart rate by staring at the stars twinkling so brilliantly.

Joel dips his head down to kiss you, and you tangle your fingers through his curls once more before dragging a hand down his neck, to his chest, and down to the waistband of his sweats. You palm him through the material, arousal blooming in your core once more as you feel how hard he is for you. Feel how much he wants you.

You stop your ministrations for a beat, separating yourself from his lips as you lick the palm of your hand, only to dip it into his sweats and boxers to wrap it around his length. You give him a small squeeze and he groans, eyes fluttering shut as his head tilts back.

You huff a laugh and lean up to kiss at his thick, warm neck, licking a stripe from his earlobe down to his pulse point. You suck a little on the skin there, loving the way he twitches in your hand. He feels so heavy and warm, and all you want to do in this moment is take care of him the way he deserves—so you do just that. You slide your body down after giving him a kiss, and the dazzling look in his eye is all you need to keep this going.

You settle your shoulders between his thighs, now face-to-face with his weeping cock. You hum before giving the silky flesh a few more tugs before leaning forward, licking the salty bead of pre cum from his slit.

“Such a pretty cock,” you praise, rolling your lips into your mouth before you look up at him. He doesn’t say anything, but you can see the flush that has taken over his neck and face in the pale moonlight. His lips are parted and his breathing is a bit ragged, and he’s just waiting for you to pounce.

Usually, you love to tease him just to see how worked up you can get him, but you’re too impatient and want to hear those delicious moans only reserved for you.

You lick a long, wet stripe on the underside of his cock before sucking his balls into your mouth, pumping his length as you gently massage him with your tongue.

“Oh, fuck me,” he groans, hand shooting out to cradle the back of your head. You hum appreciatively around him, pumping him at a steady pace now before moving your mouth up onto his shaft again. You swirl your tongue around his tip a few times before taking him all, feeling his head hit the back of your throat. Tears prick your eyes as you try to swallow around him and refrain from gagging.

“Holy fuck, baby, you like doin’ this don’t you?” His voice is a deep, raspy mess, and you clench your thighs together at the sound.

He pulls your mouth off of him, the tip of his cock coating your lips in saliva.

“Answer me. You like this, huh?”

Fuck. The possessiveness in his tone makes you want to roll your eyes into the back of your skull as you moan, but you opt for a nod as you rasp out a yes.

“Look so pretty with my cock down your throat. Can fuckin’ see it when you take all of me.”

You suck in a sharp breath before your dazed, fucked out mind conjures up the words before you even realize it. “Like this?”

You lower your mouth back onto him, and he’s spewing a string of groans and curses together, and he eventually moans your name like a prayer on Sunday when you keep deepthroating him like this. You don’t let up, either. You know your throat is going to be absolutely fucking wrecked by the time you’re done, but it doesn’t matter.

Not when you get to see him like this.

He sucks in a breath through his teeth as you let up on his length and just focus your tongue and lips on his tip, making his hips buck up involuntarily. His fiery gaze meets yours and you can tell he’s nearly a goner.

“So…fuckin’...sexy,” he grunts. You grin as you kiss his tip and flutter your eyelashes up at him, taking him in your mouth and down your throat one more time before slowly coming back up, tightening your lips around him.

“Fuck, baby, ‘m gonna–”

He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before he’s coming undone, coating your tongue and throat with his cum. His body shudders as you slide your tongue up from his length. You swallow and wipe the saliva off of your chin with the back of your hand.

“You really are somethin’ fierce, woman,” he praises. You’re too dazed to respond, so you offer him a grin and a kiss to his thigh.

Joel tucks himself back into his boxers and pulls his sweats up, pulling your body up to his so you’re cuddled into his side. He pulls a blanket over both your bodies and kisses you, and you nuzzle your head onto his chest. His steady breathing and strong heartbeat is what does you in before you even know it.

You wake up in a bit of confusion, amidst hearing a constant buzzing noise. You’re still in the back of the truck with Joel, who’s passed out beside you. His breathing is steady and he looks so at peace, so you try not to move around so much before you finally realize that Joel’s phone is ringing.

You have to dig around a bit to find it before you lift it up and squint against the bright light, only to see he has three missed calls from Tommy. Your heart drops, because Tommy is a huge texter. He only ever calls if something’s really wrong.

“Joel,” you rasp, throat sore from your earlier escapades. His brow furrows and he softly groans, and you softly tap his shoulder. “Baby, wake up. Tommy keeps calling you.”

His eyes crack open and he sits up, grabbing the phone from you. He dials Tommy back and presses the phone to his ear, still clearly trying to wake his mind up.

You can’t ignore the anxious thrum of your heart. You have no idea what it could be about, and Joel’s face reads worry clear as day. You wrap your arm around him and kiss his shoulder in reassurance.

“Tommy, what’s going on?” Joel asks, and you can faintly hear Tommy’s voice on the other end of the line, but can’t make out the words.

“Shit, okay. I’ll be back at the house in 30 minutes.”

Joel hangs up the phone and scrubs his hands over his face before looking down at you. He gives you an apologetic smile before leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Sorry honeybee, we have to go back home. Our captain wants everyone at the fire station in an hour. Somethin’ important he needs to tell us all.”

You furrow your brows and sit up, starting to fold the blankets and pack them away in the cab of the truck. You ride in silence for about fifteen minutes, your hand on Joel’s as his sits comfortably on your thigh. His thumb brushes back and forth in reassurance, but your mind is reeling with possibilities of what could be so important for all of them to know.

“Do you have any idea what your captain might say?”

Your voice is soft with a sleepy lull to it, and Joel looks at you for a couple of seconds with a small smile on his lips.

“No idea, baby. It has to be somethin’ big ‘cus he only calls us in like this if it’s super urgent.”

You nod in understanding, giving his hand a squeeze of reassurance. You arrive home fifteen minutes later, and Tommy greets you both at the front door. You give Tommy a hi/bye hug and Joel a kiss before they’re out the door and driving down the street.

You decide to stay in the living room. Watch a movie or something, and wait for them to come back. You settle onto the leather couch, wrapping a blanket around you as you turn the TV on and keep it at a low volume. Exhaustion sweeps through your bones as you lay still. Your eyelids get heavy, and before you even realize it, you’re out cold once again.

The front door unlocking stirs you from your sleep, and the familiar tread of boots is heard walking into the living room.

“Baby, I’m back,” Joel says.

You open your eyes and yawn, gaze landing on the clock. Eleven p.m.

“Hey,” you say, voice timid. “How’d the meeting go? Is everything okay?”

You sit up, allowing room for Joel to plop down next to you. He spreads his legs and leans his head back against the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I have to leave. Well, Tommy and I have to go. There’s a huge fire that broke out in San Angelo earlier today and it’s spreading fast. They need all hands on deck.”

You take in the information and furrow your brows, pausing for a beat before speaking. “How long will you be gone for?”

He moves his hand from the bridge of his nose and looks at you with a sad expression.

“‘M not sure, sweet girl. Could be for a few days or a few weeks. It really just depends on the conditions of the fire and the surrounding areas.”

You nod in understanding before grabbing his hand, once again squeezing it in reassurance.

“When do you and Tommy leave?”

“Tomorrow morning. Captain told us to rest up as much as possible before we head out. It doesn’t look pretty, and it’s a four hour drive for us.”

“I think you should go wake Sarah up and tell her,” you say. He nods and kisses your head before he trudges up the stairs. You turn off the TV and follow suit, settling into your side of the bed after you wash up and change into your pajamas.

Joel comes into the room a few minutes later, closing the door behind him.

“How is she?” You ask, opening the covers for him. He strips down into just his boxers before climbing into bed with you.

He nods. “She’s okay. Sad that I have to leave, but I told her you’d take real good care of her.”

You huff a laugh and nod in agreement. “That I will, Mr. Miller.”

Then realization hits you—since Tommy is leaving, that means Maria will be alone.

“Are you okay if I invite Maria to stay over here while you guys are gone? I know she can take care of herself, but I’d rather her not be alone for however long.”

“‘Course, baby. ‘S your home, too.”

And, it is, which is an aspect you’re still getting used to.

He settles into you, nuzzling his face into your chest as he inhales deeply. He kisses the skin there once before wrapping his arms around you. You rest your head on top of his, running your fingers through his hair. He falls asleep in a matter of minutes, but you remain wide awake, plagued with the thought of him going out to do his very dangerous job.

You sigh and scold yourself for even thinking about that, because even just the prospect of telling him to stay is so unbelievably selfish. You’d never actually tell him, of course, but you think it and the thought is all-consuming.

You just worry, like any partner would, but you worry even more especially after the nasty accident he had. You know he’s been doing this for a long time, but you’ve learned that fires can be unpredictable and life doesn’t deal in absolutes.

A couple of hours pass and Joel is still sound asleep, meanwhile you haven’t gotten a wink of rest. Your eyes roam to the bedside alarm clock—four fifty in the morning. You sigh softly and get up as carefully as possible, trying not to disturb Joel.

Since you can’t go to sleep, you decide to use your energy to make Joel and Tommy some lunches and a few batches of your cookies that everyone at the firehouse loves so they have something to snack on while they’re on the road.

You start with the cookies and make enough dough for at least three batches, trying to stay as quiet as possible. You hand mix everything and put the three baking sheets in the oven, setting a timer on your phone. While the cookies bake, you make both of their lunches and pack them away.

You can’t stand still and need to keep your hands busy to distract yourself from your looming thoughts, so you go ahead and make a fresh pot of coffee, too.

You pour yourself a cup and put a dash of creamer in it, taking a sip as you lean over the counter and sigh. You close your eyes and rub your temples in an attempt to ease your mind.

You hear a door open upstairs and some shuffling down the steps soon after, and a sleepy Sarah emerges.

She rubs her eyes as she gives you a small smile, making her way to the barstool that’s on the other side of the counter from you.

“You’re up early,” you muse.

“Couldn’t stay asleep,” she says, and she looks at the oven as she sees cookies baking. She raises an eyebrow. “I’m assuming you couldn’t sleep at all.”

“You’ve got that right,” you huff a laugh, taking another sip of your coffee.

“I don’t want him to go.”

Her blunt confession takes you aback, but it gives you a bit of comfort knowing you and her are in the same boat.

“I know, sweetheart.” You reach your hand out to cup hers, running your thumb back and forth over her knuckles.

“I know he’s doing this for good. I just… I don't want to see him hurt again.”

You nod in understanding. “It’s a catch twenty-two.”

She sighs, and you round the counter to bring her into a hug.

“I know it’s not much of a distraction, but how about we go get a pedicure later on? Just to relax a little.”

She nods against you before leaning back to meet your gaze. “I’d love that.”

“Great. In the meantime, are you hungry? I can make you some waffles.”

“Thank you, but I’m not super hungry right now…” she pauses, eyeing the oven. “I’d love one of your cookies, though.”

You laugh and nod, your phone timer going off at the perfect moment. You take all three sheets out of the oven and set them down on racks, letting them cool down. You serve her one before starting to clean up, and that’s when you hear Joel’s heavy footsteps make their way downstairs.

“Morning cowboy,” you tease, pouring his cup of coffee as he stares at you two in confusion.

“Mornin’…you’re both up early.” He makes his way to Sarah and kisses her hair before moving to you, giving you a chaste kiss on the lips. You hand him his cup of coffee and he wraps his arm around you and gives you a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking a sip.

“What time do you and Uncle Tommy need to be at the station?” Sarah asks, biting into her cookie.

Joel’s eyes glance at the clock on the stove. “Around nine.”

It’s silent for a moment, and Joel looks back and forth between you both.

“Y’all still haven’t told me why you’re both up so early.” He raises an eyebrow, looking to you for an answer.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you shrug.

“At all?”

“No. I laid there for a couple of hours before I got up to make you and Tommy some lunch and a few batches of cookies for the crew while you’re on the road.”

Joel’s eyebrows tug together. He sets his cup of coffee down, circling his arms around your waist. He holds his arm out, silently coaxing Sarah to join in. She hops down from the stool and hugs you both, and you nuzzle into them both. You all stand there for a good minute before Joel is giving you both a squeeze and kisses your heads.

It’s like the sense of dread and anxiety hung in the air, and he clocked in almost immediately.

Not much gets past him—you’ll give him that.

“I love you both very much. I’ll be alright,” he says. “I promise to check in every day when I can, okay?”

His comforting embrace and reassuring words warm your heart.

You all untangle yourselves from the embrace, and you give him a soft smile.

“We love you too, Joel. We just worry for your safety.”

“I know baby, I know. Believe me when I say there’s nothin’ I’d rather do than stay at home with you both, but this is an all hands on deck situation.”

“We’d never ask you to stay, dad. We know this is part of your job and it’s important that you’re there,” Sarah says, pausing as a tremble overtakes her bottom lip. She wraps her arms around him, voice broken and soft when she speaks next. “Just be careful, okay?”

You can see a flash of emotion in Joel’s eyes as he hugs her back, leaning his cheek on top of her head.

“I will, babygirl. I swear to you.”

You’re standing in a small group in the fire station, getting ready to send Joel and Tommy off with the rest of their crew. You’re having a conversation with them two, Maria and Sarah when one of their coworkers—Mark, you think—walks up to you, holding up the bag of cookies.

“I just have to say thank you for these. They’re the firehouse favorite.”

You grin and shrug. “Not a problem. Just a small thank you for everything you guys do.”

He smiles at you and looks at Joel. “She’s a keeper, Miller.”

Joel wraps his arm around your shoulder and kisses your temple. “I know. I’m a lucky, lucky man.”

“Alright, it’s time to head out,” their Captain calls.

You sigh and turn toward Joel. You offer him a small smile as your heart clenches with anxiety, but your expression never wavers.

Sarah gives Joel a tight hug, expression still a bit sullen. You can tell she’s trying her best to hide it, but it slips through and it’s a look you recognize all too well. You give her shoulders a squeeze of reassurance

He has that look in his eyes. The one where it’s filled with worry, with anxiousness. The same look that’s probably in yours, too.

You want to lighten the mood, so you tug him flush against your body by pulling the leather strap of his radio holster that sits across his chest. He laughs as his hands land on your waist, and you push your lips to his.

You separate from him after a few seconds, smiling softly against his lips before you pull apart just enough to see those beautiful, worried brown eyes.

“Be careful out there, cowboy. I love you.”

He squeezes your hips. “I will, baby. I love you too.”

He leans down to give you one more peck on the lips before he moves to say goodbye to Maria. You do the same to Tommy, wrapping your arms around him and giving him a soft little peck on the cheek.

“Take care of each other, yeah? Life’s a lot more fun when you’re both here with us, unharmed.” You look between Joel and Tommy with a sternness they’ve never seen before.

Tommy’s eyes crinkle as he smiles at you, his dimple showing up along with a flash of white teeth.

“You got it, boss.”

He salutes you, and you sidle up beside Sarah and Maria as you wave them both goodbye. They climb into the same truck, and they’re on their way to San Angelo.

Two weeks have passed, and Joel still isn’t home. He keeps his promise on checking in every day when he can, sometimes shorter conversations than others, but you’re grateful nonetheless.

Today, your siblings all agreed that a lunch was much needed between you four so you could all catch up. It was the perfect distraction, and with Sarah at school and Maria at work, you agree immediately. It’s so odd being in an empty house when you’re not on the clock, and since you’d finished with your clients early, you had the rest of the day to yourself.

You meet up with them at a local diner, slipping into the booth next to Emily. She has a small belly now, and you lean down to air kiss it before greeting her, Andy and Cole.

“I’m so glad we got to do this,” Emily says, and you all nod in agreement.

“I know. It’s been awhile since I’ve harassed you guys,” Andy jokes. You roll your eyes and throw your crumbled up straw wrapper at him.

