#feeling alright for a few weeks before collapsing for months again

[sturniololuvz]

Can you do one where Matt’s daughter is like 13 and gets in a soccer injury, like breaks a bone or like tears her ACL, and all the triplets help her through recovery, Love your fics 💗

thank you! i actually really love this fic so i hope it gets some love !!!! it’s pretty long so BUCKLE UP!

“One Step at a Time”

Matt Sturniolo x Daughter!Reader (13)

Triplet Family Fluff / Hurt + Comfort

You’d always been the sporty one—Matt’s little athlete.

Cleats on, hair tied back, shin guards barely strapped before you were sprinting across the field. Matt was at every game, sometimes dragging Chris and Nick with him, screaming louder than anyone else on the sidelines. You lived for it.

Until the day everything stopped.

⸻

It happened fast.

One second, you were chasing down a pass on the turf.

The next—your knee twisted weird, and pain shot through your whole leg. You dropped like a rock, clutching it, sobbing before you even hit the ground.

Matt jumped the fence to get to you. He didn’t care who yelled at him.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay—I’m here,” he whispered, holding your hand tight as tears streamed down your face. “I got you, baby. We’re gonna fix this.”

⸻

Torn ACL.

Three words that flipped your world upside down.

No soccer for months.

Surgery. Crutches. Pain.

And worst of all, that helpless feeling. Like your body betrayed you.

The first week was the hardest. You barely wanted to talk. Your knee was wrapped and elevated, and Matt had to help you with everything. You hated it.

But Matt? He never left your side.

He slept on the floor next to your bed the first few nights. He carried you to the bathroom. He made the other two come over with snacks and movies every day.

⸻

One afternoon, you sat slumped on the couch, hoodie swallowed over your face, a tear streak drying on your cheek.

Chris flopped beside you with a sigh. “Alright. You’ve been moping long enough. I brought cookies. I also brought zero pain meds, because I’m not legally allowed, but I am bringing the vibes.”

You sniffled. “I don’t want vibes.”

Nick sat on the other side. “Too bad. Vibes are mandatory. Plus, you’ve got the cool knee brace now. You’re like a cyborg.”

Chris gasped. “Dude. You’re Robo-Sturniolo.”

You rolled your eyes, but a tiny smile cracked through.

Matt peeked in from the kitchen, seeing it, and smiled to himself. Little victories.

⸻

Recovery was long.

PT sessions. Learning to walk again. Rebuilding trust in your own legs. You had days where you cried. Days where you screamed. Days where you told Matt you wanted to quit soccer forever.

But he never let you give up.

“Look how far you’ve come,” he’d say, rubbing your back while you sobbed in frustration. “You’re stronger than you know, and we’re right here. All three of us. Always.”

Nick made you laugh during stretches, holding your crutches like a sword and pretending to be your knight.

Chris brought you iced coffee after every PT appointment and let you rant.

And Matt—he was your rock. Your biggest cheerleader. Your soft place to land.

⸻

Six months later. You jogged—jogged—onto the field with your brace and a whole stadium of nerves.

The triplets sat in the bleachers, yelling their lungs out. Chris waved a “GO CYBORG GO” sign he made out of printer paper and duct tape. Nick had a vuvuzela. Matt just sat there, eyes glassy, hands over his heart.

You didn’t score that game.

You didn’t even play more than fifteen minutes.

But it was everything.

And after, when you limped off and collapsed into Matt’s arms, sweaty and sore and smiling—he kissed your forehead and whispered:

“I’m so proud of you, baby. You never gave up.”

Absolutely—here’s a follow-up where Matt’s daughter experiences a setback in her recovery. It’s emotional, soft, and full of comfort from the triplets:

⸻

You’d worked so hard.

Six months of PT. Stretching. Strength training. Crying. Fighting.

And finally—finally—you’d made it back to the field.

Your minutes were limited. Your brace still hugged your knee like armor. But you were out there. Running. Kicking. Living again.

Then came that one game.

A weird step on the grass. Your foot slipped. Your balance shifted.

Your stomach dropped.

And just like that—your leg gave out again.

⸻

You didn’t cry right away.

You didn’t want to cry. Not in front of everyone. Not in front of your team.

But Matt was at your side in seconds, crouched beside you on the turf, his eyes searching yours with quiet panic.

“Tell me where it hurts,” he whispered, voice low, calm, steady—like he was trying to keep both of you from breaking.

“My knee,” you choked out. “It—something popped. I didn’t—I didn’t even do anything wrong this time.”

⸻

It wasn’t a full tear.

But it was a setback. A big one.

No soccer for another six weeks. Back to the brace. Back to rest.

It felt like someone pressed rewind on all your progress, and you hated the world for it.

⸻

That night, you sat in your room, hoodie over your head, lights off, and refused to speak to anyone. You ignored Matt’s knock. Chris’s texts. Even Nick’s dumb memes he sent to cheer you up.

You were tired of smiling. Tired of “you’re so strong.”

Tired of pretending this wasn’t destroying you inside.

And then…

The door creaked open.

“Can I sit?” Matt asked softly.

You didn’t say anything. Just shrugged, your eyes still locked on the dark ceiling.

He sat down beside your bed anyway. Not forcing you to talk. Just being there.

“I know you’re mad,” he said gently. “I know you feel like everything you worked for got ripped away again. And you have every right to be upset. But I need you to know something.”

You blinked, throat thick with tears.

“This doesn’t erase anything you’ve done. Every stretch, every step, every time you pushed through when you didn’t want to—none of that disappears because of today. Setbacks suck, but they’re still part of the journey. And you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Your lip trembled, and suddenly the words burst out.

“I feel like a failure, Dad. I’m so tired of being broken.”

Matt’s face crumpled, and he pulled you into his arms without saying a word. You sobbed into his shoulder, and he held you like you were still five years old and scared of the dark.

“You’re not broken, baby,” he whispered into your hair. “You’re healing. And healing isn’t a straight line.”

⸻

The next morning, Chris and Nick barged into your room with a mini “Welcome Back to the Couch” party.

Chris held a tray of your favorite snacks and yelled, “Injury Queen Rises Again!”

Nick made you a playlist called “Songs to Kick ACL’s A**” and played them obnoxiously loud until you laughed through your tears.

Matt just stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you smile again.

⸻

You’d be okay.

Not today. Maybe not tomorrow.

But soon.

Because healing wasn’t about getting it right the first time.

It was about showing up, over and over again—with your people beside you.

⸻

It had been nearly ten months since the first injury.

Three since the setback.

And now, finally—finally—you were cleared to play without restrictions.

You stood on the sidelines in full uniform, hands on your hips, knee brace gone, nerves crawling under your skin like fire. The coach called your name, and you jogged onto the field to cheering parents, stomping feet, and—of course—the triplets losing their minds in the bleachers.