“So how goes it?” Cole asks, leaning back in the booth. The young waitress stops by your table to take your orders before collecting the menus, and Emily starts.

“Things have been great, actually. Baby boy is healthy and Josh got promoted at work.” She runs a hand over her belly, and your eyes light up.

“I’m so happy for you, Emi. How does Josh like the promotion?”

“It’s great, really. He gets more time off now, especially to come with me to my appointments, and he got a pretty significant increase in his salary.”

“That’s so good. I still can’t believe you’re having a kid. My nephew is gonna be a little stud with the coolest uncles,” Andy says.

“What am I, chopped liver?” You laugh, rolling your eyes.

“You’re only semi-cool. You’re with a cool guy, though, so I guess that raises your points.”

“God, you men are so fucking weird with your logic sometimes.”

“Yeah yeah,” Andy waves your words away, before his expression gets a bit more serious. “How is he though? How’s Tommy?”

“They’re okay. They’re exhausted, though. The fire had spread rapidly because of the winds, and they’re still in the process of containment, but I think it’s almost at one hundred percent.”

“Fuck. I can’t even imagine. We had a pretty dry winter too, which probably didn’t help much,” Cole says. You shake your head and gnaw on your lip, deciding to change the subject for your own sanity. Emily senses it, because your sister knows you like the back of her hand, and she finds your hand folded in your lap and gives it a reassuring squeeze. You squeeze right back.

“So what’s been going on with you two? Anything new?” You look between your brothers, and the waitress drops off your food before they can say anything.

Cole’s eyes avert to the basket of fries in front of him, and you raise an eyebrow as you watch him carefully. He finally opens his mouth to speak, but snaps it shut when Andy starts to talk.

“Not much. Work is good. Can’t complain.” Andy shrugs his shoulders and takes a bite of his burger, and you nod before looking back to Cole. You nudge his foot under the table and his gaze snaps up to yours, and you give him an encouraging smile.

“That’s good, Andy,” Emily says.

“I, uh, I met someone,” Cole starts. Everyone’s eyes shift to him, and he sports a small smile. “It’s still pretty new, though, so that’s why I haven’t mentioned it before.”

“Hell yeah, brother. Happy for you,” Andy claps Cole’s shoulder and he smiles.

“Where did you meet?” You ask, popping a fry into your mouth.

“Met her at the bar we went to a few months back. Finally bucked up and asked her on a date a couple of weeks ago, and it’s been going good ever since.”

Although Cole seems to exude confidence, you know he’s more on the shy side when it comes to romance. You and him have always been the shy kids, while Andrew and Emily were outgoing and bubbly. When Emily first told you to put yourself out there with Joel, the shy shell of a woman you used to be went into fight or flight mode—but she ultimately ended up being right.

You can hear it now: That’s what big sisters are for.

You’re grateful you and your siblings are all close in age. Although you’ve all fought over stupid, miniscule things that seemed like the whole world when you were younger, you all ended up being very close, which is something you’ll never take for granted.

“That’s great, Cole. I hope we can meet her when you’re comfortable enough to bring her around our crazy family,” Emily laughs, and you all chime in and chuckle along.

“I think Josh and Joel can attest to that,” you say. “I told him he could’ve run for the hills before Emi’s wedding, but that man stuck by my side and told me he wanted to meet all of you.”

“Now that—” Cole swallows his bite of food, “—Is a real man.”

“And look at how happy he’s made you. I love seeing you together, especially after everything you’ve been through,” Emily says.

Andy’s face turns sour, frowning at the vague mention of your ex. “If I ever see him in person again I won’t hesitate to deck him in the face.”

You didn’t have to question who he was. You already knew. “Get in line, Andy. Joel has first dibs.”

The corner of his mouth lifts up in amusement before he reaches out to you, palm upward, making a ‘give me’ motion with his fingers.

“Give me my ticket.”

You laugh and push his hand away, and lighter conversation ensues the rest of lunch.

The waitress drops the check off at the table, and you mumble that you’ll Zelle whoever pays as the other three fight over the check. Your phone rings and you pull it out of your pocket to see who it is.

Your eyebrows furrow as you see your attorney’s name across the screen of your phone. You slide the answer button over and cover your other ear so you can hear him better.

“Hello?”

“Hey! Long time no talk. I have some good news,” he says.

“Hey, yeah, how are you? What’s the news?”

“I’m good, but even better now—apparently whoever hit you in your accident was some big wig’s kid, and the parents want to pay you out a big amount for your car and, as they said, ‘any emotional damage caused by this accident’.”

“Oh fuck,” you say. You rub your forehead with your thumb and forefinger. “Sorry, sorry. Uh—how much?”

In all honesty, you’d sort of forgotten about your accident because so much has happened in your life since that day. You smile fondly at the memory of Joel kissing you in the back of that ambulance, within only hours of knowing each other at that point.

You had no idea that it would’ve led to this. A good life with an even greater man.

“They sent out a check to your house, but I think it’s in the hundred thousands range.”

Your eyes bug out of your head and your jaw drops.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Your siblings all look at you in confusion, but you still can’t wipe the look of shock off of your face.

Your attorney laughs at your initial reaction, but you’re still in utter disbelief.

You can’t even fathom that kind of money, but you’re sure your attorney is used to those kinds of numbers.

“Yeah, so keep a lookout for a check in the mail,” he says.

“Um, yeah, will do. Thanks for giving me a call.”

“Of course. I’ll touch base with you if anything else comes up.”

You say goodbye and hang up, and you meet your siblings’ gazes.

And, with a small smile, you pluck the bill from Andy’s hands. “Actually, lunch is on me today.”

You almost fall over when you open the envelope with your check in it.

Half a million dollars. You don’t know who the hell this kid’s parents are, but writing a check for five hundred thousand is fucking insane.

You stare at the numbers in disbelief as you sit at the edge of the bed, sun casting its brilliant golden glow across the paper in your hands. The paper that reads half a million fucking dollars. It’s like a jackpot lighting up in Vegas or something.

You don’t know how long you stare, but if you did any longer, your eyes would burn holes in the paper. You slide the check back in the envelope and put it in your underwear drawer underneath your sports bras, because you honestly just can’t believe that it’s real.

And later that night, when Joel FaceTimes everyone to say hi and check in, you don’t say a word about it.

It’s not that you want to keep it from him, but you have an idea of what you’d like to do with a portion of the money, and you’d rather keep that idea a surprise for the time being.

You trudge upstairs once more after Maria and Sarah say goodnight to Joel and Tommy, but Joel tells you to stay on the phone. He watches you do your night routine before you slip into an old oversized Texas A&M sweatshirt of his, sliding into bed.

“I miss my woman somethin’ awful,” his deep voice rings through the phone. You look at the screen and sigh, a small smile settling onto your lips. He looks so exhausted, and all you want is for him to be safe at home again. By your side in bed.

“I miss you too, handsome. How’s it looking out there?”

He groans as he settles onto a bed himself folding an arm to lay his hand behind his head.

“‘S kickin’ our asses. Embers from the original fire sparked a new one. It’s smaller, but these winds ain’t helping a damn thing.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry to hear that,” you say, gnawing on your lip as your eyebrows furrow in worry. “I feel awful that I can’t do anything to help.”

“There is one thing,” he says. You recognize the tone in his voice—want.

“What’s on your mind, Mr. Miller?”

“You wearin’ my old sweatshirt?” He asks.

You purse your lips and nod, watching how his expression turns lustful and determined in the confines of his temporary bedroom.

“Wearing it ‘cus it smells like you,” you confess.

A groan rips from his throat and scrapes low in your belly, and your eyes flutter shut as you feel slick already beginning to pool from the heat between your legs.

“Are we really gonna do this?” You huff a laugh, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I was a touch-starved man before I met you, baby. Then you go n’ spoil me with your pretty hands that can’t seem to keep to themselves.”

“You could always tell me to stop, you know,” you purr. There’s some shuffling on the other end, and you see his heavy lidded eyes gaze at you.

“I’d be insane to do so, darlin’.”

“Would you?”

He moans softly, and you realize he’s probably rubbing himself up. God, you wish that was your hand.

“Mhm. Love when your hands are all over me, especially wrapped around my dick.”

You can’t help but giggle, and a ghost of a smile curls at the corner of his lips.

“Love that sound, too,” he adds.

“You know what I love?” Your voice is teetering on the edge of a seductive whisper.

“Hm?”

“I love when my big, strong hunk of a man makes me feel so loved and protected. Allows me to delve into my femininity. Uses his strong hands and thick fingers to make me see stars.”

You realize you’re probably babbling at this point, but your words seem to do the job just fine. Joel’s eyebrows pinch together and that all-too familiar muscle in his jaw ticks wildly.

“Turn the camera around, Joel. Show me.”

He doesn’t hesitate to flip the camera around to face the impressive outline of his cock in the gray sweats he’s wearing. Your thighs clench together at the sight, imagining what it’d be like to grind on him until he came undone. Hear his moans and strings of curses as he reaches his peak.

“Fuck, honey,” you whine.

“This is what you do t’me, baby.”

His voice almost sounds pained, but you know it’s because he’s held in so much tension the past couple of weeks with no way to release it. You’d do anything to distract his mind from the exhaustion he feels and fires at hand, even if it’s for a brief few moments.

You decide to be a little raunchy, because fuck, you’re already in this position, and you want to be a good distraction—again—even if it’s brief.

You make a show of yourself sliding your fingers down the valley of your breasts and down your stomach, wasting no time to reach your desired destination. You swipe your middle and ring finger through your slick folds, coating them in your arousal before you bring your fingers up to show the camera—to show Joel—how much he turns you on.

You separate your fingers, and a string of your slick connects between the two.

“This is what you do to me.”

Joel all but growls at the sight, slipping his hand into his sweatpants to grab his aching cock. You can just imagine how warm and heavy it feels in his big palm, and you sigh at the thought.

“Fuck, baby. Be a good girl n’ touch yourself for me.”

He’s breathless, but the sound sends shockwaves through your body as more slick gushes eagerly from your aching, needy center.

You slip your two fingers in your mouth, humming around them as you taste the tangy-sweet flavor of yourself.

“Shit,” he says, a moan scraping from his throat. You grin like the Cheshire Cat before slipping your fingers down again, alternating between rubbing your clit slowly and dipping your fingertips into your cunt.

You flip the camera around to show him, and it sounds like he nearly whines from the sight. You suck in a breath as you stop teasing yourself, slipping the two fingers fully into yourself. You pump them languidly, and hearing Joel’s ragged breath and gasps on the other end of the line has you writhing.

“You don’t know how bad I wish these were your fingers and not mine,” you gasp out, grinding your hips up into your palm.

“Oh don’t worry baby,” he pants, “‘M gonna give you everythin’ you need n’ more when I come back.”

“That a promise?”

“Mmm—mhm.”

He matches the stroke of his cock with the pump of your fingers then.

“Can’t wait to be buried in that pretty little pussy. Take me so well. Fuckin’ made for me, baby. So fuckin’ tight n’ warm. ‘S like a dream,” he babbles, and you have to bite down on the collar of the sweatshirt to keep a moan ripping from your throat.

”Need your mouth all over me too, Joel,” you cry, “Love it when you let me cum by your tongue.”

“Yeah? Next time I’ll have you usin’ my face as a fuckin’ seat. Hold you down so you have no choice but to cum in my mouth over n’ over again.”

“Oh, god.”

“You like that, huh? The thought of fuckin’ my face to get you off?”

The words die on your tongue as you try to speak, but the pleasure that was once a low burn in your belly is now its own full-fledged sun. It’s so white hot and you’re on the edge, gripping the phone in your hand for dear life.

“Answer me,” he growls.

“Fuck, yes! Yes yes yes,” you whisper-cry, and you’re unraveling before him on camera. You soak your hand and undoubtedly the sheets beneath you, but that’s a tomorrow problem. Your body convulses a few times and you moan as you see the white spurts of cum land on his stomach. He moans your name like a prayer on Sunday, and it makes you shiver with seemingly untamable arousal.

He breathes heavily before grabbing a tissue to clean himself up, tucking himself back into his sweats before he flips the camera back around to his face.

His cheeks and neck are flushed, and you can see the sweat on his forehead as he tries to steady out his breathing. You stretch and roll over on your side, laying your head on his pillow to inhale his scent.

“I love you, my honeybee.”

You smile at the nickname and yawn, stretching your limbs one more time before curling in on yourself.

“I love you too, cowboy. I can’t wait ‘til you’re next to me in bed again.”

“I can’t wait either, darlin’. I hope this is all over with soon n’ I can love on you the way you deserve.”

You grin sleepily at his words, post-coital drowsiness wrapping around your body like a weighted blanket.

“Stay safe out there.”

“I will. I promise.”

And you’re fast asleep soon after you hang up. You dream blissfully of life with Joel in the fields by the ranch, of your future with him, of the memories you’ve yet to create.

You dream of Joel happy and safe, not an ounce of the beautiful man troubled.

But this is real life. This isn’t a fantasy where you can wish good things for people and it just magically happens at the snap of a finger, a rub of a lamp.

His resolve was slowly crumbling. The weight of the world was sitting steady on his shoulders, breaking him down piece by piece.

Each broken fragment of him, scattered and fragile, lay in your hands—

and this time, it was up to you to put him back together.

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tovibeornottovibe · 2 days ago

Text

Deny! Deny! Deny! - Part I

Azriel x Priestess!Fem!OC

Azriel knows Thea is just as attracted to him as he is to her. He's content to only think about her when he's in bed and he's happy to know that she's doing the same. They can spar and meet up in the training ring secretly when they can't sleep. They can talk about sex and revenge and whatever they're reading at the moment like they're things two friends just discuss at the same time. Unfortunately, an external problem forces them to be confined in the House of Wind together, with only a certain Eris Vanserra as temporary company. So, naturally, he ruins everything. [4.5k words]

warnings: explicit sexual content from the very start, masturbation, azriel being a horny mf, various sexual fantasies, swearing

Prefer to read on Ao3?

Azriel’s at his desk in the House of Wind, working, reading reports and writing little notes to himself in red ink along the margins. It’s taking him twice as long to sort through the useful parts because he keeps letting his mind wander to what it he imagines it’s like to come in Thea’s mouth. His shadows are thoroughly banished to the corners of his office, since they tend to whisper things like: when she touches herself, she whispers your name, she needs you, she’s dripping just for you, shadowsinger, wants your tongue and your hands and your… in his ear and they aren’t supposed to be eavesdropping on her. In fact, he’s ordered them not to. Explicitly. Who or what Thea thinks about in bed is not his business and he doesn’t want it to be, even if it’s him.

Because it isn’t really him, it’s just a fantasy of what she thinks he’ll be like. Same way that when he thinks of her, it isn’t her. He doesn’t know what her moans sound like or how intoxicating her skin tastes or what pretty colour her nipples are. He’s content never to find out too. His imagination is good enough.

By the time Rhys pulls that thread in the back of his mind to let him know he wants to talk, he’s this close to coming in his trousers and nowhere near hitting the very high work quota that he sets himself.

Not a good time, Rhys, he says along the thread, and curses himself. He sounds breathy even in his head.

A dark chuckle comes back at him. Am I interrupting?

Technically, no, but Az is about to palm himself through his underwear until he spills with Thea’s name caught in his throat. When he does that, he’ll need time to clean himself up. He’s not walking into Rhys’ office smelling like he’s been in a pleasure hall in the middle of the day—though, it would get Rhys off his back about Elain finally, and then he half-considers the idea before he snaps himself out of it. So, he supposes, Rhys is interrupting, and Az isn’t available to him until he deals with his straining cock.

What do you want? he grits out, kind of like his teeth are stuck together.

Rhys hedges, his tone annoying, Just a friendly little chit-chat between brothers, nothing hugely importan—

You’re an asshole, Az deadpans, I’m not in the mood. The heat curling in his stomach is starting to burn. Shifting in his seat makes him tense just from the friction of the fabric moving against his skin. He’s a fool, he thinks, for not just taking a break and rubbing one out earlier to get his concentration back, but there’s something delicious about clamping his jaw shut so no one hears him groaning if they pass by the door while he gets himself off in here. Maybe Cassian’s right to call him a freak in bed. Or out of bed, as the case may be.

Just finish who you’re doing and meet me in the river house once you’ve had a bath, Rhys says. We’ve had an interesting proposal.

…Damn his curiosity.

From who? he asks.

For the moment his brother hesitates, Az thinks he’s going to fob him off and not tell him anything at all, but then, very carefully, Rhys says, That’ll definitely ruin your afternoon. And whoever it is you have with you. He lets out a huff of frustration that isn’t just because he’s been hard for twenty minutes now when Rhys retreats from the bond and leaves his head. Cryptic bullshit. Makes him anxious. Not great for maintaining a hard-on.

The irritation quickly disappears when he undoes the ties at his crotch and squeezes his cock the same way he thinks Thea will clench around him when she’s close. It’s languid and needy and he’s panting quietly at his fucking desk of all places while he smears the pre-cum thats leaking from his tip all over himself so it’s easier to tug just the way he likes it. He grips the edge of his desk when his wings start to twitch and tighten. His abs ache from the tension that keeps him from bucking up into his own hand; that’s just embarrassing. It’s probably a lewd sight, and the thought of Thea watching him whine is what gets him to come so hard on his stomach that he actually sees stars.

Bliss, that’s what he calls it. Euphoria is reserved for the real thing.

Thea being the subject of what gets him off doesn’t factor into the post-climax guilt he feels. She knows he thinks about her like this; she asked him one time up in the training ring, he answered honestly, and she didn’t tell him not to. She laughed at him for it, coyly, and he thinks about the sound of that too. So it’s fine.

What does get him to second-guess himself is the fact that both Rhys and Mor will skin him alive for thinking about a priestess like that, regardless of whether Thea likes it or not. They’re like that. Principles apply without context. That, and he’s made an utter mess of himself, and this particular shirt, pair of trousers, and boxers are now ruined.

A few minutes having been taken to just be, recovering, his shadows aren’t picky about taking him from this room to his bedroom, where he strips, throws his clothes on the floor (where the House vanishes them. He’s not sure he wants to know where it puts things like that), washes, and redresses himself all in the space of five minutes. They fuss at his shoulders, but know better than to start talking again. He’d sooner fly to the river house alone than listen to them spoil Thea’s preferences. Though a comfort, they’re unnecessarily involved in trying to provide him with more company than they can give. Feminine temptation, they know as well as he does, is an effective way to make him crack.

But not when it comes to Thea.

He lands in the back gardens of the river house where the edge of the land runs off into the Sidra. Rhys and Feyre have a little pier down here where, he doesn’t know, they fish with Nyx or something. It’s all very domestic. Perfect for a kid. He’s happy for them. Really, really happy for them. Sure, the bitter, acidic envy roiling in his chest says otherwise, but he’s not listening to that right now. Or ever, if he can help it.

He strolls in through the backdoor with his shadows curling around his figure softly, barely visible in the natural Summer sunlight that streams through the windows of the house. It’s good lighting for painting, Feyre had been telling him. The stairs up to Rhys’ office are short work, he takes them two at a time, and he passes by the portraits on the walls that he’s seen a hundred times in the same way he always does, in awe. Such detail in the brush marks that the ones he can see have to be deliberate, dragging the paint for a specific effect. Az doesn’t know enough about art to know if what Feyre does is common, but he knows what he likes, and he likes what his High Lady paints.

He knocks, but Rhys calls him in before he’s finished and the metallic taste of High Fae magic hits his tongue as the door flicks open of its own accord. Soft, perfect laughter wafts through the threshold before he can take another step, and now he considers if the Mother has been conspiring against him today, because he knows that laugh.

“Ah, decided to finally grace us with your presence, Az?” It’s Mor who’s talking, a bit impatiently, but Azriel’s still snagging on who’s sitting opposite Rhys, eyeing him over her shoulder while she puts down her tea with a clink.

It shouldn’t surprise him that Thea leaves the library sometimes. Her idiosyncrasies stretch further than that, he would assume. It doesn’t surprise him that she’s wearing that wrap of blue fabric that hugs her thighs and around her ankles so that it’s more of a bodysuit than a dress, despite the flowing silk which is draped around her shoulders. The way the light bounces off her terra-cotta skin and makes the bronze in her dark curls shimmer doesn’t shock him either—he’s entirely aware of the fact that she can rival Helion for looking like the sun personified at times, and he knows that sounds romantic but it isn’t. It’s factual. Completely objective.

However, the gold foil, very intentionally flecked on the apples of her cheeks in little scraps which follow the curve of her eyes like stars, that gets him. And now he has a new way to imagine her gasping for him. Why in the world has she done that and how in the hell does it frame her face so well?

…Bad thoughts. He’s blocking them out.

Her being in Rhys’ office, that is what he needs to focus on.

“I…” he starts as he falters into the room, ripping his gaze off of Thea before it can get suspicious and onto Mor, who’s lounging by the window which looks out into the city, “...was busy.” Neither she nor Rhys give him the usual sly, snide comments at the insinuation of that. He directs his question at his brother, letting himself glance at Thea only to nod at her in greeting, like he hasn’t just had a mind-blowing orgasm at the idea of her tittering at him when he whimpers for her, before he sits down in the chair next to her. “What’s going to ruin my afternoon?”

“This is.”

Rhys grimaces before Az turns to Thea. Between her index finger and her middle finger, she clasps a letter written on yellow-ish paper, its red seal already broken, and the page unfolded. She looks at him and tilts her head, a small smile quirking on her lips like she thinks this is funny, and he gently takes the letter from her hand. He ignores it when his fingers brush against hers.

When he sees what’s stamped on the seal, he feels his blood run cold: baying dogs amongst fire. The feeling doesn’t stop until he’s finished reading every single word that’s scrawled in that fucking handwriting on that fucking paper.

“This is addressed to you, Thea. Directly addressed to you,” he says, raking his eyes over the word Hemithea at the top of the page. If Az's familiarity with her strikes Rhys or Mor as odd, they don’t mention it, and he’s too hyperfocused on the letter to notice if they make faces or if their breathing changes. He snaps his head up to her and makes sure she’s looking at him before he asks, “Why is Eris Vanserra addressing letters about…?” He searches for the term on the paper.

“Dissociative stimulants?” she offers, but the look he gives her makes her go quiet and he realises he’s angry. Furious, even. It’s not the cold anger that he only lets Rhys see, not the icy rage that comes over him when he needs to release it. And it’s not with her, never, but with the situation, and he’s not doing a good job at pushing that at anything but her. There’s no fear on her face, thankfully, she just seems taken aback by the strength of his feeling about it. So is he, if he’s honest, but having his friend offer advice to one of his mortal enemies wasn’t what he had on the cards for today.

“Yes,” he bites out. “Those. Why is he asking you about those?”

“Azriel,” Rhys warns lowly. He slides his gaze over to his brother for a second, before it settles back on Thea and he waits.

“It’s fine,” she says to Rhys, waving him off, and then her sole attention is on him and Az can feel the wind get kicked out from under him as she fixes him still. “Eris—” hearing the prick’s name come out of her mouth puts him on edge, “—asked Rhys for information on a certain plant that his father has begun using, and Rhys directed him to me because that’s what I research—”

He cuts her off. “I know what you research, Thea.” Of course he does. He can sit and watch her smash training dummy after training dummy with her impeccable blade skills on those sleepless nights of theirs and happily listen to her talk about medicines and hallucinogens for hours on end. It’s not only useful for when he needs to apply a bit more pressure in the dungeons of the Hewn City, but it’s truly fascinating and the passion in her voice when she speaks is more soothing than any kind of tea Madja has ever given him for headaches. “Why are we providing Eris with access to our scholars?” Her face softens when he calls her that. Scholar. The sight relaxes him, but not enough.

“We aren’t,” Mor says firmly from behind him, still lounging and looking out of the window.

“Mor—” Thea begins, but Rhys stops her softly.

He addresses both Mor and Az plainly. “I want to know what Beron is doing beyond what Az’s spies can tell us.” It’s not meant as an insult, but it hurts like one, and Rhys sends him an apologetic look. Not a reflection on you, brother. Even Az knows that there are limits to what someone paid to betray their home Court is willing, or able, to provide. “If he’s found a substitute for faebane now that we’re inoculated, we need to be prepared. Eris is giving us information about that whether he thinks he is or not.”

Realisation dawns on Azriel so quickly he’s certain the rest of the room can feel it. He has to shut his jaw before it hangs open for too long. “You’re tricking him.”

Thea, again smiling at him, nods. “In a way, yes.”

Is that pride blooming in his chest?

“I’ve been plying him for as much information as I can get. Obviously, he knows we’re gaining from what he’s telling us, but he thinks the details I’m asking for are just out of curiosity.”

Then… why is this an issue?

He hadn’t said a word, but Mor answers his question anyway. “If you let him into the city,” she snaps, “he wins. You do get that, don’t you?” In her voice is the wet rage of a person who cares too much. It’s righteous rage, after everything that happened to her.

Wait.

Double take.

“Let him into the city? ” he snarls at Rhys, who’s watching for his reaction with a kind of impassive, neutral face.

Thea sighs beside him. “If we want to understand what it is this plant does,” she says coolly, “I need to see the physical effects of it on the body. Eris is capable of giving me that, and I’m not leaving Velaris to get it.”

The admission knocks him out of his anger so completely that his spiking shadows drop flat to the floor before they whirl up to his shoulders again. Gods, of course she won’t leave the city. Eris has to come to her. She’s a scholar, but a priestess too. The library is her sanctuary and he knows exactly what happened to her for it to have become that. Only he, Mor, and Rhys are aware of the story, Mor actively being the one to bring her to Velaris, and the other two don’t even know that Thea told him one night in the House of Wind. Leaving the library to come here is bravery enough; he’ll physically stop Mor pushing that boundary if he has to.

“Then get someone else to meet with him,” Mor says, and Az understands. Thea, knowing her, will too. It’s an unfair scenario, but he’s already shaking his head at the notion. No one else understands this substance like Thea does, and try as he might to comprehend all of the things she tells him, she’s the expert. The depth of her knowledge would take years to teach someone else so they could perform whatever study she needs to, and by then, Beron might be using this stimulant for something nefarious. They can’t have that.

“He’d stay in the House of Wind, Mor,” Rhys explains kindly. He too gets it, why she’s so irate about it. “He’s not getting anywhere close to the city.”

“Punt him off one of the balconies,” Thea says. “Let me strap him to a table and make him bleed for what he did to you, Mor.” The imagery of that, and Thea being the one to do it, pleases Az more than he cares to admit. “It doesn’t matter to me what happens to him, but only after I’ve wrung every last bit of information out of him. This—” she waves the letter in the air, “—scares me. If it does what I think it does, then we need to know how to combat it as fast as possible.”

Mor swallows, purses her lips, and returns to the window. Az can’t tell if that’s quiet acceptance of Eris’ presence, or angry acceptance of the fact that Rhys is going to let him into the city with or without her approval. Something about that sits uncomfortably in Azriel’s stomach. Willfully ignoring your second-in-command is a bold, if stupid, move.

“What do you think it does?” he asks, noting the real, shaking fear in the way Thea spoke. It’s not something he ever wants to hear again. Even Rhys sits back as he watches her take a breath.

“The classification of it: dissociative stimulant, tells you a lot,” she says. “It stimulates brain function. Makes you forget the limits your body puts your muscles under to stop you tearing yourself in half. Makes you more aggressive, heightens every basic instinct you have. And the dissociative part…”

“You’re out of your mind while it’s affecting you,” he finishes for her.

She makes a little hum of approval. Inappropriately, he stores the sound for a different context. “Hallucinations. Delusions. Totally abnormal emotional responses,” she continues. “Reading between the lines of what Eris says, it has a side effect of making a person more… malleable. Think being controlled by a daemati but you can give it to thousands and thousands of soldiers who won’t feel pain, don’t want to eat, and have no concept of their morals, all without breaking a sweat. Eris—he’s terrified of it.”

Sounds a lot like the Crown, he thinks absently.

Rhys must have caught the thought, because his voice rings in Az’s head. But far worse.

Does Feyre—?

A nod. Thea came here and explained everything to the two of us already. I thought she was going to break the front door off its hinges.

If this weren’t so serious, he’d laugh at the image. Thea went down the ten thousand steps and crossed the city for this, instead of trying to find him or Cassian and ask them to help her. Then again, if she had decided to get him, she’d have found him with his hand around his cock, probably sighing her name, so it’s for the best that she didn’t. Besides, it’s obvious to him that the exertion of the journey hasn’t affected her. She’s wide-eyed. Excited, even. It’s a strange thing to note.

He swallows thickly. Refocuses. He hates everything about this. He hates that Mor is the one who has to bear the brunt of it. He doesn’t want Eris within ten feet, no, ten miles of Thea, and Cassian… Logistically, it doesn’t seem possible. “Cassian will kill him before he even steps foot in the House of Wind. If Eris breathes near Nesta, it’s over before it begins,” he says.

Measured, detached, Rhys replies, “Neither of them will be in the House of Wind when he’s here.”

The plan, Azriel realises, has been set out before he’d even arrived, and he’s just walked Rhys and Thea through it the same way they probably formed it. Clever.

“And you want me to play chaperone,” he concludes, not bothering to ask it as a question. “Again.” Mor perks up at the word, but it’s for Rhys and him to know. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Rhys asks, almost splutters, like he was expecting more pushback.

But it is fine. It’s the only way any of this is fine. If he isn’t there, then Thea has no safety net, and no one would be around to keep Eris in his place. That fucker will try something, he feels it. He’s not about to give Eris unfettered access to her. That sounds like possessiveness, but it isn’t. While they might be training the priestesses in the House of Wind, and though Thea is the best of them, Eris has five-hundred-years of experience and the power of an heir to a Court. So, yeah, he nods, it’s fine. Not good, not okay. Fine.

To Thea, he asks, “How long do you think you’ll need?”

She shrugs. “A few days, maybe more. I don’t know.” At that, Mor huffs and stands abruptly, walking out without a word, and Thea winces. “That doesn’t feel great,” she says.

“She’ll get over it,” Rhys says carefully as he stares after where she’d disappeared behind the door. Thea offers him a weak smile, like she knows that’s a lie. For Mor, this is an unforgivable situation—but the fact that Feyre agreed to it so readily is a marker of how important it is; it’s probably driven a wedge between them. Family dinners are going to go back to being awkward.

“I think I need to go clear my head.” Thea stands, pushes herself up delicately with her fingers pressing into the leather arms of the chair. “I’ll write to Eris once I’m back at the library,” she tells Rhys.

“As soon as he—” Rhys starts, but Thea nods.

“I know the plan, Rhys,” she says. “I’ll see you soon.” And then she’s turning to Az and saying, “You still owe me from this morning.” Over the other side of the desk, Rhys’ eyebrows shoot up.