⸻

Matt was standing, arms crossed, trying so hard to play it cool. But you could see the tears already pooling in his eyes.

Nick was recording. “LET’S GOOOOO!”

Chris held up a massive homemade sign: ‘MY NIECE IS BETTER THAN YOUR WHOLE TEAM.’

(You weren’t even sure how that worked, but it was peak Chris.)

⸻

The whistle blew.

You ran. You passed. You dribbled.

Every step felt like reclaiming a piece of yourself you thought was gone forever.

And then—it happened.

A breakaway.

The ball came to you like it was meant to.

You darted forward, heart hammering, defenders chasing your heels, goalie stepping out—

And with one perfect kick, it soared straight into the net.

Goal.

⸻

The whole field erupted. But all you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat.

You dropped to your knees, overwhelmed. Not from pain this time—but from relief. From joy. From knowing you had done the thing everyone said might take years.

You looked to the sidelines, and there was Matt—full-on crying now, hand over his mouth, eyes locked on you like you were the center of his whole universe.

Chris tackled Nick in celebration.

Nick yelled, “I’M POSTING THIS ON EVERY PLATFORM. SHE’S HIM!!!”

Matt ran onto the field the second the game ended. He didn’t care if it was allowed or not—he scooped you up into a bear hug and spun you around.

“I am so proud of you,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You never gave up. You did it. You did it.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, crying just as hard. “I did it, Dad.”

⸻

That night, they all took you out for ice cream to celebrate.

Matt made a toast with a plastic spoon. “To the strongest girl I know—my daughter. You came back stronger, braver, and somehow even cooler than before.”

Nick added, “To be fair, she was already cooler than all of us.”

Chris grinned. “Speak for yourself, bro. I’m the one who made the sign.”

You laughed, holding your dad’s hand tight under the table.

The road had been long. Painful. Frustrating.

But this moment?

It made every second worth it.

⸻

[lila-lou]

✨Rough around the edges - Pt. 1✨

Summary: Jack's day couldn’t have gotten any worse. Exhausted from a grueling shift under the scorching sun, he just wanted to crash at home with some wings and a football game. But his plans for a quiet night were shattered when the racket from his new neighbor echoed through the walls.

Pairing: Jack x Reader

Warnings: Language, age gap

Word Count: 4385

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

"Fucking shit!", Jack grumbled as he yanked the heavy piece of wood back into place, his muscles straining from the sudden weight. His colleague had almost dropped it from his side, barely catching it in time. Jack's patience was wearing thin after hours of working under the hot sun. They were up on the fifth floor of a building still under construction, the framework barely holding together as they handed over beam after beam to meet the firm’s relentless deadline.

"Watch it, man", Jack muttered, glaring at his coworker, and best friend, who shrugged it off with a nervous chuckle. He wasn’t in the mood for apologies or excuses. He adjusted his grip, steadying the beam as they maneuvered it into place, his hands rough and worn from the constant grind. The city skyline stretched out in the distance, a reminder of how much work still lay ahead.

They were only halfway through the shift, and Jack could already feel the familiar ache settling into his shoulders. It wasn’t like he hated the job — he was good at it, and it paid the bills — but days like these made him wonder how long he could keep it up.

One misstep up here and things could go bad real quick.

A few hours later, as Jack made his way toward his car, the heat of the day still clung to him, though the sweat on his body had started to dry. His shirt stuck to his back, and every step felt like a reminder of the long, grueling hours spent on the site. His muscles ached, and all he could think about was getting home.

Just as he unlocked his car, he heard footsteps pounding behind him. Anthony, his best friend, jogged up with that usual grin plastered on his face. “Hey, man! You wanna grab a beer in town? Some of the guys are heading over to O’Malley’s”.

Jack groaned inwardly, barely holding back an eye roll. The last thing he wanted right now was to be surrounded by loud voices and more chaos. He glanced at Anthony and waved him off. "Dude, even my fucking balls are sweating. I'm beat to hell after this week".

Anthony laughed, clapping him on the shoulder, but Jack wasn’t in the mood.

“Nah, man. I’m heading home. All I wanna do is watch the football game, grab a bucket of wings, crack open a six-pack, and call it a night”. He paused and smirked, half-joking. “Might jerk off if I can stay awake long enough”.

Anthony let out a loud, obnoxious laugh. “Sounds like a hell of a night. Alright, man, catch you next time”.

Jack nodded, climbing into his car and slamming the door shut. As soon as the engine roared to life, he felt the weight of exhaustion settle over him. His mind was already on the couch waiting for him. Nothing fancy. Just a little peace, a little food, and maybe, if he wasn’t too worn out, a moment to himself before crashing into bed.

Half an hour later, Jack trudged up the stairs to his apartment, the bucket of wings tucked under his arm like a lifeline. His body ached with every step. Man, he was tired. All he wanted was to collapse on the couch.

As he reached the top of the stairs, nearing his door, a loud bang jolted him out of his thoughts. He froze, listening, and sure enough, there were more sounds—soft curses, followed by another series of thuds—coming from the apartment across the hall. The one that had been empty for months since the old lady who lived there had moved to a retirement home.

Jack paused, glancing over his shoulder at the door. Whoever it was clearly wasn’t having the smoothest move-in. He heard something fall again, accompanied by a muffled groan of frustration.

Jack groaned in annoyance, rubbing a hand across his face. Just great. As if the week hadn’t been exhausting enough, now he had to imagine his weekend being a noisy mess thanks to whoever was moving in. All he wanted was some peace and quiet. Instead, it seemed like his weekend would be filled with endless bangs and thuds coming from across the hall.

Another loud thud echoed through the hallway, followed by a soft “Ouchy” that made him roll his eyes. He could already picture some clueless person fumbling around with boxes, knocking stuff over, and generally making a racket. The kind of person who probably had no idea how to move without turning it into a circus.

Jack shifted the bucket of wings under his arm, debating whether or not to knock on the door. Part of him wanted to just ignore it, retreat into his apartment, and hope for the best. But the other part, the more frustrated part, was tempted to knock and tell them to keep it down. He’d had a long week, and he deserved a break, damn it.

Finally, he took a deep breath and approached the door, raising his fist to knock.

Just then, the door swung open unexpectedly, and there you were, looking frazzled and clearly unprepared for company. You were wearing nothing more than a pair of shorts and a tank top, your skin glistening slightly from the heat. Your hair, a messy bun on top of your head, looked like it had been thrown together in a hurry, and you had no makeup on, not that you needed it.

Jack blinked, momentarily caught off guard, staring at the younger woman standing in front of him.

You, on the other hand, were equally surprised to see the man standing in front of you. He had to be at least double your age, but damn, he was handsome—broad-shouldered, his shirt sticking to his body in places from what looked like a long day of work, and those tired, slightly irritated eyes that made him seem like someone who didn’t put up with much nonsense.