He owes her ten marks because he bet her that she couldn’t nick him in the neck when they sparred after general training was finished with earlier. Usually, when they practice swordplay, the goal for him isn’t to win, it’s to facilitate Thea practicing her skills and keep her reflexes honed. Her goal is, always, to land a hit that grazes his skin, because she’s the only priestess besides Gwyn who has the control to use a blade with a sharp edge. Training swords, he explained to her once, don’t hold the weight of the real thing. So, he ends every morning training session with another mark on himself, usually on his torso, or his arms, occasionally his thighs, but this time, he challenged her, and she rose to meet it. Illyrian healing has made the cut heal over already, but he and Thea know it’s there.

“Do it again tomorrow. Double or nothing,” he says, ignoring the look Rhys is giving him.

In response, Thea scoffs a laugh. “Deal,” she says, shaking her head at him. “See you later, Az.” She passes by him and her hand twitches like she’s going to run her hands through his hair. She's in the habit of doing that to annoy him, but it doesn't annoy him; he practically keens every time. She restrains herself for Rhys’ benefit and he doesn’t watch her go. When she leaves the room, Az lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

The silence from his brother grates on him.

“Say whatever it is you want to say, Rhys,” he says calmly.

Rhys flicks his eyes between him and the door. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” Az glowers at him, and he sags back into his chair, the final bit of High Lord in him melting away. “I didn’t know you and Thea were…” He looks away, searching for the word. “...close,” is what he settles on—bitingly disapprovingly, but with some reluctance too.

“She’s my friend,” Az states, because it’s true. His shadows darken around his forearms.

“She’s a priestess,” Rhys says, and it reminds Az of a parent. Now Rhys is a father, he has that stern, paternal tone to him when he’s scolding them like children.

“So?”

He knows what Rhys is getting at, but, pettily, he wants him to say it. Wants him to admit that he thinks he’s incapable of keeping it in his pants.

However, Rhys so rarely gives Az what he wants these days, and changes the subject. The warning has been understood regardless.

“Who were you with earlier?” he asks, smirking. “Do we know her?”

Azriel folds his hands in his lap and crosses his legs. He’s never answered that question before, not even if Mor asked him, and he’s not about to start now. “I don’t need you meddling in my sex life, Rhys,” he says, thinking bitterly to himself that he doesn’t actually have one currently, and he has no plans to change it. It’s not that he can’t get one. He could go to Rita’s tonight, be flooded with offers from males and females alike, and he could easily have two at a time; he’s not naïve of that. He’s just not going to, especially since Rita’s makes him nauseous when he’s there alone.

“Forgive me for being curious,” he says. “Cassian tells me you haven’t taken a lover for years.”

Of course Cassian tells you that. Brotherly love extends a long way and it's the reason Azriel doesn’t wring Cass’ neck for being a busybody. “I don’t need Cassian meddling either.”

Rhys runs his tongue along his teeth and relents, throwing his hands up in surrender. “For what it’s worth,” he says, a feline grin gracing his face, “when you do get another lover, it’ll be gratifying to keep him and Nesta up all night in revenge, no?”

That makes Az exhale a little laugh despite himself, and Rhys clearly takes it as a victory. “Maybe,” he says, shrugging. “I was in the middle of something.” He still has a lot of work to do, and now his previous problem is dealt with, he can get back to being efficient about it.

“Go on,” Rhys says, nodding to the door. “Make sure Thea gets back safe, will you?” he adds, but the warning is back in his tone, as if to say do that and don’t dare do anything else.

On the flight back to the House of Wind, he sends his shadows to find her. She’s in The Rainbow, shopping, chatting with vendors. She doesn’t get back for another couple of hours, and he leaves her be while he works.

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#azriel #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel angst #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel smut #eris vanserra #azriel fic #azriel x you #azriel x reader

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hwaslayer · 2 days ago

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wildfire (cs) | twelve.

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 4.8k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing, lotsa talk goin around, mostly focused on namjoon lol, i'ma tell yall rn - cant trust nobody!!, everyone is just onto san x oc but for the wrong asssss reasons, joon loves his 'yes or no' questions lmao, again - i promise you there is no ill intentions behind namjoon's actions - he is trying to see both sides but he has to do what he needs to do as a department chair first & foremost!! pls understand my guy.. he had to think quick!

Today, it feels like everyone is staring at you.

Today, it feels like everyone knows, and everyone is projecting their assumptions about you and San out into the world.

"You okay?" Eunchae looks down at you as you walk and avoid contact, keeping your eyes down on your feet below or your phone. "You're awfully quiet today." Maybe word hasn't gotten to Eunchae, Jurin or Felix yet, but you know it'll eventually make its way over.

Or, maybe they have heard and they're just waiting for you.

All you know is that you wanna hide under your blankets to prevent all this overthinking, this anxiety from feeling like everyone is watching you.

"Yeah. Just tired."

"You sure? I'm all ears, you know."

"Mhm." You give her a small reassuring smile as you tug on your bag. "Thank you."

"Course."

"Have you heard from Jiung today?" You ask. You haven't really talked to Jiung since your fight at the happy hour event, and he hasn't done much to talk to you either. It's a bit awkward, but whenever you and your friends are all together, you try to keep the peace and act like nothing is wrong. You do hope he's okay, and you do hope to have your bestfriend back— but you're still upset at the fact that he jumped to conclusions about San and accused him of forcing you into this.

"No. But, he did say he probably wasn't gonna grab lunch cause he needs to take care of some things."

"I see."

"I'll see you for lunch though, right?" You nod, just as the Biology building comes into view. "Goodluck with class today."

"Thanks." You squeeze her hand before heading inside for class. Luckily, Yunho said he wouldn't be able to join class today. You weren't really in the mood to deal with him, and you're more so worried about getting through class in one piece before your mind tears you apart with all this overthinking.

"Morning Y/N!" A student already sitting in the classroom says. You're instantly comforted as you greet them back and start getting set up at the front of the classroom. But, that instantly goes down the drain when two more students walk in together— eyeing you as they pass the front table before talking amongst each other.

Fuck.

You haven't heard from San either.

The world truly felt like it was swallowing you whole.

—FLASHBACK

"Hey! I'm back." You smile at Sunwoo as you place your things down at your desk. It instantly fades when you get a chance to look around the basement office, a few of your lab members talking amongst themselves while looking in your direction. You slightly furrow your brows, wondering what exactly they were talking about or why they felt the need to be doing all of that in your face.

Was everyone in on you and San?

Is this what everything has come to?

"Hey you!" Sunwoo looks up, noticing the shift in your mood. He turns to look at everyone, shaking his head before returning his attention towards you. At this point, everyone has returned to their desks or left the room to head into the behavior or wet lab rooms. "You good?"

"Hm." You hum. "I guess."

"You guess? How was the conference?"

"Good! It was chill. Jotted down a few presentations I wanted to share with you and Belle. Is she around?" He shakes his head.

"Haven't seen her."

"Hm, okay."

"You can tell me, I'm all ears." You look at your watch.

"I gotta run behavior soon."

"So, let's grab something quick to eat before you run behavior?"

"I'm down. Kinda starving anyway."

"Yeah, let's get something in you. You won't be able to focus otherwise." He stands and stretches before nodding towards the door. "So, what was the most interesting?" You follow behind him with your wallet clutched in hand, lingering eyes watching as you leave with Sunwoo.

"Maybe she's trying to get around the lab?" You overhear one of the guys say just as you walk out of the room with Sunwoo, pausing in your steps.

"Sunwoo."

"Huh?"

"Actually, you know what. I think I can hang on until dinner. I should get started on behavior. We can talk about this another time."

"Huh? No, let's get something really quick."

"You can go ahead without me. Sorry. I just realized I'm more strapped on time than I thought I was."

"Okay? But, I'm grabbing you a snack and you better eat it." He slowly starts walking backwards down the basement hallway, glaring at you.

"Thank you." Sunwoo watches as your head falls when you walk back into the basement office. Truth be told, he's been hearing the talk go around, but he's not one to meddle— especially if it has something to do with his good friends. He'll always be on your side, regardless of what people say or think.

And he feels awful it's starting to be more obvious around you. The talk. The looks.

He wishes he could do more as your friend to help keep it away from you.

—END

Namjoon is already having a rough start to his day despite it being one of the lighter days meeting-wise. He was woken up to an urgent, sensitive email from the dean about an anonymous tip that came in overnight about San:

Namjoon— Please get to the bottom of this; we received this tip last night about San and his student. 'Hi. I'm not sure who to direct this concern to anonymously, but I believe Y/N Y/L/N and Professor Choi (San) are in an inappropriate relationship. I think she might be using it to her advantage to move forward in the program and secure her spot in his lab.' I'd like to resolve this before the end of the week. This should not be taken lightly if this is true...

And the thing is— he's just frustrated that this has been taking up this time lately. He hasn't even gotten his own time to think properly. He could only sigh in disappointment as he got ready for his day, unsure of what else it could bring him.

He should've known the storm was coming.

Iseul tugs on her jacket as she heads over to the Panama Building, the wind cooling her cheeks as she made sure to clear her hour for this particular meeting. Most students are in class right now, so the halls are quiet, still. Iseul takes the elevator up to the second floor and steps out, rushing down towards the left end of the hall.

"Namjoon." Namjoon turns over his shoulder to see Iseul. His door is wide open since he doesn't have any important meetings for awhile, and he always tries to foster a welcoming environment by letting students [and faculty] know they're always welcome to pop in if they need him.

He did not mean her though, especially today.

"Iseul."

"Can we talk?" Namjoon quickly sizes her, realizing she's already inside his office. He doesn't necessarily have a choice, but he knows this talk was gonna happen sooner or later.

He knows Iseul always has something to say.

"You're already in my office so I don't think there's necessarily a choice." He says it in a slightly playful manner just so he doesn't come off entirely rude. "What's on your mind?" Iseul shuts the door and crosses her arms before looking at him. Namjoon sits on the edge of his desk, hands loosely clasped together.

"I think you might already know." He shrugs.

"Enlighten me."

"San."

"What about him?"

"Can you let him know how dangerous it is to be dating his rotation student? He's being stupid."

"He's a grown man."

"And you're the chair."

"Thanks for the reminder." He furrows his brows. "Respectfully Iseul, this is not a discussion for you, that's why I'm not trying to indulge."

"How is this not? He's putting his reputation on the line, along with the school's. Including yours—"

"I don't see where you're involved. You don't have anything to do with him directly or the bioengineering department." He crosses his arms and stands. "I appreciate you bringing this to my attention, but this wasn't your place to do so. I'll handle it and I'll take care of it, so you don't need to worry." Namjoon glares at her a bit.

"You're being so casual about something pretty severe." Namjoon pauses as he maintains his eye contact with her. She wants him to shrink and fold, but he won't.

"I think we both know that's not the reason why you're bringing this up." Her brows are knit tightly as they sit in an awkward, tense pause. "Aren't you tired of treating San this way? Why exactly do you feel so strongly about calling him out?"

"I'm not even doing anything to him—"

"You're right, you're not. You don't respect him, you don't acknowledge him, you don't know how to be civil with him. Yet, you don't see me calling you out on your behavior towards your ex-husband who has done nothing but try and keep the peace. I only ever hear San's name come out of your mouth when you've got something bad to say about him." She glares at him. As much as Namjoon equally tries to be there for all of the faculty and to not choose sides, one thing that can surely piss him off is when people act this way unwarranted.

So no, he won't sit back if he feels the hostility. He understands the severity of the situation and he has yet to gather his thoughts and his information, but he won't take this.

"So, you're gonna let this go? Do you even actually understand the situation, Namjoon? If you won't take care of it, I'll have no choice but to escalate this to the dean."

"I do, plenty. You don't have to tell me twice or how to do my job, Iseul." He walks over to the door. "I already said I'll take care of it. On my own terms and in my own way. Not the way you want me to." He places a hand on his hip. "And what makes you think we haven't already discussed this?"

"Fine. If that girl ruins everything for the school—"

"She won't." Namjoon cuts her off just as he swings the door open. "This will be taken care of, end of story. Is there anything else I can help you with that doesn't involve San and his personal matters?"

"No." She huffs a bit before walking out of the room. At this point, Jiung is cutting the corner and almost running into Iseul as he makes his way to Namjoon's office. Jiung does a curt bow to Iseul as she storms by, heels clicking away on the linoleum floor. Her feet are heavy, Jiung feels every step even as she gets further and further away.

"Oh, Jiung. Nice to see a friendly face." Namjoon lets out a breath and gives him a toothless smile.

"Professor Kim." Jiung gives him a bow. "Are you free right now?"

"Mhm." He steps aside. "Just finished with Professor Lee. Come on in." He welcomes him inside, a bit relieved to see his face and to be welcomed by his gentle aura. It's nothing like Iseul and he's grateful; although, it does make him a little nervous to see Jiung in his office when he doesn't necessarily belong to the department.

And just like Iseul, the buzz around campus, everything that's been going down— Namjoon already feels like he knows what this is about.

The only thing he can do is confront it and take care of it just like he told Iseul he'd do. But, how? He's not sure. He's gonna have to take the time today to sit San down and poke at his brain because he's just not understanding how all of this went down and why his name and your name are being tossed around together.

Maybe he just didn't wanna believe it was true; not with San, no. He couldn't. Both as his friend and colleague.

"What can I help with? I'm a little surprised you're popping into my office since you're in the electrical engineering department."

"Ah, cause.." Jiung slowly sits in the chair and sets his bag down. "It doesn't necessarily have anything to do with me." Namjoon cocks his head to the side.

"Okay, no worries. I'm all ears."

"I-I don't really know how to say this, but I'm mainly concerned about a friend. She's in the bioengineering department."

"I think I might know what you're talking about." Namjoon says, giving Jiung a nod to proceed with his explanation.

"Yeah, it's that. I feel like Professor Choi might have forced her into it, though. It just seems really out of character for Y/N, and I don't know. I guess it just feels like he might have said something or tried to take advantage of her."

"I understand your concern for your friend, but can you let me know why you think Professor Choi is taking advantage of her or forcing her into this?"

"I just.. it just seems off, is all."

"But, what if this is also Y/N's choice?"

"It's not like her."

"I'm not saying you don't know your friend, Jiung. But, there are things people are fully capable of doing that can come off as unexpected from your point of view."

"I talked to her after the whole happy hour thing went down and I found Professor Choi kinda cornering her against the wall. She didn't look scared or anything, but she did get defensive while I was talking to her and asking her about it."

"I see." Is all Namjoon says because one, he just doesn't know. Just like he told Jiung, there are probably things he doesn't know San is capable of doing. He needs to talk to him and that's the only way he'll get the proper story. The only way to get to the bottom of it is finally confronting San about the issue at hand.

Face to face.

To be honest, he's been putting off the conversation because it's not a conversation he wants to have. It's not easy, nor will the decision at the end be something he wants to do— but he has to.

"I'm sorry, Professor Kim. I don't mean to add to your plate, but I got worried."

"Is Y/N doing okay otherwise?" He nods.

"Think so. She hasn't been saying much. We got into a fight after I confronted her so we haven't been talking."

"Sorry to hear that. I'm sure things will smooth over sooner or later." Namjoon says. "Is there anything else you'd like to let me know?"

"No, that's all. I'm sorry I don't have much details, I'm just worried about her."

"All good, I understand. I'm sure she appreciates it, too. She's lucky to have a friend like you by her side."

"Thanks, Professor Kim. For hearing me out."

"Sure. I'll take care of it and see what I can do, okay?" Jiung nods and stands, slipping his bag strap over his shoulder.

"Can we keep this between us? Please don't mention that I stopped by."

"Of course." Namjoon says softly as he stands to walk him to the dior. "Of course." He repeats.

"Thanks."

"I just can't promise you I'll have any updates cause it'll be pretty confidential moving forward."

"It's fine. I get it." Jiung stops right before he steps out the door. "Thank you again."

"No problem. You know how to reach me if you have any other concerns." Jiung nods before slipping through the door and taking his exit. Namjoon exhales heavily before pulling out his phone to text the person he needs—

namjoon: can we talk in my office? i'd rather much do this today, not later.

namjoon: i'm free for the next hour and half.

san: yeah. i'll be there in 15 minutes.

namjoon: thanks.

He sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tries to gather his thoughts. It's the hardest thing to approach this as a colleague rather than a friend because as a friend, Namjoon would let this go. He knows San deserves to be happy, and it sounds like he is. That's all he's ever wanted for him especially after all the hurt and pain he had gone through with Iseul and Yunho. But as a colleague, his 'higher-up' even, it's wrong. San's happiness is wrong because it's with his student. A student who is a grown adult who can make decisions for themselves. It's wrong.

So, what does he do?

He feels a migraine coming on, so he tries to busy himself with some emails, making sure deadlines and reports have been submitted. Luckily, the dean is giving him some time and isn't pressing him for answers right this second even though he knows it's on his mind. If he was, Namjoon wasn't sure what he'd say.

He's not sure how he'll get San out of this.

"Yo." San appears in his office, softly shutting the door behind him.

"Take a seat." San immediately picks up on the vibe in the room and how stressed Namjoon looks. He knows they still need to talk about things, but something tells San it's become much deeper than that and he's not prepared for it whatsoever. No matter how hard he tried to prepare, there's no proper way to be fully prepared.

"You okay?"

"Honestly, I don't know." He sits back a bit, hands clasped on the surface of the table. "But, I'm just gonna get right to it because I think this is way overdue."

"Okay." San manages to respond softly.

"We need to talk about what happened at the happy hour event the other day, plus that whole thing with Iseul and Yunho." Namjoon pauses before he cuts to the chase. "San, why do I keep getting wind of you being in a relationship with your rotation student?" Silence. "Y/N, to be exact." He looks at him. "Is that what the whole happy hour thing was about? Is that what you three were discussing in the conference room yesterday?" He sighs. "I was try to push this off a little longer until I could figure out how to get you out of this, but word keeps going around and it definitely didn't help that you three had a screaming match about it." San sighs heavily as he sinks into the chair.

"Well, as far as I know, I wasn't planning on discussing my personal matters with Yunho and Iseul. They trapped me into the fucking—"

"San." Namjoon stops him. "Is it a yes or no?" Pause. San just looks at Namjoon and it's enough for him to put the final piece together. Everything had been about you from the get-go, but San still won't say it. He's doing everything to protect you, but this might be it; there's no way he can lie to Namjoon about this, or hide this from him any longer.

It's far too late for that.

"San." He repeats. "This is not the time to try and lie to me. I had two people talk to me about it and an anonymous tip came in that was sent my way."

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter." Namjoon furrows his brows and lets out a heavy exhale. "I need the truth from you. Now." The exasperated sigh that leaves San's lips is full of emotions; fear, anxiety, protectiveness, even.

"I'm sorry." Is all San can respond with. It comes out low, barely above a whisper.

"Why?" Namjoon cocks his head to the side, hands on his hips. "Why? I just wanna know why!" His voice is harsh, but he keeps his tone low. "A student, your student? It's damn near everywhere, you know that, right? I don't know how I'm gonna fix this for you, but you know they'll take action against her and probably you—"

"Namjoon, please." San pleads. "Please don't do this to her. Don't take her out of the program. Do whatever you need to me, but don't take it out on her."

"San." Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose before letting out an exasperated sigh. "You should've known better." He looks at him, but San can't even respond. All he can do is shrug and shake his head because he did know better, he just didn't wanna do better and chose to be selfish. "I need to figure this out before end of the day and report back to the dean. I can't force you to act a certain way or do things you don't wanna do. But, for this reason in particular, I'm gonna need you two to stop. You're not interacting with her on campus, you're not going to be involved in anything having to do with her moving forward." Namjoon shakes his head. "You both couldn't wait until graduation or something? I know it's years ahead but you know how this looks—"

"I— no. Things just happened. That's really the only way I can explain it. I'm sorry. The hell am I supposed to do? I can't help but feel how I feel for her." Namjoon sighs heavily, feeling torn between wanting his friend to be happy, but concerned and disappointed for his colleague.

"That isn't gonna fly. You knew better than to get involved with a student in your lab. You can't just risk everything you've built for yourself, San. You have no idea how much trouble you could get into if the school finds out just exactly how deep your relationship has gotten with her— let alone, your own rotation student!" His tone slight rises, but it falls when he sees San visibly shrink and lose eye contact with him. He paces around for a bit, hands still on his hips as he tries to figure out a way to brush this over before it gets way too messy and complicated. "I get you. I do. You deserve to be happy, and who the hell am I to police your actions? But, I can't have you do this to yourself or her. The both of you are grown so I expected you to do better."

"So, what's gonna happen?"

"Well, I'll need to let them know this isn't true and that you two aren't in a relationship. I'll have to remove her from your lab and I'll need to figure out where I can place her or what I can do for her."

"They won't kick her out, right?"

"Honestly, I can't even be sure. I don't think so, but you two will definitely not be allowed to be near or around each other." Namjoon looks at him. "Are you not even worried about yourself?"

"No, I'm not."

"She's worth it to you?"

"More than anything." San says softly. "Look, it's cliché but you really don't understand." Namjoon shrugs.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't. I don't wanna take your happiness away, San. Believe me. That's the last thing I wanna do and this is already difficult as is. But, it just had to be her?"

"It did, yeah. And there's nothing I regret about it." Another small silence falls between them before Joon speaks up again.

"Do you get where people are taking this?"

"No, quite frankly, I don't."

"Favoritism, like you two are taking advantage of each other for benefits. It's becoming so noticeable that people are talking."

"You and I both know how great of a student she is. If she's received opportunities, it's because she earned them herself, not because of me."

"That's not how it looks. And perception matters. You know this. Relationships like this are literally a ticking time bomb for your career, the bioengineering department." He's gonna use the excuse that Iseul pulled because for him, as department chair, as someone who needs to keep the glue together for this department, it's true.

"I don't even see how we're doing anything wrong when we're both adults. She and I both know what this is—"

"That doesn't matter in this situation. There's a power dynamic here you can't ignore. Even if this is real, you hold her future in your hands. Do you understand?" Joon exhales, brows tightly knit together. "What about her fate in this whole situation? Do you care about that?"

"Of course I do. I care about her more than anything." San responds almost exasperatedly.

"Do you love her?"

"If I say yes?"

"Then, tell me. If you had to choose between your relationship or keeping her here, then what?" San sighs and runs his hand down his face. "Think about it. You deserve to be happy, but that girl also deserves a chance to keep going."

"Why can't we just keep it on the low, why do I have to choose? W-we can be more careful—"

"San, don't be stupid. I'm sure 'being careful' is how this all started, right?" Silence. "You know people are going to find out one way or another. It won't matter how real this is to you, to the both of you. She'll be branded as the professor's pet. Is that what you want for her? And you'll lose everything—your job, your reputation, ability to work at other institutions. Plus, the dean is still thinking about your program with Jongho and the real estate. This is going to trickle onto Jongho, too."

"No, of course not. And I don't want Jongho to take a fall because of me. But.." San sighs, his heart breaking the more this conversation goes on. He wasn't prepared to be here today, no. And he wasn't prepared for his mind to start thinking otherwise about your relationship, you. He was always sure of you, but now he's starting to feel like he's been too selfish;

Neglected you and your future plans. Your dreams, your goals.

"You're asking me to break this off. To break off my relationship with someone I truly care about and someone that genuinely makes me happy. Something I haven't felt in a long time."

"I'm sorry, San. I already told you how difficult this is, and it's not my intention to take your happiness away. I just need to protect you two from everyone, especially the dean. Please understand me and hear me. I'm asking you to protect her this way. If anything happens, it'll be the both of you going down and you know she doesn't deserve that either. "

"And If I don't do this?" San asks just to put the question out there.

"Then, can you call it love? Or is it just you being selfish?" San leans onto his knees, head falling into his hands. "I'm trying to come from a good place. Help me help you." He feels a headache coming on, thoughts running at a thousand miles per hour. He hates the thought of losing you; it makes him sick to his stomach. But, he can't even lie and say there isn't a piece of truth behind Namjoon's words.

Can San really say he loves you if he isn't doing the right thing for you? Is he being too selfish, assuming he could keep this on the low? Assuming he could be 'more' careful with you?

Is he selfish for wanting you by his side no matter what? Is he selfish for saying fuck it?

Is he selfish?

The last thing he wants to do is ruin your career, ruin you. Even if this will hurt like hell, he understands where Namjoon is coming from and knows he needs to put you first.

He's so conflicted. He has no idea what to do or how to move forward. Because as much as he knows he needs to do this for you and the sake of Namjoon, he doesn't want to.

He is scared.

"I need to head back to my office." San sighs and stands, but Namjoon follows closely.

"I don't have much time. I need to let them know that something is gonna be done and I need to prove it to them. You do hear me, right?"

"I do. I just.. give me a little bit of time to think, Joon. Please." Namjoon just nods, meeting San's expression. He feels bad, he really does. And as his friend, this isn't something he wants to do— but he has to. He could easily tell San to keep this on the low, to keep this a secret until things blow over but at some point, he doesn't trust himself to continue along with the story had anyone asked about it out of the blue.

Namjoon watches as San sadly walks off back to his office, eyes trained on the phone in his hand. San sees your texts, and usually, that'll be enough to put a smile on his face. He'll text back right away so you know he's been thinking about you; but today, he's thinking about you in a different light and he's not sure how to stomach it.

When he gets back to his office, he sees a few people from the lab lingering around— even you. You meet his eyes and his eyes meet yours, but he doesn't give you a smile.

His eyes don't glow like they used to.

His cheeks aren't threatening to glow that cute, rosy tint they do when you're around.

He just steps in without doing anything to acknowledge your presence and that already feels way off.

you: 😞 you didn't even look my way when you walked back into the office and i haven't heard from you all day.

you: i hate how all my papers and presentations are due this week. plus ppl have been weird, idk. i just wanna cuddle 😭

san: i'm sorry. it's just been a day.

you: that's never stopped you before... ☹️ what's wrong, san?

san: we should talk, baby.

—read 12.5 here

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thechaotictheoryy @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny @naoristerling @onmymymyway @thecutiepieme @wyrated

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dollettiee · 3 days ago

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Would you write a Hwang Jun ho with a plus size reader

Like Junho stops her because she is not wearing her seatbelt and this happens a couple of times so he decides to teach her a lesson (ends with smut)

୧ 𝓒𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 �� . . . mdni. yandere? implied nsfw but not detailed, chubby reader.

hwang jun—ho had a reputation for being thorough. it wasn‘t just about upholding the law ── it was about control, about making sure that when he spoke, people listened. but apparently, you hadn‘t gotten the memo.

it was the third time this week he had pulled you over, and each time, it had been for the same damn reason. no seatbelt. he had let it slide the first time, let out a warning the second. but a third? oh, you were testing him now.

he leaned down to your open window, arms resting against the car door as he peered inside. his dark eyes flickered over you, his expression unreadable. you knew you were soft, all curves, plush in a way that made something coil deep in his stomach. but right now, he was more interested in the defiance in your gaze, like you knew exactly what you were doing.

“again?” his voice was calm, too calm.

you huffed, shifting in your seat, the leather creaking beneath you. “i just forgot, officer.”

jun—ho clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he glanced toward the empty buckle beside you. “forgot,” he echoed. “you seem to forget a lot.”

you shrugged, lips pursed like you were trying to hold back a smile. oh, you were enjoying this.

that was fine. he could play that game too.

“step out of the car.”

your eyes widened. “what? why?”

“because i said so.” his voice was firm, brooking no argument.

you hesitated before sighing, pushing open the door and stepping onto the pavement. the night air was thick and warm, but jun—ho‘s presence was suffocating in a different way. he was close, too close, the scent of his cologne wrapping around you like a vice.

he reached past you, fingers brushing against your side as he grabbed the seatbelt. “since you don‘t seem to understand how this works,” he murmured, voice dropping an octave, “i‘ll have to teach you.”

you swallowed, eyes darting to his face. his expression was unreadable, but there was something in the way he moved, slow and deliberate, that made your knees weak.

he pulled the belt across your chest, snapping it into place, his fingers grazing over the swell of your breasts as he did. it wasn‘t an accident. it wasn’t a mistake. your breath hitched, and jun-ho smiled, dark and knowing.

“see? easy.”

you should have said something. should have stepped away. but you didn‘t. instead, you let him linger, let his fingers trail over the fabric of your dress, down to the soft dip of your waist.

“you like breaking rules, don‘t you?” he murmured, eyes locked on yours.

you exhaled shakily, your fingers gripping the edge of the car door. “maybe.”

he hummed, tilting his head. “then i guess i‘ll have to punish you.”

your stomach flipped, heat pooling low in your belly. he was still so close, his breath ghosting over your cheek. his hands settled on your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you shiver.

“turn around,” he ordered, voice like silk and steel.

your heart pounded as you obeyed, pressing your hands against the cool metal of the car. behind you, jun—ho let out a low chuckle, his hands sliding up your sides, over the generous curve of your body.

his fingers skimmed under the hem of your dress, hiking it up slowly, teasingly. you sucked in a breath as he palmed the softness of your thighs, his touch firm, possessive.

“if you want to act reckless,” he muttered against your ear, lips grazing your heated skin, “then you‘ll deal with the consequences.”

you whimpered as his hands spread you open, as his mouth pressed hot, open—mouthed kisses along your neck, trailing downward.

his hands roamed with purpose, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your underwear, teasing and coaxing moans from your lips. your breath hitched as he pressed against you, his heat, his strength caging you in completely.

“tell me you‘ll remember now,” he demanded, voice husky, his lips trailing down your spine as he claimed every inch of you.

“i—i will,” you gasped, your body arching into his touch, surrendering completely.

he smirked, satisfied, before giving you exactly what you needed.

by the time he was done with you, your legs were shaking, your body pressed against the car, marked by his touch. he leaned in, brushing his lips over your ear, whispering, “next time, don‘t forget your seatbelt.”

© all rights reserved ! headers/layouts does not belongs to me ! don‘t copy, plagiarize or modify my works. all works are taken in a form of fiction, do not condone any problematic behavior. ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

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astracora · 24 hours ago

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Poly!LADs headcanons - Caleb Edition

(Because I have no idea if I'll ever get around to writing his intro to the polycule so I wanted to shove some ideas into a post.)

Masterlist

- The one who has the most trouble adapting to the concept of the polycule.

- Reintroduced after the polycule is formed, a year after his death.

- His reintroduction is obviously a bit rough, not only is he actively combative with the MC, but his actions push them further into the comfort of the polycule like a wounded cat.

- After they have eased the relationship out, it's some time before they talk to him about the polycule. Not sure how to broach it.

- He already knew, and he already stewed about it for a long time. (He's still stewing about it.)

- They've mourned him, after loving him, and moved forwards though, he can't push and demand when he knows that without the polycule they likely wouldn't still be there.

- His first meeting is rough, he can hide as much as he wants behind smiles, but Sylus is very good at reading people, as is Rafayel, so they can see through him. (Rafayel is no stranger to fake smiles). Xavier is jealous so reacts most to Caleb, while Zayne is somewhat calm, but wary. On one hand he has a childhood friend back, on the other hand depending on how much he knows. If he knows about Caleb's involvement with EVER, a great deal of distrust, and some real anger (that he tries not to show).