“Uh… hi”, you blurted, your voice a little breathless from all the moving. You glanced down at the two boxes sitting in front of your door, which you had come out to grab. “Sorry about the noise. I swear, I’m almost done”.

Jack let out a deep breath. “Yeah, I was kind of wondering if you were trying to tear the place down before you even moved in”.

You laughed, a soft, self-conscious sound, running a hand over your face. “Feels like it. I’m not exactly an expert at this moving thing. Been here all day, and I’m pretty sure I’ve destroyed more stuff than I’ve unpacked”.

Jack’s eyes flicked over you, taking in the sight of your casual shorts and tank top, the slight sheen of sweat on your skin. His gaze wasn’t lewd, but it was unmistakably assessing, like he was trying to figure you out. The tiredness in his eyes gave way to something more skeptical, maybe even judgmental. He crossed his arms, one eyebrow raising slightly as if he couldn’t believe someone as young as you could afford a place like this without some help from your parents—or worse, without a party lifestyle attached.

“You’re not planning on partying every day, though, right?”, Jack said, his voice carrying an edge of suspicion. His eyes lingered just a moment too long before meeting yours again. It was clear he wasn’t thrilled at the idea of noisy neighbors—especially younger ones.

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the implication. Seriously? He didn’t even know you, and already he was sizing you up like you were going to turn the building into a constant rave scene. You clenched your jaw, irritation bubbling up despite the exhaustion from moving.

“Uh, no”, you mumbled, crossing your arms defensively. “I actually have to work. So no, I’m not throwing parties 24/7”.

His eyebrow quirked slightly at that, as if reassessing you now. He didn’t say anything, just gave a small grunt in response. It was hard to tell whether he believed you or not, but he didn’t press the issue.

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling judged by this man who you had just met. He was rude, but still frustratingly handsome, even if you hated to admit it. “Anyway”, you added, trying to keep the edge out of your voice, “I just moved in today, so I’m probably more exhausted than you are right now”.

Jack glanced at the boxes again, the annoyance in his posture easing just slightly. He seemed to realize that you weren’t what he’d assumed at first glance. “Fair enough”, he said after a moment. “I’m not trying to be a dick. It’s just been a long week, and I wasn’t expecting… all this noise”.

“Yeah, well, me neither”, you said, rolling your eyes and grabbing one of the boxes. “Last thing I wanted today was to turn my move into a construction site soundtrack”.

There was a beat of silence between the two of you before Jack let out a small sigh, as if he were finally letting go of the tension. “Alright”, he said, softer now.

With that, Jack simply turned around, seemingly content to let the conversation end there. His broad shoulders shifted as he took a few steps toward his door, the tension finally draining from the air between you. You stood there for a moment, watching him, still feeling a bit stung by the way he had sized you up but relieved that the exchange hadn’t escalated into anything worse.

“I’m Y/N, by the way”, you called after him, hoping to salvage at least a shred of neighborly civility. Maybe if you introduced yourself, it would take the edge off his attitude.

But he didn’t stop. He was already at his door, turning the knob without so much as glancing back. The heavy sound of the door slamming shut echoed in the hallway, leaving you standing there, feeling awkward and a little insulted. Clearly, Jack wasn’t the friendly type—or maybe he was just having a bad day.

You exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the box a little tighter as you shuffled it into your apartment. Shutting your own door behind you, you leaned against it for a second, shaking your head. Great, you thought, this is going to be an interesting neighbor dynamic.

Moving boxes and unpacking was hard enough, but now you had to deal with the grumpy guy across the hall. You couldn't help but wonder if he’d always be this much of a grump or if this was just his post-work exhaustion talking. Either way, you figured you wouldn’t be getting on his good side any time soon.

Meanwhile, Jack made his way into his apartment, the door closing behind him with a thud. He set the bucket of wings down on the counter, exhaling as he ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. He couldn’t shake the image of you—frazzled, yet oddly composed—out of his mind. It annoyed him, mostly because he knew he’d been unnecessarily rude.

Shaking it off, he emptied the bucket of wings into his air fryer and set the timer. He had earned this meal after the week he’d had, and he wasn’t about to let anything ruin that. As the air fryer whirred to life, Jack peeled off his work shirt, which clung to his skin, then kicked off his boots as he headed toward the bathroom.

The mirror caught a glimpse of his reflection as he stripped down, his body still sore from the grind of lifting and hauling all day. He sighed, stepping into the shower, letting the hot water wash over him. It was like the heat and frustration of the day started to melt away the moment the water hit his skin.

Jack leaned his head against the tile, letting the water cascade down his back, rinsing away the grime.

Around two hours later, Jack sat slumped on his couch, the room dimly lit by the glow of the TV. The low sounds of a porn scene played in the background, but his mind was barely focused on the screen. His head rested back against the couch, his eyes half-lidded as he worked his hand around himself, having slipped out of his sweatpants. This was his way of letting off steam after a week like the one he’d just had.

It was routine by now—something easy, quick, and without the complications of dealing with a woman who might end up being clingy or demanding more than he was willing to give. This was uncomplicated, his way of zoning out and shutting off the outside world. No messy emotions, no obligations—just a quiet moment for himself.

Jack exhaled heavily, his hand moving in rhythm as the sounds from the TV filled the otherwise silent apartment. His muscles were still tired, but there was a certain release in this moment. The frustrations of the day, including the brief encounter with you, seemed distant now. This was about turning off everything for a little while—no thoughts, no stress, just the physical release he needed.

And after? He’d down the rest of his six-pack and knock out on the couch, forgetting the world entirely, at least for a few hours.

But Jack had planned it all without accounting for you. Just as he was about to finish, his stomach tightening with that familiar tension, the loud, jarring sound of a hammer hitting nails into the wall echoed through the apartment, shaking the thin wall behind his TV.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”, Jack muttered, his mood immediately broken as the banging continued, louder now. He clenched his jaw, frustration boiling up again. He had been so close to just letting go of the entire day’s stress, and now this. The relentless thud of hammering kept going, pulling him completely out of the moment.

His hand stilled, and he slammed his fist against the side of the couch in frustration. Of course, he thought, it had to be the new neighbor. You were likely trying to settle in, oblivious to the fact that you were ruining what little escape he had. Jack exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face as he sat up, the mood thoroughly killed.

The hammering continued, and Jack could feel the tension in his body shifting from desire to pure annoyance. He thought about just letting it go, but every time the hammer hit, it felt like another push against his patience. Grumbling under his breath, he yanked his sweatpants back up and stood, glaring at the wall as if that would somehow stop the noise.

For a second, he considered banging on the wall in retaliation. But he knew that wasn’t going to help. Instead, he grabbed a T-shirt from the floor, pulling it over his head as he stormed toward the door.

Time to have a little chat about the noise.

Jack was beyond fucked up. His head was pounding with the frustration of being yanked out of the one bit of peace he’d managed to carve out for himself. The incessant hammering felt like a personal attack. His mind was still half-focused on the release he had been chasing, now replaced by a surge of raw anger coursing through him.

He stomped to the door, yanking it open with more force than necessary. He didn’t care anymore if he looked like a pissed-off wreck. This was supposed to be his time to unwind, to shut the world out, and here you were, ruining it without even knowing. His thoughts raced, blending his frustration with the earlier judgment he’d passed on you. Young, new neighbor—probably clueless about the noise, or just didn’t give a damn.

He crossed the hallway with long strides, already regretting not saying something earlier when you’d first made a racket. Without bothering to calm down, Jack raised his fist and banged on your door with the same intensity as the hammering that had interrupted his night.

The hammering stopped suddenly, and Jack stood there, his jaw clenched, waiting. His breathing was still heavy, fueled by the adrenaline from both the frustration and the situation he had been pulled out of. He heard footsteps approach the door, and it opened to reveal you, looking slightly surprised and flushed, probably from all the effort of settling in. You still had that slightly frazzled look, your hair in a messy bun, and a hammer in hand.

“Hey, I—”, you started, but Jack cut you off before you could finish.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”. His voice was sharp, almost a growl. “I’ve had the longest fucking week, and all I wanted was to relax for once, but instead, I’ve got you hammering away like it’s a fucking championship".

You blinked, clearly caught off guard by the aggression in his tone. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”.

“Yeah, well, now you do”, Jack snapped. “Some of us don’t want to listen to that shit at this hour”.

You stood there for a second, staring at him. Then, with a deep breath, you said, “Look, I didn’t mean to bother anyone. I just moved in, and I’m trying to get this done before it gets too late. But I didn’t think it would be this loud. I can stop”.

Just then, a heavy crash echoed from inside your apartment, cutting the tense moment between you and Jack short. Both of your heads snapped toward the source of the noise—your bedroom. Your face paled as realization hit you.

“Oh no”, you whined under your breath, eyes wide in horror.

Jack leaned slightly to the side, peeking over your shoulder, and sure enough, he saw straight into your bedroom. The massive bookshelf you’d just tried to hang with nails was now lying crookedly on your bed, surrounded by scattered books and what looked like pieces of drywall that had fallen from the wall.

He stood there for a moment, staring, trying to process what he was seeing. Then, almost involuntarily, a muttered, “Are you serious?”, escaped his lips. The disbelief was clear in his tone, but there was also a flicker of amusement breaking through the anger. His lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smirk.

“You really tried hanging that… with nails?”, Jack asked, incredulous, but there was something different in his voice now—a touch of dry humor.

You flushed, your embarrassment reaching new heights as you buried your face in your hands for a moment, groaning. “I thought it would hold! I didn’t realize it was that heavy!”.

Jack huffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “That thing’s massive. Nails? Really? You need anchors or brackets for something like that. Not nails”.

You glanced up at him, your embarrassment deepening, but his tone had shifted enough that you felt less defensive. He wasn’t ripping into you anymore, at least. “I didn’t think it through, clearly”, you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. “I just… I wanted to get it done, you know?”.

Jack exhaled, still standing in your doorway, but some of the anger and tension from earlier had melted away, replaced by the undeniable ridiculousness of the situation. He crossed his arms, shaking his head with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

He sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced from you to the chaotic scene in your bedroom. He seemed torn between frustration and reluctant amusement, clearly trying to figure out how he got roped into this situation. After a moment, he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, “If I put that stupid bookshelf on the wall… are you actually gonna go to fucking sleep after?”.

You blinked, surprised by the unexpected offer, and despite the roughness in his tone, there was a hint of something almost… helpful? You couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or just resigned to the situation. Either way, you couldn’t believe he was volunteering to help after everything.

You nodded quickly, still flustered. “Yeah, absolutely. I’ll be out of your hair for the rest of the night”.

Jack rolled his eyes but stepped back into the hallway. “Fine. Let me grab my tools. I’m not doing this again tomorrow”. He shot you a look as if to say, You owe me for this, and turned back toward his apartment.

As he disappeared into his place, you stood in the doorway for a second, a mix of relief and embarrassment washing over you. This wasn’t how you expected your night to go, but at least you weren’t completely on your own with the bookshelf disaster now.

A few minutes later, Jack returned with a drill, a level, and some heavy-duty wall anchors, looking every bit like the reluctant handyman he had somehow become tonight. “Alright”, he grumbled as he walked past you into your bedroom, “Let’s do this before I regret offering”.

You followed him into the room, standing awkwardly off to the side as he inspected the damage. He shook his head, muttering under his breath again. “Shit, the whole thing could’ve taken the wall down with it”.

You couldn’t help but let out a small, nervous laugh. “Yeah… definitely didn’t think it through”.

Jack just gave you a look before getting to work, drilling into the wall with quick efficiency. You watched in silence, half-grateful and half-embarrassed that this grumpy, tired stranger was now saving you from your own DIY disaster.

Within ten minutes, the bookshelf was back up, this time secured with proper brackets and anchors. Jack stepped back, giving it a firm tug to test its stability. “There. That’s not coming down unless you drive a truck through the wall”.

You grinned, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “Thank you. Seriously”.

Jack gave a half-shrug, packing up his tools. “Just keep it quiet, alright? I wasn’t kidding about the long week”.

You nodded, grateful. “I promise. No more hammering”.

“Next time, get your damn boyfriend to do that shit before you and your furniture end up breaking through my wall”, Jack muttered, nodding toward the picture frame sitting on top of a moving box. In the photo, you were smiling alongside a tall, athletic-looking guy with his arm wrapped around you. Jack’s comment was laced with a hint of irritation, but also that same dry humor you’d been getting used to.

Your smile faltered for a moment as your eyes followed his to the photo. Little did he know, that guy in the picture wasn’t in your life anymore—and that was the whole reason you had moved into this place. The sting of your breakup surfaced briefly, the memory of catching him cheating on you still raw. You swallowed hard, quickly deciding not to let Jack in on that painful detail. It wasn’t like he needed to know, and the last thing you wanted was pity from a man who had barely tolerated your existence for the last few hours.

“I’m Jack”, he grumbled, finally acknowledging your earlier introduction. It was a reluctant gesture, his voice still rough with exhaustion, as though even saying his name was a chore. He barely looked at you as he muttered it, his eyes already shifting toward his door like he couldn’t wait to escape the interaction.

Before you could respond or even offer a polite “nice to meet you”, he was already halfway back to his apartment. The door closed with a soft click behind him, leaving you standing there in the quiet hallway, feeling the weight of everything settle on your shoulders again. His abruptness wasn’t surprising, but it still stung a little after the tense back-and-forth of the evening.