- Clashes most with Rafayel and Zayne. Rafayel because the two are almost opposed in many ways (Caleb's lack of sensory input and reluctance to touch, vs Rafayel as a Lemurian where his senses are SO attuned to his lovers, as well as the memory focus, and also the fact that both hide part of themselves behind a reasonably jovial mask, but Raffy is a lot better at hiding.) Zayne because the two do not agree on the methods of protecting and caring for MC (Keeping them hidden/caged, and the actions of siding with EVER with the intent to keep MC safe (which Zayne consistently states is a stupid plan.)).

- Understands Xavier, still doesn't like him.

- Depending on the advancement of his story, he has the potential to come to terms with the fact that accepting help and acknowledging that he's not alone in his drive to protect the person who means the most to him, helps him step past his self assigned cage.

- With enough time and trust, he accepts the polycule's help tending to his arm. They tinker with it and work with specialists to try to make it capable of sensory responses. It's kind of an exchange that keeps them on good ground. A kind of 'look we're not enemies, you have to lower your hackles' kinda thing.

- He hates the situation a lot less when he holds MC's hand for the first time again, and can feel the heat of them through his cybernetics.

- Builds models with Sylus, though it's more he builds models, Sylus suggests ways to bring them to life as real mini robot weapons. If the two are left alone, they WILL create tiny weaponised planes.

- Rafayel has taken to using them as target practice for throwing daggers.

- One crashed into Zayne's office door, waking him up from a nap, and made him think they were being attacked.

- Xavier slept through the whole thing, and woke up to plane shrapnel in his hair (he's used his light blade to knock a few out if they have disturbed his slumber though.)

- MC does not get enough sleep, and almost banned the planes, until Sylus and Caleb both promised to stop flying them indoors. Hooked up lil cameras to the things and started flying them around linkon and as far as they could before the things ran out of signal. (They got some killer nature recordings.)

- Caleb is another member of the insomnia crew. He's woken up alongside Zayne a few times, and made tea for them both. (Only for MC to toddle in not long after, and curling up between them with their own warm drink, exhausted and miserable but also unable to sleep.)

- Caleb helps take over some of the cooking, he also tries to find tech Xavier can use that won't catch fire, reducing the amount of cooking incidents by about 50%. (If asked he'll say he's doing it to keep MC safe... Xavier's smile when he cooks a full and very good meal has shit all to do with it. He swears.)

- Is the most averse to affection, originally sees the polycule as a means to an end, after all other people are just background noise to his real focus. Unluckily for him, it's hard to keep that mindset up when you spend that much time with people who don't have chips in their head, and also don't want to hurt the things you care about. The anti EVER squad are best placed to combat his 'world for just us two' energy. As well as question his intent. (Especially with how important MC's independence is to them.)

- Will not begin physically and emotionally warming up to the rest of the lads before he finally overcomes the wall keeping him from MC. After he has finally stepped over the line, he basks in it, then begins to let himself become more human again.

- He and Xavier ARE the protection squad. You want to bother the polycule? Can't promise you won't end up dead in a ditch somewhere.

- Zayne does try to rein this in. Sylus finds it hilarious. Rafayel cannot comment because he was thinking about stabbing that dude too. MC thinks they might need to start taking migraine medication because please guys, one nice meal out.

- He's tidy and multi talented. It takes a WHILE before he finds a room for himself in the house, isn't really sure what to fill it with because he struggles to refind his identity as a person. It begins with filling it with model planes, it advances into photos and memories, as well as his DAA stuff as well. Becomes a place he can keep things that tether him to himself.

- Has mended clothes for the others, really wants to know how Raffy tears so many shirts. No he cannot get acrylics out of a white shirt, why did you let it stain!?!!

- His puppy dog eyes are a weapon of mass destruction. NO one is safe. All have fallen to those eyes. 'But he just looks so sad' 'I know he does but why does that mean we now have two puppies in the living room' 'MC wanted them!' 'Caleb we don't have the space or time!!!'

- Uses all his old social media accounts, like an absolute fool. (Aren't you dead dude why are you using all ur old numbers????) Unfollowed most people, kept MC. Didn't follow the polycule. Was missing cute photos and things they'd posted, grumpily and (not that) reluctantly followed them all.

- He and Zayne occasionally have a kamaoji-off.

- He has taken Sylus flying. He did turn his head away so the dragon man could have a moment of sad recollection.

- Does still compete constantly to be the best person to assist mc in their day to day. The competitions can get aggressive and over the top. The lads do get carried away.

- Is the most scared of losing everyone, it does keep him awake at night. Does plan eventualities with the polycule. Does feel comforted knowing that if he fails, he's not leaving MC to deal with everything alone. Assures himself and everyone that he won't fail. He has his tether to get back to, after all.

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theliliesofthevalleies · 2 days ago

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I saw this comedy set on TikTok and thought this was perfect for Tim

Tim hasn’t slept in days working on a drug case rambling about stupid bags.

Bruce walking by: what’s going on?

Dick eating popcorn with Dami: this case is about to make Timmy crack.

Tim slamming his coffee mug down: humans don’t know anything about irony!

Bruce: oh. I’m sorry chum anything I can to help?

Tim: February 2020 two men were pulled over by GCPD for speeding on the interstate. Upon inspection of the car officers found a quote “tan bag” with the words quote “bag full of drugs” printed on the outside.

Bruce: right

Tim: now having been trained in the art of law enforcement the officer made an educated assessment that perhaps. This tan bag may not be trying to be ironic and instead actually had drugs in it.

Dick: I can see the logic.

Tim: upon inspection of the bag the officer found that his theory was correct because inside the bag was 70 grams of meth, 1.36 kilograms of GHB, a gram of cocaine, 15 MDMA tablets, 3.6 grams of fentanyl. Thereby rendering the outside of the bag n understatement because that bag was full of EVERY drug!

Dami: wow.. talk about the understatement of the year.

Tim: when asked if it was common to come across a bag labeled “bag full of drugs” he was quoted as saying “yeah I’d say that’s rare.”

Dick: so clearly not a public speaker..

Tim: Tuesday July 20th 2024. GCPD pullover a woman just inside of Gotham. And upon inspection of her vehicle found a quote “tan bag” with the words quote “bag of drugs” printed on the outside in her purse. Upon removal of said “bag of drugs” the officer found that it was as advertised unironically containing 3.25 grams of cocaine, 1.75 grams of crack, 1 gram of meth, 1.5 pills of hydromorphone, 2 amphetamines, and 4.5 alprazolams! Again the lettering on the bag a distortion regardless of how technically accurate it is because this bag HAD ALL THE FUCKING DRUGS IN IT!

Bruce: language chum.

Tim: Tuesday October 8th 2024! Blüdhaven police located a stolen car. Inside the found a fully loaded firearm, cash, and a quote “tan bag” labeled quote “definitely not a bag full of drugs” law enforcement no doubt taking pointers from GCPD checked the contents of the bag quote “definitely not a bag full of drugs” and found that it was in fact full of drugs! 79 tabs of fentanyl! 230 grams of meth and 3 fake pills of oxycodone! Which if it was just that would have rendered the front an accurate description and thus a level of situational irony that would have been achieved that would have made Oscar Wilde blast his pants!

Jason being summoned at the mention of Oscar Wilde: what would make Oscar Wilde blast his pants?

Dick: shh he’s not done.

Tim: back in Gotham. January 19th 2025!

Dami: oh. Recent.

Tim: a woman was arrested at a traffic stop. The K-9 unit took an interest in a bunch of bags in the back of the car. When asked if they could search the car the woman said “yeah. There shouldn’t be anything illegal in there.”

Jason: oh. Not smart..

Tim: when the GCPD searched the car they found a quote “tan tote bag” with the words quote “definitely not a bag full of drugs” printed on the front. And upon inspection of the bag, despite her earlier assurance and the bags, law enforcement discovered that there was in fact FUCKING DRUGS IN THE BAG!

Bruce: language!

Tim: meth and Narcan if you’re keeping score! Enough to get the women re-arrested for felony possession with an intent to manufacture and deliver! And I say re-arrested because she had been arrested for the same charges 10! DAYS! EARLIER!

Dami: oh.

Tim pinching the bridge of his nose: which means a woman charged with having drugs was out on bond got caught with drugs again. In a bag that was labeled “definitely not a bag of drugs” which by the way is available online for purchase at lookhuman.com for $18.99 which is a deal considering how much money it’s gonna cost if ya get arrested with a bag full of drugs!

Jason: oh it’s a lot.

Tim: now! Humans. Here’s the news. Irony is not dead it’s everywhere the problem is it seems that no one knows exactly what it is. Is it ironic to have a bag full of drugs labeled “full of drugs”? Is it ironic to have a bag with “definitely not full of drugs” printed on the front and then fill it comically chuffed with a Costco amount of fucking drugs?

Bruce giving up: language…

Tim with eyes twitching: humans I ask you! Is it ironic do you think to have 3 of those stories start with in Gotham and end with “bag full of drugs”?! Because you saw it coming from the beginning?! Or is it the Blüdhaven story that’s ironic because you heard a bag in Blüdhaven labeled “definitely not full of drugs” and figured it wouldn’t be?! It’d be some bottled microbrews and high end cheeses and to find out that bag you thought was full of Blüdhaven artisanal turned out to be fucking jackpot crack and fools-oxy?!

Bruce: okay. I think it’s time for bed.

Tim literally losing his mind: is it ironic that I’m coming in hot when I said I wouldn’t because every day has been a fire hose of historical events coming out of all ends of the media and I didn’t want to give you a panic attack and now I’m having a panic attack because I’m so goddamned on edge all the time because January 2025 came in tweaking in a flaming geo metro wearing a bag labeled “definitely not full of drugs” printed on the front!

Everyone trying to get Tim to calm down while he continues ranting loudly.

Dick: we should really watch him closer..

Tim: and is that news?! Is that irony?! And what should I be panicking about?!

Dami: agreed. Drake needs more sleep.

Bruce pinching the bridge of his nose: who keeps giving him coffee?

More loud ranting can be heard in the background.

#Batfam #batfam incorrect quotes #tim drake #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #Tim needs a nap #Bruce Wayne needs a nap #he would absolutely have this kind of reaction

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subdee · 1 day ago

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Rumors going around the high school where I work on Thursday that ICE (immigrations and customs enforcement) agents were conducting a raid on the middle school next door. Students asking if they should go hide, "why do they hate us" etc etc it was a mass panic event.

To be clear, there are many immigrants here because it's one of the few affordable places left in the area, but most people have papers and of course the rumors make it impossible to teach anything. Not that I care who has papers or doesn't, but there is a reason schools are a protected place, students need to feel safe to learn anything.

It is true that the president issued another one of those fucking Orders removing schools, churches from the list of sensitive places exempted from raids, HOWEVER ICE still need a warrant to enter the building or ask for student information... several other school districts in the area are holding "know your rights" sessions for parents, students and admin. One school that I know of blocked ICE entirely by pretending not to know which agency they were from and asking for a warrant.

Anyway, here's some resources on your rights when dealing with ICE agents, to give to friends or family or put up in your home next to the door, or to distribute at work if you work with a lot of vulnerable people like I do:

#us politics #fuck ice

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brotherwtf · 2 days ago

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It'll be so much better if Gale was an older like mid-late 30s. He's a successful businessman but he's struggling with his personal life. He's married to Marge and probably in the closet or he probably doesn't even understand himself that he can be attracted to men also. And John is fresh new hire, very confident and charming and very much aware of his sexuality.

I believe this is in reference to this post and ANON I TOTALLY AGREE

Gale very much having his quarter life crisis because he's not happy at all right now, he's in an unhappy marriage with a monotonous job and he's so closeted it's physically painful, the very thought of a man being attractive sends him reeling and he can barely have sex with Marge because his brain wishes that he were Marge?? getting fucked??? and he literally can't deal with that poor guy will combust

so he drowns himself in work so he doesn't have to deal with his home life, spends as much time at the office as he can because he can't deal with Marge's melancholy face whenever Gale comes home from work and so that's basically his life now

insert John, transfer that corporate sent in to work alongside Gale as a sort of project manager and Gale's life gets fucking turned on its head because John is one hell of a man and Gale's probably gonna crash out because of him

but John's just such a sexual person, tight clothes and sleezy smiles, pornographic mustache and stupid big muscles, he's so easy with words and easier with touch and whenever he claps his hand on Gale's shoulder or his thigh Gale's having a homosexual crisis because this isn't normal, he shouldn't be feeling this way about a man, and especially not like John

God maybe Johns talking about some guy he hooked up with and Gale finally works up the courage to ask him how he knew, how did he know he liked men? and John just smiles that stupid smile and says something "oh you just know, baby" and the air raid sirens are going off in Gale's brain right now as he tries to keep his boner in check

maybe they start spending more time together outside of work and Gale's starting to get a life again, going out with John and watching him work his magic, going to dinners and baseball games and everything because John complains that Gale's so boring all of the time and he just needs to let loose and Gale feels safe to let loose around John

they're at dinner when Gale finally asks like "hey what's it like to kiss a man? is it different?" and Johns like "oh it's like nothing else, feels hotter and more raw than kissing a chick" and the tension can be chopped with an axe while John's eye-fucking Gale and then he finally just leans across and closes the gap, a hand on the back of Gale's head to press him closer

and you wouldn't believe the fucking choirs of angels that sung when they finally kissed bcs Gale just felt right, whatever didn't feel right with Marge felt right with John and now he's letting him take the lead and Gale loves it, loves not having to think or perform like he's so used to doing

anyway John taking Gale under his gay wing is top tier prompt thank you anon

#clegan #mota #buck x bucky #gale cleven #john egan #asks

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hannie-dul-set · 2 days ago

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[patience is a virtue…?]. in the over two hundred years that dokyeom has been working as a guardian angel for heaven— cycling through various humans needed proper guidance time after time— never had he met someone so, so—

“hello! my name is dokyeom, and from today on, i will be your guardian angel.”

—so morally problematic.

“oh, it’s alright. i don’t need one.”

that was the first thing you said to him during your first meeting. it still rattles him three, four months into being assigned to you, and throughout these past four months, he’s slowly started to realize exactly why your previous angel resigned.

“ex—excuse me?” dokyeom stammers, and the heavenly halo spotlighting him in the middle of your room flickers a bit, in tune with the flustered twitch of his smile. you’re not even looking at him. you’re sitting cross legged on your desk chair, swinging it back and forth as you pour a hundred percent of your attention into your cell phone. “haha, everyone needs and has a guardian angel, silly! you are one of the special people to actually meet yours!”

special is a stretch. it’s a general rule in the GAORAP (Guardian Angel Operating Rules and Procedures) that no angel may, for whatever reason, materialize in front of their assigned human— except in special cases, where direct contact between angel and assignment is deemed absolutely necessary for the latter’s spiritual growth and development.

in other words, when someone’s strayed too far from the path towards god, heaven has to directly intervene.

“hey.”

his words seemed to have caught your attention.

“catch.”

swoosh!

thwack!

just not in the way he had hoped.

“whoa. holy shit. seems like even angels can get hurt.”

his first meeting with you ended with a phone getting punt straight into his nose. no wonder mingyu looked like he’d gone through hell and back in the six months he’d been assigned to you, and the moment his resignation got approved, it’s like he regained back seventeen years of life, singing praises of hallelujah while skipping out from the management office.

that was because you are way worse than hell. case in point—

“can’t you just— can’t you just talk it out?! ack, stop! stop! he’s already unconscious!”

right now, the nth person you’ve dragged into alleyway simply because you didn’t like the way they were looking at you. dokyeom is stressed. so, so stressed as his words fail once more— bam!— and your fist lands on the nameless victim’s nose again. he winces. he can’t intervene directly. your reformation should start with you after all. but you’ve shown no signs of even wanting to become a better person.