You let out a sigh, glancing back at the photo on the box. Jack, you thought, rolling his name over in your mind. He was clearly rough around the edges, quick to frustration, but at least he hadn’t been completely heartless. He’d helped with the bookshelf, after all—something he absolutely didn’t have to do.

You stood there for a moment longer, gathering your thoughts. The apartment felt quiet now, too quiet, after the chaos of the last few hours. The silence brought your mind back to why you’d moved in the first place, and without meaning to, you found yourself thinking of your ex again—how easily he'd broken your trust, how it had shattered everything you'd built together.

You shook your head, pushing the memories away. This was a new start, and you weren’t going to let thoughts of him ruin it. No more looking back.

Turning back to the room, you tidied up the last of the scattered books and straightened out the bedding. As you moved around, Jack’s gruff demeanor kept replaying in your mind—his judgmental comments, his unexpected offer of help, and the brief glimpse of amusement when the bookshelf came crashing down. You couldn’t quite pin him down, and that intrigued you in a way you weren’t expecting.

By the time you were ready to settle into bed, you found yourself glancing at the wall you shared with Jack’s apartment, half-expecting to hear some noise, but it was completely silent. You lay down, pulling the covers over you, and for the first time in a while, you felt a strange sense of calm. Despite the chaos of the night, the disaster with the bookshelf, and the awkward introduction to your grumpy neighbor, things didn’t feel quite as overwhelming as they had earlier.

Maybe this place would turn out to be a fresh start after all.

———————————

A/N: I had way too much fun writing this. This story will definitely be a multi-part one.

I guess there will be also more from Jack in the future.

Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Part 2

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @cheynovak @ookidoki @deans-spinster-witch @n-o-p-e-never @riah1606 @stoneyggirl2 @saintnourah

[allthingsfangirl101]

A Job Is A Job – Gary Johnson

I walked into my apartment, kicked off my shoes, and hung my keys by the door. Before heading to the couch to spend the rest of the night binging a horribly cheesy TV show, I stopped in the kitchen and poured myself a giant glass of wine.

An hour later, the glass was empty and I could barely keep my eyes open. I sighed when my phone started ringing. Seeing his contact on my phone instantly woke me up.

"Hey, you," I said sleepily into the phone.

"Hey, gorgeous," he answered. "Did I wake you up?"

"No," I sighed. "Not exactly. Just a long horrible day."

"I'm sorry, baby," I could practically hear his pout. "You busy tonight?"

"Nope," I smirked. "But I could really use some company."

"Well," he said, the tone of his voice shifting, "I got good news for you, baby. I just wrapped up my class."

"Good. Pick up some more wine on your way."

Gary and I have lived next to each other for three months. We met in the hallway, but it wasn't until one night a few weeks later that we ended up in the elevator. We had both had a rough day and decided to use each other to turn the night around.

A few nights later, Gary showed up on my doorstep and we hooked up again. A few more nights later, I showed up on his doorstep. We constantly text each other when we need a little extra attention during the week. Plus, it's an unspoken arrangement that we spend the weekends together, barely dressed. It usually entails Gary stopping by after his classes wrap up on Friday and us staying in until he has to leave Monday morning.

The thing is, it wasn't as "meet-cute" as Gary thinks. . .

About half an hour later, I got a text that reminded me just how un-meet-cute everything was.

Hurry up and get it done.

I quickly locked my phone, my mind racing. Just then my front door opened and shut.

"Baby?" Gary called as he walked into my apartment. "I ordered Chinese on my way over. It should be here soon. Figured we should eat something light considering we're about to spend all night fu. . . Y/N? Are you okay?"

I turned around, my phone still clutched in my hands, to see Gary studying me. "What's the matter?" He asked.

"Nothing," I stuttered.

"Are you sure?" He asked, He quickly put his work bag and bag from the nearby liquor store on the table behind the couch before walking over to me. He gently grabbed my arms, rubbing up and down as he studied me. "Y/N, you look pale. Are you feeling alright? Did something happen at work today? Did your boss say something to you? Did a coworker say something to you? Did your boss make you feel uncomfortable? I swear, if he came near you. . ."

"Nothing happened at work, Gary. I just got off the phone with my mom," I cut him off with a lie.

"Oh," he said, finally relaxing. "Did she find out about you and me?"

He smirked, making the butterflies in my stomach go crazy when he pulled me into his chest. I didn't have time to answer before he pressed his lips to mine. I knew I shouldn't but I couldn't stop myself from giving in to him.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back. Things sped up like they usually do. He picked me up, carried me to the couch, and collapsed on top of me. Our bodies started grinding against each other as we started to shed our clothes. We were practically naked, inches away from completely giving in when the doorbell rang.

"Who the hell is that?" I sighed as Gary broke the kiss.

"I ordered Chinese food, remember?" He smirked. He leaned down and pressed his lips messily to mine before breaking the kiss. He got off me and quickly threw on his shirt before grabbing the food.

As he paid the guy, I sat up and found my clothes. I looked up when he walked back in. I couldn't help but laugh when he pouted.

"What's wrong, Professor Pout-Pout Fish?"

"You're clothed," he grumbled.

"Well, give me that food and you can undress me later."

We threw on a movie as we ate our food. When we finished eating, the movie still played but we didn't pay attention to it. Our lips moved in sync, things slowly picking up. I moaned when he slid his hands down, stopping at my waist.

Knowing his moves and how he liked things to progress, I had to stop him from pulling me onto his lap. As our lips continued to move messily in sync, I reached behind me and pulled it out of its hiding place. Gary let out a confused moan when I pressed the barrel to his stomach.

"Y/N," he gasped when he broke the kiss and looked at the gun. "Baby, what are you doing?"

"I don't have a choice," I whispered as I stood up, my gun still pointed at him. "I have to do this."

"What do you mean, baby?" He asked, eyeing the gun. I took a step back when I realized he was trying to calculate grabbing my gun without hurting me. "Why do you have to do this, baby?"

"Stop calling me 'baby'," I said, my voice breaking.

"I'm sorry, baby," he said, clearly on purpose. "It's a habit at this point. So, tell me, gorgeous. What is it that you have to do?"

"I have to kill you," I said, my voice barely audible.

"Is it something I did? Are you angry with me?"

"No," I said quickly. "It's not you. It's. . ."

"Then what is it, baby? You can tell me," he said as he stood up but didn't take a step closer to me. "Why do you have to kill me?"

"I messed up, Gary."

"Put the gun down, gorgeous, and we can talk." His eyes glanced back down to the gun in my hand. "Come on, baby. We'll just talk. I promise. Maybe. . . Maybe I can help. Talk to me."

I didn't move my gun. I knew if I did, I'd never lift it again.

"I owe a guy money," I confessed.

"A loan shark?" He asked, still oddly calm.

"Yeah," I said, looking away from his eyes.

"Why did you borrow money, baby?"

"My student loans," I sighed. "I had no choice, Gary. I've been trying to pay off my student loans for almost five years. I can't. . . I had to pay them off."

"Who did you borrow the money from?" He asked.

"Louis Anderson." As soon as I said the loan shark's name, Gary sighed. It was almost like he knew him. Before I could ask, he asked his own question.

"How did you meet the guy?" I wasn't sure if he was trying to stall but it was working.

"Well, I. . ."

"What, baby?"

"I didn't approach him," I realized. My mind began to spin as I slowly started to lower my gun. "He. . . Louis approached me. It's like he knew. . . Why did he. . . How did he know?"

"Loan sharks have a way of getting those records," Gary said. He took a step closer to me but froze when I lifted my gun again. "Okay, wait. Baby, why does Louis Anderson want me dead?"

"He told me," I said.

"Told you what, baby?"

"I know who you actually are, Gary," I revealed. "He told me that you work for the police as an undercover hitman. You set his right-hand man up."

"Y/N, I can. . ."

"You don't need to explain," I cut him off. "The loan shark hired me before I moved into the apartment next to yours. He set this all up, Gary."

"Even you and I. . ."

"No," I said quickly. "He gave me three months to work my way into your life so I could. . ."

"Kill me," he said, the look in his eyes dropping. "Wow," he laughed sarcastically. "Have to admit. Interesting being on this side of things."

"I didn't start sleeping with you because of this job," I panicked. "It just happened. We were hanging out. Got drunk. When we slept together, that was real. And then we kept sleeping together. I couldn't seem to stop. I completely forgot about Louis until he reached out to me the other day and reminded me. He told me to stop. . ."

"To stop what, baby?" He asked, sounding like he already knew.

"He told me to stop whoring around and kill you already," I said, my voice dropping again. "He threatened to raise the amount I owed if I didn't do it by Sunday."

Gary and I stared at each other for a beat. When he took a step toward me, I didn't move.

"Baby," he said in the voice he used when he was ready to move things into the bedroom. "I can help you. As you know, I work for the police. I set people up. We can set up your loan shark. I can get you out of this, Y/N."

"We can't," I stuttered. "You can't. I have to do this."

"Y/N. . ."

"A job's a job," I said, my voice breaking. I took a step back, putting some space between me and Gary. "I'm sorry."

"Y/N, wait!" Gary gasped, putting his hands up in defense. "What if. . . What if we changed the job?"

"What are you talking about?"

"What if we. . ."

"You don't understand," I started to stutter. "You don't know this guy, Gary. He's. . . relentless. He won't let me forget that I owe him. Plus, he is deadset on killing you. If I don't do it, he'll hire someone to kill you and me."

"What if we just left?" Gary offered.

"It's not that simple," my voice broke again.

"Yes, it is," he said, taking a hesitant step toward me. "You and me, baby. We can pack up our things, get in my truck, and go anywhere you want to go. You want to live in a big city? Done. Small town? Done. Wherever you want, gorgeous. Let's go. We can start over. Build a life, a new life, together."

With tears streaming down my face and the gun shaking in my hands, I started envisioning a life as Gary described; a beautiful home, lots of land, us waking up in the morning, Gary going to a normal 9 to 5 job. Until we were interrupted by Louis Anderson and his men storming into our house and killing us.

"You and me, Y/N. We can start a new life together. One where no one tells us what we can and can't do. Let's do it."

"No, we can't. . ." I mumbled.

"Yes, we can, Y/N. We can go right now. . ."

"No!" I cut him off harsher. "We can't. You. . . You don't understand, Gary. Louis will follow us wherever I go. He'll never let me leave without paying back my debt. And this. . . killing you. . . it's my only way out."

"No, it's not," Gary said gently. He walked closer to me, not even looking at the gun. "Y/N, baby, I love you."

"You what?" I stuttered.

"I love you, Y/N," he smiled.

"I purposefully forgot about my deal with the loan shark because I had fallen in love with you," I whispered.

"Then let's do it, baby," he whispered. "Now that we're in love, we can do anything. Go anywhere. I can protect you. I can get you out of this, darling." He lowered his voice as he added, "I will get you out of this. Okay? I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe."

He reached up and gently grabbed my gun. I didn't stop him from taking it. As he uncocked it, the tears streamed down my face. He looked up and his eyes softened when he saw the tears. He quickly tucked my gun into his waistband before wrapping his arms around me.

"He's going to kill me, Gary," I sobbed into his chest.

"I won't let him," he said, tightening his arms around me. "Just give me his number and I can hand it off to my boss. We can get a whole team together to focus on your loan shark. They could take them down and we could get away."

I leaned out of our embrace and studied him. "You. . . You want to run away together? Even if your boss handles Louis? You still want to leave?"

Gary gently cupped my face in his hands and pressed his lips to mine. I threw my arms around him and deepened the kiss.

"I love you, darling," he whispered, breaking the kiss. "And I don't care who this Louis Anderson is or how much you owe him. My new, and only job, is keeping you safe."

[majeoeje]

Not a second with you is ever a waste

Teru Minamoto x reader

I would gladly face any conseqences just to have your lips on mine a little longer

"I would say you're that you’re not much better seeing your eyebags right now"

He pointed, ironically being the one laying in the school's infirmary

"Ugh,look at yours!"

You shoved him your pocket mirror close enough so that he can take a good look at his face, it took him a few seconds to realize what you meant.

Staying up late was akin to the one and only Teru Minamoto, being a trained exorcist and all. But these past few weeks had been swarming him with task of bothersome spirits, you wondered how he hasn't collapsed yet.

Well...

Until he did

You saw how he slumped while holding documents for the student council, immedietly helping him, thinking nothing of it. Though, too occupied with your few exchange jokes you didn't notice how unstable the steps that he continued to take before you heard a loud thud alongside with papers and documents scattered to the floor

●●●

"You were heavy."

You rolled your eye at him. Teru know you could never be mad at him though in that moment he really can't help but look away, defeated filled with guilt.

"Sorry.. i didn't mean to burden you like that" at first it would sound like an excessive apology for such a simple thing that you were clearly just joking about, but you knew what he meant as he stared intently at your eyebags that mirrors his.

“Don’t mention it.” You said

As you layed your upper body on thighs, avoiding his gaze, perhaps a part of you was embarassed. If it weren’t for his condition right now, he would be elated.

"You've been a great help to me these past months, i shouldn't had dropped my assignment last minute to you like that" he confessed, playing with the strands of your hair.

The anxious Teru, the clingy Teru, the cold Teru, the touchy Teru. You were always surprised with every layer of personality that he shows you, a side that would made you grew jealous if he were to show to anybody else. Yet you can't help to miss every part of him when you are seperated

And to think that you once thought of him as one dimensional.