“c’mon, he started it! he glared at me from across the street like he wanted to start a fight! look, he even punched me too!” you let the poor guy fall onto the dirt ridden floor to snatch dokyeom’s hand, press it up to your cheek— your blood grazed cheek, warm and burning— almost like an inferno from hell. “see. it hurts when you touch it here. don’t you have healing powers or some shit?”

dokyeom lets out a squeak and snatches his hand back.

you cackle, turn your wildly grinding face back to the opening mouth of the alley, and start walking away (not without landing a spit on the guy that allegedly tried picking a fight with you).

“gonna stop by the market! you can head home first, mr. angel!”

so much for reformation. this is worse than dealing with a murderous convict. what makes you worse than someone who has committed numerous crimes against humanity, is the fact that you seem to get a kick out of seeing an angel in distress. you seem to enjoy testing just how much of your bullshit he can handle before snapping.

“haha, maybe think twice next time before taking someone’s—”

“please think about the consequences of your actions.”

“where did you get that phone?”

“that’s— that’s trespassing! this is illegal!”

“what…what was your reason for breaking his nose this time?”

it’s fine. this is fine. he can handle all of this. he was trained for this very thing. you should become a positive person who is considerate of others, his mentor had told him on the day of his promotion. he’s so, so patient. he’s the embodiment of patience. that virtue is literally imbibed into his very being. one day, he’d be able to get you to do something good. it doesn’t have to be grand. it doesn’t have to be virtuous.

but if he keeps trying, if he could just stop you from acting out just once, then the rest will follow.

maybe his words will work this time. maybe you’ll—

“what the fuck did you just say to me, you prick? hey, get over here! i’m gonna kick your— whoa!”

nevermind.

“hey what the fuck, angel, what are you doing?! dokyeom! put me the fuck down!”

no amount of coaxing or convincing can stop you from succumbing to your violent impulses. nothing. “stop squirming,” he grunts. you hang over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. your fists hammer against his back as he walks a set of stairs that lead the way down. he skips a few. you let out a sharp yelp. “if i drop you, you might just end up straight to hell at this rate.”

“let me go! hey! are you even allowed to do this?!” sure, he isn’t supposed to intervene directly, but 1 john 3:18 reads: “let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth.” actions speak louder than words— if words fail, then he’d just have to pick you up and stop you from doing wrong himself.

#prompt: dokyeom + angel #i'm starting to think i made this activity just to give myself an excuse to pull out the dumbest shit out of my ass.#and pretend it's literature #dokyeom x reader #seokmin x reader #lee seokmin x reader #dokyeom x you #seokmin x you #lee seokmin x you #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x you #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #dokyeom au

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davidstirlings · 1 day ago

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can we please get a character breakdown for bill (fraser)??

Of course!! (for the "give me a character" breakdown thingy, for anyone wondering)

How I feel about this character

I love this grumpy Scottish man with all my heart. He's gorgeous, he's smart, he's an officer, he's so competent, and he's also so grumpy (but who wouldn't be, having to deal with David and Paddy's shit on a daily basis?) I'm so happy he got more lines and more screen time in S2 because he deserved it, and he's such a sarcastic, sassy shit (affectionate) to Paddy that it's like karma (Paddy was a sarcastic shit to his commanding officer, and now he's the leader, he gets to deal with Bill's sass, and it's wonderful 🥰)

All the people I ship romantically with this character

I think Bill/Pat was the first Bill-centric ship I had (the Look he gives Pat when Jock's throwing round orders in S1 E3), but I've slowly been introduced to ships like Augustin/Bill, Paddy/Bill(/Eoin), Johnny/Bill, and Jock M/Bill. Oh, and let's not forget the antagonistic relationship between him and Jock L. Bill/Paddy definitely grew on me over the course of S2 (poor Bill, always putting up with Paddy's shit).

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Honestly, Bill & Eoin is probably my one of my top platonic OTPs, and yet we got barely anything of them together on screen. My other platonic OTP is Bill & Withers, because Withers is a good boy, the best boy, he deserves all the love (and so does Bill, frankly).

My unpopular opinion about this character

If Paddy gets to be haunted by a boyfriend (Eoin), then Bill should definitely get a boyfriend. Which won't be an unpopular opinion in fandom, but outside I know it would probably make people mad (but who cares?). Oh, my other possibly unpopular opinion is that the whole thing about Jock mentioning to David that Bill was great during Op Squatter was kinda not great, because Bill was an officer, and IRL he lead one of the sticks iirc. So, the whole "Jock sort of promoting him to a leadership position" in s1 e3 didn't sit quite right with me.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

God, there's so much I want to happen. I know in S1 I wanted him to have a bigger role, and a lot more speaking lines. I also would've liked to have seen a little bit of that story of the time they got stuck in the desert and Bill had a very bad time before he finally made it back to their base, just because it's important. If we get S3, I want Bill to have a boyfriend (or at least just a bestie like everyone else has), and I just want to see more of him honestly, especially in his leadership role (Major Fraser). He's so good and has such an interesting story, like the others, (and Stuart Campbell is such a good actor) that it's just kinda a waste to not give him enough screen time.

#bill fraser #sas rogue heroes #ask game #ask me

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spoonsandstripesblog · 2 days ago

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Introduction

To kick off my blog, here is a little introduction of myself and my Ehlers Danlos story.

A little about me first. I'm 32 and I live in Massachusetts, and I consider myself incredibly lucky to live in a state that has top notch health care. I live with my long-term partner, Dave, who you will likely hear me discuss frequently as he is my primary support system. He is a true saint, putting up with what he's put up with over the last nearly 6 years. I have a cat, his name is Cael. I have no children, with no intention on having children.

I wasn't diagnosed with EDS until 2017, I was 25. As a child, we knew I was hypermobile but we didn't realize what that actually meant for me health-wise. We always just assumed that that meant I was incredibly flexible and double-jointed, but in reality it was a lot more than that. I was a very active child and teen, I participated in various sports (although I wasn't very good at them), and because of this I dealt with a lot of injuries. Sprains mostly, ankles, wrists, etc. I didn't have any major injuries until I was well into my teens, I began dislocating my small joints like my fingers and wrists, making me a liability on athletic teams. As I got into my late teens and early 20s, I started to develop chronic pain and arthritis, and so I was referred to a rheumatologist who treated me for seronegative Rheumatoid Arthritis, which basically meant that I fit the criteria but the blood work was negative. I was treated with chemotherapeutic drugs like Methotrexate and eventually I was started on IV infusions (Simponi). During this time, my rheumatologist retired and a new physician took over. He took a look at my treatment plan and we discussed it, it wasn't working for me. The Methotrexate was keeping my inflammation down but the infusions were doing nothing but making me sick and making me lose my hair. So we decided to stop the infusions. As we were having this discussion, he saw the way I was sitting on the exam table and noticed my elbows were hyperextended. So he performed what is called the Beighton Scale in his office, which is the diagnostic criteria for EDS. And I tested high, so he referred me to the Genetics Dept in Brigham and Womens Hospital in Boston, where I would later be diagnosed with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, hypermobile type. The doctor ordered genetic testing, which ultimately showed an abnormal gene "of unknown significance" on my COL5A1 gene, a gene that is connected to classical-type EDS. So I currently have a definitive diagnosis of hypermobile with a tentative diagnosis of classical. The difference is small - classical has more skin involvement and more proneness to comorbidities.

After my diagnosis, it started a whirlwind of health crises. In 2019 I had a flare-up of a new condition called Gastroparesis. I woke up one night with severe nausea and from that point forward I couldn't eat anything. I would get full after a couple of bites, and anything I did eat mostly came back up. I dropped 25lbs in 2 months and was surviving on a liquid diet. I had to see a Gastroenterologist and completely change my whole diet around so that I could get my nutrients without fouling up my digestive system. I had to go on a low fiber, low fat, low residue diet - no fibrous vegetables, can't eat bananas unless they're completely ripe, no more medium rare meats, the list goes on. Eventually I did "recover," but my diet is still very restricted and I've had to meet with a nutritionist multiple times. I had to have a gastric emptying study which showed my stomach as 60% full after 4 hours, leading to my diagnosis.

After dealing with that, I began to have problems with my blood pressure and heart rate. With positional changes I would get dizzy, I would get "episodes" where I would suddenly start to sweat and get fuzzy and would have to strip down to the minimum clothing or sit in front of a fan, and pretty much sit right where I was standing to avoid passing out. After seeing a cardiologist and having several cardiac tests done, I had autonomic function testing done in Burlington MA which included a tilt table test among other things, and I was ultimately diagnosed with Dysautonomia, a dysfunction of the autonomic nervous system, potentially related to the Gastroparesis. Vagus nerve damage can cause issues such as slow stomach motility and autonomic nervous system problems. I've never had my vagus nerve checked specifically, but the doctors are assuming that this is the problem.

Over the last couple of years I have had 3 major joint stabilization surgeries including my shoulder, my hip, and my knee respectively. I was lucky enough to find an orthopedic surgeon who is a unicorn in his profession - knowledgeable about EDS, a damn good surgeon, and incredibly kind. And we determined that it's likely I'm having all of the ligament problems because of the progesterone birth control I am on, which can loosen ligaments (something I do not need). So in April I will be getting permanently sterilized so that I can come off of that birth control.

As of right now, my health is pretty stable. I finally got my heart rate issues under control with a new medication and I don't have any joints that are in need of surgical stabilization. My mental health is stable and I'm overall in a very good place. But it took a long time to get here, and sadly I grieve the life I once had. It's hard to look back when I had endless energy and know that I simply don't have that anymore - it's all I can do to make it through the work week and still have the energy to do anything at all on the weekends. This coming from someone who used to work double shifts as a nurse (that's a whole other story) on a busy rehab unit - I simply could not do that anymore.

So that's my story of how I ended up where I am. It's a paraphrased story, there's obviously a lot more to it and I'm sure I will get to it at some point. I hope to use this platform to let other people with EDS know that they are not alone.

#ehlers danlos syndrome #classical ehlers danlos syndrome #hypermobile #chronic illness #chronic fatigue #chronic pain #dysautonomia #gastroparesis #vagus nerve

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nionom-art · 3 hours ago

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Gonna guess that Chloé’s My Daddy Will Hear About This powers are a lot more bluff in MC than canon. Like he acts more like a politician that has a successful career in a capitol city than cartoon politician infinite influence. If a teacher actually calls her bluff and calls him he acts more like someone who is both not a spineless mook and actually cares about his daughter’s wellbeing. Or at least looking as a reasonable responsible parent to the outside looking in

I’m planning on having Andre be just as spineless and corrupt as cannon (as best I can). The thing is though, realistically Andre can’t over use his position as mayor against the school. If he did, and the school fought back, there’s a high possibility that the fight could be taken to court- and that he would lose the case against the school. That would look bad for his career, and possibly even get him voted out of office, so he needs to pick his battles more carefully than that.

I noticed that in cannon, the only person at the school that actually bends to Chloe and Andre’s will 100% of the time is the principal, Mr Damocles. (This would especially make sense if Andre was monetarily supporting the school in some way- Mr Damocles would want to suck up to him, but the teachers likely wouldn’t even care, seeing as the money isn’t even going towards their salaries anyway).

We’ve seen in cannon Chloe complaining when Mrs. Mendeleiev puts Chloe and Sabrina in a group with Marinette, but Mrs. Mendeleiev just tells Chloe to deal with it- and Chloe does. She doesn’t even threaten to call her daddy- probably because she knows it won’t work. Andre would have very little authority to force Mrs Mendeleiev to bend to Chloe’s will on this, and it wouldn’t be worth pursuing in the first place for him. Instead, when they got home, Andre would just promise to buy Chloe something nice to “make up for it”.

So in my au, Chloe definitely does tell her daddy about the seating arrangement, but this is probably one of those situations where Andre would rather just buy Chloe something expensive instead of trying to argue with the school and Mrs. Bustier, who would have a very good counter argument for him. It’s just not worth it for him.

#ask #at least this is kinda how it works in the us I’m not sure about France tho #I remember learning about school board vs. court cases they were interesting #there’s only so much Andre can do about things like class management you know?#miraculous coccinella

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resident-idiot-simp · 1 day ago

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What if MacTavish time traveled back after he died at the end of MW3

Ft: @azilver

(x)

Az:

mactavish fades away with prices voice in his ear and thinks its about time only to come to at his desk with a concerned riley looming over him calling "captain? captain???"

mactavish rights himself and dismisses the lieutenant but its on auto, looking around at the office he hasn't seen in, what? a year? more? he vaguely recalls the paperwork about chemo requesting leave but .... pushing up from the desk he heads outside, stride purposeful even if he can't think of a destination. he remembers the pain, rubbing at where the wound had burst open as he landed, the dull throb of a phantom knife separating his flesh. familiar voices call out greeting and acknowledgements, he feels like choking seeing his men jog past. dead. they were all dead.

Me:

MacTavish just roams aimlessly. He remembers this is before everything went wrong before the start of the end.

Before Makarov started causing issues at least noticeably. World war 3 hadn't started yet and General Shepherd....General Shepherd.

Could he even stop it from starting? No, he couldn't he knows he can't. But he could stop the war sooner. He knows where Makarov will be knows what has to get done.

He's a step ahead but... Shepherd how the hell does he deal with Shepherd? He can't kill him not right now he become haunted immediately.

He would have to play along... maybe send out separate secret operations. Shit where was his journal. He patted himself down And grabbed the small book.

It was covered in blood....his blood...

Az:

alt

he doesn't believe in any supernatural shit, he can't, getting your hopes up in their line of work is never a good idea. but he can try.

he needs to find his place in time and so he heads for his room, digs until he finds his latest notebook and reads. he's back farther than he thought. price isn't back yet, that a month or 2 out still. sheppards still sniffing around, playing them like fiddles.

not for long. he has until the rescue mission to untangle this shit as much as he can. he can't think about price right now, not with the realisations he'd come to after the bastard had let sheppard take his boys from him. had ushered in the war they'd bled and sacrificed for so long to keep at bay.

he needs a fucking smoke.

heading outside he fishes in his pockets for his pack. oh, he's on his last cigar and ain't that a big pointed ironic finger from the universe?

"yeah, yeah, i get ye." he mutters and crushes it under foot.

"sir?" riley sidles up, a predators grace shifting in that odd edginess he always had when alone with mactavish outside of missions. well, he supposes it would be odd to se him talking to himself and destroying a good cigar.

"was damp." he spits, watching from the side as riley leans against the wall next to him. "spot me a fag, lieutenant."

he hears the smirk in the man's voice even as he passes him the cigarette, slipping out another for himself, "only if'n ye spot me a light, sir"

Me:

You KNOW his personality must take a 180. Like it's whole new person or alternatively just different enough to be off-putting.

He has changed a lot over the course of the war and all the losses seem to pile on.

He will stare at his team sometimes like his seeing ghosts. He will turn around and treat them tougher then every before so this time maybe, hopefully they won't be unprepared

You know it's like pulling teeth for MacTavish to go along with Shepherd. Everyone else is super confused because what the hell changed in such a short period of time

Az:

he takes to digging, burning the late night oil in a way that has even the likes of the worst insomniacs of base weary. he needs proof, something tangible to show his men. he knows they trust him, more than the past-future shows/ed they should and he can't just make them go on faith.

as a captain he can't ignore his duties, thankfully he has a damned good memory and what he forgot he has in his notebook. the few ops they're sent on go off without a hitch - if maybe the men start whispering about the captains near psychic ability to just know he ignores it. instead what little time he can spare is spent with his boys.

where before he would watch from the sidelines for the most part he now steps in. he spars and backchats and touches. its confusing and unnerving somehow ...but also appreciated. maybe it just bonding or just maybe how he'd pulled away in the last few years as sheppard wound his way closer into the 141.

soap was always one of them but along the way the captain had taken over more and more. and for all he's pushing them harder and harder they notice the captain is more prone to risks. they see him staring off too often to dismiss it. they know somethings changed and like good soldiers they read their captain and start preparing.