"I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, and i'll make sure it won't happen again"

Oh he was really serious now? You couldn't help but smile, a mischevious grin laces your lips. How could you turn down such an offer?

"Oh really?" he knows you're messing with him but hey, is it really a bad thing wanting to see you happy even for the sake of his inconvinience

"Yes!" He said eagerly holding your hand

"How about...." you started to think about how could you possibly use this opportunity to the fullest. "You cover me whenever i skip school this whole month? Yeah that sounds good"

The fact that you're asking the student council president for this is crazy really, the horors he would face if people were to find out surely wasn’t something he’s looking forward to

"That's a bit.." he stopped, a facade of his princely attitude seems to glimmer through before he shook his head

He sighed away his discomfort and looked you in the eyes “alright, but just know i’m not joining you anytime soon”

You giggled, an awfully lovely sound that could shift Teru’s moral compass anytime. Sometimes it feels like he’d do anything for the sound of it.

"I was just joking teru" you weren't. " but need i remind you that you did skipped class once you knoww..." you poked his cheek playfully

He was reminded to a fateful day before summer break where he gave into his impulsive thoughts and decided to follow a dumbass to their shenanigans up the rooftop.

"H-hey- i thought we agreed to not bring up that ever again" he grab a hold of your wrist pulling you ever so closely, he couldn't contain his reddening cheeks as he smiled remembering that day.

"The school prince skipped school to make out with someone!?? Gahhh! Such scandal!" Such a scandal it would make indeed if people were to find out his secret heated make out session.

News flash : It was you

"Like you weren’t the one practically BEGGING for me to kiss you” he said, eyeing your lips with a glare that could sent blood rushing to your face anytime of the day

“I don’t recall such blasphemous memories, princess" you crossed your hands, failing to look to away to hide the growing smile on your lips

"You wanna kiss me so bad it’s messing with your head"

"Your majesty, your lowly servant greatly thinks it's the other way around"

you grinned seeing how he eyed your lips with no shame whatsoever this time.

"Hmm..." he seems to think for a second "maybe" before you felt him inching closer, wasting no time.

All you could feel was a pair of lips on your own, a pair of rough hands cupping your face, messing with your hair. The cheap white sheets of the infirmary ruffled to a mess and the smell of sanitizer became amiss as you kissed him back tasting a faint sweet vanilla on his lips.

"Hm.. you used the lip balm i got for you? How sweet" you squished his cheeks with your thumb and index finger making him duck his lips slightly, eyeing the glistened on his lips that you failed to notice until it collided to yours.

"Me or the lip balm?"

He chuckled, he smiled. a smile that never fails to make you grow weak in the knees as he stayed there not shying away from your touch

"Good question...maybe i need to check one more time"

Real smooth

You kissed him first this time, your hands dangled from his shoulder, pulling him close. You could feel how his lips curled into a smile when you did so.

During moments like this you wondered how the heartthrob of kamome gakuen that acted so heartlessly(ironically) to you when you first met came to be this way in your arms.

Moments passed as if it were mere when seconds kissing you. He was greedy. Everytime you gasped and breathed for air he wished to kiss you twice as long.

The disappointment in his eyes was evident when you finally pulled away

Though he stopped as the thoughts that swirled his head from moments before seem to not linger back.

"Is it really alright though...you know...the homework?" he rest his forehead on yours lazily

"Darling, you did mine that one time too remember? I'm just repaying your kindness" you sighed, you don’t understand how he could become so self conscious in every favor you offered.

"But it's different.." he said, disappointedly

"You know you shouldn't feel this way… You mean a lot to me. I hope there comes a day where you can realize that you can fully rely on me without feeling guilty"

The pause that linger in the air seem to grow heavy in each moment, a moment that made you realize how fragile he was.

"I..."

He doesn't know how to respond to that, at least...not yet

"How about you take me on a date to make it up for me"

Hearing that he perked up, giving a gentle smile, a smile one like when you first met him. It covered a lot of secrets

They say human's greatest fear are of the unknown. This smile represent just that. The swirling feeling of uneasiness knowing he has secrets he need to hide from you. yet it continues to enchant you nonetheless

"I'll pick you up at 6"

"Sounds good to me"

(Idk what has gotten into me but my teru phase is coming back fr. Also just short fluff, everyday scenarios🫡🫡)

[greatkittencloud]

TW : Medical inaccuracies, trauma , fear of failure , abandonment issues etc.

Black Nova

Chapter 22

Location Medbay

Time 1600 Hours 3 weeks after

The rehab wing wasn’t far from the main base, but it felt like another world entirely.

The air smelled like vinyl mats and antiseptic. Bright lights buzzed overhead merciless and clinical. Equipment was neatly arranged along the walls parallel bars, weighted balls, foam rollers, resistance bands. A wall-length mirror stood on one end, reflecting the sharp angles of the room, and the single figure seated in a wheelchair near the center of it.

Nova sat still, braced leg extended in front of her, jaw tight under the surgical wire. Her fingers curled in her lap, covered in half-peeled medical tape. Her knuckles trembled with effort and pain, even when they weren’t moving.

The physical therapist a woman named Sia with kind eyes and calloused hands crouched beside her.

“We’ll start slow, alright?” Siia said softly. “All I want is for you to stand up using the parallel bars. You don’t need to walk yet. Just plant both feet. Even weight. No rush.”

Nova gave a shallow nod.

Her eyes were hollow, shadowed by exhaustion, but she gripped the armrests of the chair anyway.

Survived the institute. Survived the torture. Survived learning her jaw was wired shut, that her leg wouldn’t bend, that her hands wouldn’t obey her anymore.

She had survived.

But standing?

That felt impossible.

Sia wheeled her up to the parallel bars, then gently locked the brakes. “You’ve got this,” she said, voice calm, like nothing about this was as monumental as it felt.

Nova took a deep breath.

Then she pushed.

Her arms shook immediately. Her left leg, locked in a hinged brace, felt like deadweight. Her right leg tensed to compensate, and pain flared through her lower back. Her hands slipped on the bars. Her heart thundered, breath coming in tight flares through her nose.

She didn’t make it halfway up before she collapsed back down with a hiss of frustration.

“Alright,” Sia said, quickly supporting her back. “That’s fine. That’s okay. Breathe.”

Nova clenched her fists. Her fingers refused to stop shaking.

“Alright. We’ll go again. Use your core. Shift with your shoulders. Don’t rush it.”

Second attempt.

This time, Nova got three inches off the chair before her leg buckled beneath her. Her breath caught in her throat, and she sat back down hard, nearly biting her tongue.

Frustration bloomed across her face.

The kind that comes when you’ve trained your whole life to be strong, and now your own body fights you for the right to stand.

She looked at the mirror. Her reflection stared back—pale, tired, legs trembling, hands curled tight as claws.

Pathetic.

Weak.

Her heart pounded with rage and helplessness.