Me:

Riley gets particular snoopy one day and manages to snag the journal. MacTavish kept that thing safe like it was his own child so seeing it covered in blood was alarming.

He worried over what had happened. Opening it there wasn't anything note worthy but the more pages he flipped the weirder it got.

There were things that hadn't happened yet events, betrayals, death, The more Riley read the more he needed answers.

Then his and Roach's death...

He just stared uncomprehending way because what? Shepherd? Sure he'd never really trusted the man but...to kill them?

Then the hunt... Then the blood... Then The last edition that wasn't the neat and purposeful writing of MacTavish...

Az:

it makes sense for all that it doesn't.

out of them all riley was the one who always watched mactavish, was always looking at the man. so he'd seen those little moments, the quickly shuttered pained swallows watching his men, the pure hate that sliced through his eyes the moment sheppard turned around. the little things like stepping between roach and a fire, putting off a mission an hour just to get that much more gear stowed.

and the thing that pushed riley past the edge of his respect for the man, just enough that he allowed himself to snoop: mactavish flirted back.

Me:

He's not a man that would normally go into people's business that's not his own. But he was genuinely worried about Tav and the man was going along with the flirting and stuff. He knew they were close probably closer than anyone else on the team.

That was his job after all he was the Captain's right hand. But what if instead of snooping (this just hit me) he had seen the journal somewhere it shouldn't be and wanted to bring it back to him

Az:

riley's not stupid. he knew mactavish let them, let him, get away with much more than any other CO would. he'd never given a shit about who was fucking who, hell, worm had admitted to the captain walking in on he and meat and just told them to get their reports on his desk before lights out. the captain seemed to be of the opinion that nothing mattered except their abilities in the field, pushing himself same as them.

and riley had pushed back on occasion. being the man's 2nd gave him leeway sure but even then the first time he'd found a proposition slipping out in response to the man sighing in exhaustion he'd fully believed he was about to be murdered. what he hadn't expected was a snort and "fuck off, riley"

it had become a thing he did, so much so that the rest of the unit openly placed bets on if the cap would ever give the man what he wanted. and good god was mactavish what riley wanted. he'd fucked around enough to know who was game and how to get what he wanted. for a while he'd thought mactavish was ace except roach came in one morning and told them all how he'd seen the man take home some girl from the bar the night before. so straight, which sucked but didn't stop him pushing. then a few of them were at a bar a few miles from base and he'd gone for a leak only to see his captain walk out of a stall adjusting his belt, 3 seconds later followed a pretty boy wiping at his mouth.

Me:

Riley has been extatic to know he had a chance and if Tav really didn't want it. Well the man was more than capable of getting him to stop.

The fact MacTavish allowed it in of itself was damn near the equivalents of permission. He let them do as they pleased for the most part sure.

But he was not beyond jumping down someone's throat if they annoyed him too much. People just understood You could do what you wanted but If it was something you couldn't... Well you would find out.

The captain was brutal there was no denying that. He expected perfection and would settle for nothing less and it seemed if only gotten worse his standards raising in the past few weeks. This seems to be the answer for it but wtf did it mean.

It made sense and fit perfectly sure but It was bat shit insane. Riley prided himself in nothing was too far-fetched but this? This pushed the limit for him.

He didn't mention it as he handed the journal back. He didn't mention it to anyone else either. He just continued doing what he always did. Being a nuisance in flirting with the captain

Az:

"if you insist on using that mouth of yours for something other than shutting up, be at my bunk at lights out and i'll use it for you"

mactavish walks away and silence follows. not one of them can believe what they just heard. they all look at each other over lunch in shock. not once in the years the unit has existed has the captain ever responded to a come on and never to riley. everyone to a man knew the lieutenant was gagging for it, would have been the man's personal fluffer at the barest crook of a finger. and yet...

"ok, what the fuck was that riley?"

"what?" the manc is still reeling and under other circumstances maybe they'd let him get away with it.

peasant comes up and places a restraining hand on his shoulder, archer and worm not a step behind. the rest of the unit move the make sure they're alone, pushing out the few straggling outsiders. whatever the fuck is going on is for the 141's ears only.

"riley, cap's been acting different for the last few weeks, we all know it." toad stares him down as the rest nod in agreement. "feels like a storm's coming and no one but him sees it."

Me:

Riley is still shell shocked "What?" He repeated because SURELY that hadn't just happened.

"Something is up " Meat agreed and Riley wasn't having it. "No no no go back did he just....is he serious?" Riley sounded excited.

"Yes and that's half the issue. What the fuck has changed so much?" Chemo answered easily

Riley wasn't listening he had tuned them out. They were onto something sure and he definitely had a piece to that puzzle.

That however was a later issue, right now? Now he had been offered to fallow though on the flirting.

( az: riley, horny and about to combust: "let me go! i need to get to him!"

the rest of the unit, holding him down: "no, tell us what's going on!"

Me: Riley has answers but is overwhelmed with the horny

Az: the man who thought he'd been made immune to torture is about to learn

Me: The 141: What the fuck is going on?? Surely Riley knows I mean he's around the man more than the rest of us combined

*Cut to Riley who is throthing at the mouth*)

Me:

"RILEY!" Worm shouts at him and Riley turns to snarl at him. "You are around him all the time you're his right had you have to know something. Is it confidential just give us something to work with." Worm begged

Riley groaned in annoyance, "I don't know shit. He hasn't told me anything but...yeah it's not right I *know* that."

Riley wouldn't bring up the journal even though he's sure it is the key to all of this. He shouldn't have seen it in the first place, it wasn't his place to talk about it.

"You don't know anything?" Archer asked dubiously and we'll ge kind of did. He had looked into what McTavish was diving into.

It was files on Shepherd he was looking for dirt. He knew something was wrong there even if he couldn't have concrete proof, even if he didn't bring up the journal.

"I'm not sure what exactly but he's digging for something on Shepherd." Riley answered with a sigh.

"Shepherd? Why Shepherd?" Rook asked and Riley weighed his options.

"I'm not completely sure, but I think he's onto something. I don't talk about before..but Shepherd owns me. Sure I'm here but he could pull me away just as easy. He's always been off he'd use me to do a dirty jobs stuff we can't have on the books." A breath.

"He's not a good man and if MacTavish thinks something's off to the point where he needs to look into it. Well I'd say he's onto something." Riley finishes with a shrug

Az:

and it's not like he'd be sad to get out of sheppards leash. not even if it meant a new one in mactavish's hands.

the world tip and he finds himself on the floor before he knows it. a weight settles on his back even as he manages to flip onto his back. roach is sitting on him and signing rapidly. you should have told us before! we've been freaking out for weeks!

it's probably a sign of how they're all on edge that riley doesn't even try and dislodge the man, instead he tries to reassure him, them. "roach, man, you know how the cap is. he wouldn't want us getting involved especially with how dangerous sheppard is."

peasant squats down beside them and flicks riley's forhead. "oi! none of that, ya hear? we're all 141, that includes you and the cap."

meat picks roach up off of him and tosses him over his shoulder as peasant gives him a hand up, "now, this is what we're gonna do: tonight you give the captain what he deserves and we'll get into his shit. if you do your job well enough he'll be too relaxed to be pissed at us and maybe even enough to let us help"

Me:

Riley has never agreed to something faster in his life. Not like he needs insensitive to put in his best effort.

He ends up in the Captain's quarters and it's without a question the best sex of Riley's life. He's used like a toy and he couldn't be happier.

He knows when he wakes up he'll be useless for the day but it's a sacrifice that has to be made. Besides if The captain gets mad about it well it's his fault.

Riley didn't expect as much passion as he got he was blindsided by the desperation the man showed. It was so unlike him but fuck it was hot.

Sure enough he woke up and he was as sore as he had been after his first hell week. To his surprise Tav was still asleep curled around him.

Riley wouldn't complain and couldn't even if he wanted too. Luckily for him it didn't take long for the other man to wake up.

He stirred as be buried his face further into Riley's hair. "Good morning Johnny." Riley chirped and Tav slapped a hand on his mouth.

"Fuckin told ye no ta call me that." He slurred out voice deep and gravely accent thicker then Riley has ever heard it. It made him melt a little

Az:

he'd happily lie there for the rest of his life, feeling the hollow ache in his ass and light stinging heat from the bites and bruises littered across his skin, even the tacky feeling of drying cum can't ruin the afterglow. he feels ridiculous. he feels fucking giddy.

"missed you" he'd miss it if mactavish's mouth wasn't right by his ear and it's said so quietly, almost a mumble. it's ice water. he twists to look at him but the other man is still more asleep than awake.

I missed you

the caps notebook. it described all their deaths, riley and roach's in particular. that had been months of entries before the last one and next to it had been a short list of dates: one about the time mactavish had started acting off, the next coming up in the next week or so. 3 others following, the last a little after that last entry underlined in red.

Me:

Riley had no reason to believe what he saw in the notebook. Hell it could be delusions cased by the last of sleep the man had be getting.

But Tavs soft 'I missed you' is all it took to convince him it was all real. Was that pathetic and probably his own hopes speaking? Probably but this had become proof for him.

Maybe by the time the others had an idea what was going on it would be answered. At least he could hope because things weren't right.

By the time they both got showed (another round in there) and dressed the team was waiting for them.

In Roach's hand was the journal and Riley locked eyes with him. He saw the same apprehension and horror.

MacTavish just froze up before growling and ripping it out of his hand. Roach didn't even try to hold on to it.

"WHAT THE FACK IS THIS?!" Tav demanded and Riley realizes he may have possibly fucked up.

"You're not acting like yourself we got worried so we did some snooping." Chemo said easily and there was definitely a vain popping out of the Captain's neck.

"I can have you all fired for this!' MacTavish roars but not one of them believe he'll do that for a moment. "Sure but then how will you kill Shepherd and Makarov?" Archer asked.

MacTavish came up short. "What?" He asked confused.

"How will you stop WW3 Without us?" Archer asked smugly. MacTavish looks she'll shocked. Riley's missing something but it seems that they're getting somewhere.

"You believe everything you saw and read?" He asked and the others just nodded in agreement. It wouldn't be something MacTavish would lie about they all knew that.

Az:

"why?"

"Why what?" toad asks

"why do you belive any of that?" Mactavish spits, pointing at the book and it really shouldn;t surprise anyone he's defensive. if even half of what's in there is true then Johnny's been very alone for a long time.

"Sir," chemo starts but how do they explain it?

because we believe you roach says and yes it is that simple.

"it makes sense" meat adds

peasant shrugs, "we know you, sir, you don't do anything for no reason. a few weeks ago you started acting ...off. you're our captain. it was like you'd been turned up to 100!"

there are murmers from the men and comments about the little things but it comes down to the fact that the 141 operates on a very simple and very straightforward mentality: look to the captain

Me:

MacTavish thinks he might cry. He isn't sure how to deal with this overwhelming support. He was so used to being pushed aside and ignored and it hurt. He forgot that this team was based off of.

Trust.

He pulls them into a long abandoned confidence room that promised pricey and showed exactly what he had figured out so far.

The room looks like a mess stuff everywhere. There was paper tacked to walls scribbles on the table. It looked like What people imagined conspiracy theorists did in their free time.

He explained everything and what he had proof of and what he didn't. Strings of evidence and spots where he just couldn't find anything even though he knew how it happened.

It was a week later on the exact specified time when they recovered Price.

No one was sure how to proceed with this and MacTavish was in shambles.

"I should kill him." MacTavish had announced to them all later that night.

"If you do that how do you explain it the way?" Riley asked honestly keen on getting rid of the men but still he had to point out the obvious.

'Doctors already took a look at him It can't be passed off his injuries. If you killed him it would be an assassination someone on base would have had to do it. You can't hide that It would be investigated.' Roach pointed out.

"They have bigger fish to fry than whoever killed Price." MacTavish reasoned.

"Yeah because they wouldn't care about a man who was being held specifically by Makarov." Chemo daid sarcastically.

MacTavish groaned

Zombie hummed, "Let us handle it, sir, best if you aren't involved. From what you've said he'll try and dig in with you so you'd be one of the first questioned."

the men agree even if they don't like it. mactavish didn't hold back when he told them about price and how the man got into his head, pulled him along like a trained dog. and gods did riley not want the man near his captain.

he'd been the one to drag johnny to bed, make sure he ate, keep him on track now that the rest of the men were on board. and maybe there was a part of him that wanted as much of the man as he could have just in case....

the other's were supportive, of course, but they'd agreed to let him handle the more personal aspects to getting their captain through this hell. they helped manage the brass and the other soldiers, handed over their meals and wrote up paperwork that didn;t need more than the cap's signature. rook and zach, the most personable of them, made friends with some of sheppards men and kept a more trained eye on them. robot and red exercised their tech skill and bugged the system. everyone had their ears to the ground but they knew they were running out of time.

so it's no surprise when they're in the hidden office, trying to work out what the hell they can do when mactavish slips in and thunks down on a chair. he looks exhausted.

riley's up and fixing him a coffee without a thought, the others going quiet as the man leans back, eyes closed.

"sir?"

he sighs. "ah cannae do it. if price says another thin' aboot us ah'm gonnae shoot 'im."

it's not secret that soon as the man was let out of medical he'd been on mactavish like tik on a curdog. riley had been hard pressed not to punch the man when he'd given the lieutenant a nasty look seeing him lean in against his captain. "here, Tav"

"Thanks, Si" he groaned, taking a big swallow not caring at the heat. eventually he shrugs, "maybe ah could get price and sheppard to kill each other"

Me:

The room paused at that

The batshit idea was.... Well not as insane as it was intended to be

MacTavish looked up at the silence. "That's a good idea isn't it?" He asked the room at large.

Affirmatives rang around the room and he groaned. "Shit we've been trying to make this more complicated than it had to be haven't we?" He asked and another round of agreements sounded.

"How do we get this to happen? Have him overhear us? Act like it's a secret and drop hints? Leave my office door open with all the information layed out for him to find?" He asked the team.

"Why not all of it sir?" Riley asked his eyes crinkling as a smirk presumably crawled across his face.

They deemed it 'mouse trap' even though which was the mouse in this situation was unclear. They started small with cutting off conversations about it when Price appeared. Then to hiding files when he entered a room.

It progressed to vague explanations that made no sense and finally to the office door being left slightly open one night.

The next morning Price was gone

Az:

roach definately suggests just asking price to deliver something to sheppard just for it to go boom

Me:

They wait impatiently for the news to ring one way or the other. Either way it can't be a loss they know that for sure

Az:

the only reason they veto is because of collateral

the brass are in an uproar but since the 141 have no idea where he went there' not much they can do.

what they do know is where makarov will be in a few days time so they plan for him instead. sheppard need to be in washington that week so it's easy enough to fly under his radar. a little hacking here, some misplace paperwork there, and they're a week earlier than the bastards expect. it's too risky to have men on site when makarov gets there, instead mactavish has them place enough explosvies to level a small town and then they wait.

from a very distant vantage point they confirm makarov has exited his chopper and walked inside. they wait 5 minutes and then blow it sky high. nothing is left, from the parking area to the sewers, it's all slag and detritus.

Me:

The aftermath is mayhem But MacTavish refuses to let them leave until they can confirm he is in fact dead.

It doesn't take much convincing as they get out the dogs and have them search for anyone living as well as pulling out the other stops just in case.

Everything comes up negative. And they all sigh a breath of relief

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