“I know it feels like failure,” Sia said quietly. “But this is still progress.”

Nova typed

<It’s not. I was running missions two months ago. Now I can’t even stand.>

Aria crouched down again, placing a hand gently on Nova’s wrist.

“You were also unconscious with a fever of 104,” she said. “And your leg was torn open like paper. And your hands were nearly shut down from nerve damage. But you’re here. You’re breathing. You’re trying. That counts.”

Nova didn’t answer.

Not for a long moment.

Then she typed:

<How long until I walk?>

Aria exhaled, honest and steady. “Could be months. Could be less. Depends on how you work. But it’ll happen.”

Nova’s fingers hovered over the screen.

She didn’t ask when she could fight again.

Didn’t ask when she could hold a gun. Or throw a knife. Or sprint across rooftops like she used to.

Nova stared at the screen, at her own reflection.

Then she tried again.

She rose, slower this time. Arms trembling. Core tight. She grunted through her nose, pain burning behind her eyes. She straightened her back. The left leg screamed in protest.

But she stood.

Just for few seconds.

But she stood.

And when she finally sat back down, tears prickled at the corner of her eyes.

She didn’t wipe them away.

She earned those.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @hyperfixiation-station , @massivescissorsthingperson , @kaoyamamegami , @sweetybuzz25 , @adalia-lovelace , @sheepispink , @n-ae-vis , @warrior-xe , @shinebright2000 , @enfppuff

[memorabxlia]

TWO LEFT FEET ━ 리우 genre: fluff summary: You secretly learn a dance for his special day warnings: established relationship, mentions slight anxiety, lowkey awkward a little (that's all I can think of) pairing: idol!riwoo x fem!reader wc: 1.7k a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY RIWOO!!! nets: @blossomnet @onedoornet @chrimatanet @k-labels @k-films

You’ve never been good with birthdays—especially saying “Happy Birthday.” Something about it always feels forced, awkward, like the words get stuck in your throat and come out wrong. It’s even worse with Riwoo. Every year, you find yourself freezing up, fumbling with the simplest greeting. So this year, you decided to do something different, something that would actually mean something to him.

You remember Riwoo mentioning a couple dance routine a few months ago. He had suggested the two of you try it together, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he showed you the video. But you’d laughed it off, making some excuse about having two left feet, and the moment passed. You could still see the disappointment in his eyes, though he never mentioned it again.

So, here you are, standing in the middle of a dance studio, feeling completely out of place.

“You must be here for the lessons,” a voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You turn and see a man in his late thirties, a warm smile on his face. “I’m Jihoon, your instructor.”

You nod, swallowing nervously. “Yeah, that’s me. I, uh, need to learn a dance routine. Fast.”

He raises an eyebrow. “How fast are we talking?”

You hesitate. “Riwoo’s birthday is in two weeks. I want to surprise him.”

Jihoon chuckles softly, stepping closer. “That’s ambitious. Do you have any experience with dancing?”

“Not… really,” you admit, rubbing the back of your neck. “Actually, I’m pretty terrible at it. I don’t pick things up easily.”

“Two weeks, huh?” Jihoon sighs but doesn’t lose his smile. “Alright. Tell me about the routine.”

You explain it as best you can, describing the video Riwoo had shown you, and Jihoon listens carefully. When you’re done, he nods and stretches his arms.

“Okay, let’s get started.”

The first lesson goes about as well as you expected. Which is to say, terribly.

“Step forward with your right foot—no, your *other* right foot,” Jihoon says, barely hiding his amusement.

You groan, stumbling over yourself again. “I told you I was bad at this.”

“You’re not bad, you’re learning,” he corrects. “It’s different. Trust me, everyone struggles at first.”

But it doesn’t feel like just struggling. It feels like you’re never going to get it right. You keep stepping in the wrong direction, tripping over your own feet, and every time Jihoon goes over the moves, your mind blanks out halfway through.

After the first hour, you’re exhausted. Jihoon hands you a bottle of water, and you take it gratefully, collapsing onto a bench.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you mutter, wiping the sweat from your forehead.

He sits beside you, his expression patient. “It’s normal to feel that way in the beginning. Dancing is hard, but it’s not impossible. You just have to push through the frustration.”

You glance at him, unsure. “What if I mess it up? I don’t want to look like an idiot in front of Riwoo.”

“Then you keep practicing until you don’t mess up,” he says simply. “The fact that you’re doing this at all means a lot. Riwoo’s going to love it, whether you get every step right or not.”

You nod, trying to let his words sink in. But as you leave the studio that day, all you can think about is how much more you have to learn. Two weeks feels impossibly short.

The second lesson doesn’t go much better.

Jihoon watches as you stumble through the moves, his brow furrowing. “Okay, stop for a second.”

You stop, panting, feeling the sweat dripping down your face. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Your timing’s off. You’re anticipating the next step before you’ve finished the first one. Relax. Focus on one movement at a time.”

Easier said than done. You try again, concentrating hard on each step, but by the end of the routine, you’ve still missed half of them.

You slump against the wall, frustrated. “I’m never going to get this right.”

Jihoon crosses his arms, watching you carefully. “You’re overthinking it. Dancing isn’t just about following steps—it’s about feeling the rhythm. Don’t let your head get in the way.”

“I can’t help it,” you snap, more at yourself than at him. “I don’t want to mess this up for him.”

He softens, understanding in his eyes. “You’re not going to. You’re already putting in more effort than most people would. That says a lot.”

You don’t answer, but his words stay with you, lingering in your mind as you drive home. You’re trying to do something special for Riwoo. That’s what matters, right?

By the time you hit your tenth lesson, you’ve at least gotten three steps out of seven. It’s not great progress, but it’s something. You’ve memorized the first half of the routine, though it’s still clumsy and awkward when you try to string the steps together.

Jihoon has been patient through all of it, offering encouragement even when you feel like quitting. Today, however, you’ve hit a wall.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you blurt out, dropping your arms to your sides. “I’m exhausted, and it’s still not coming together.”

Jihoon looks at you, his expression unreadable. You’re sure he’s about to tell you to push through, to keep going even though you feel like collapsing on the floor.

Instead, he says, “Take five.”

You blink, surprised. “What?”

“Take a break,” he repeats. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. Relax for a bit.”

Relief washes over you, and you don’t argue. You sit down, stretching out your legs and taking deep breaths. Jihoon walks over to the stereo, switching off the music.

“I know this feels impossible right now,” he says after a moment. “But you’ve made progress. More than you think.”

You shake your head, not convinced. “I’ve barely learned half of it.”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “But you’ve learned something. You didn’t give up after the first day, did you?”

“No, but—”

“Then that’s progress,” he interrupts gently. “You’re not going to master the whole routine in two weeks. That was never realistic. But you’re showing up, and you’re trying. That counts.”

You stare at the floor, feeling the weight of exhaustion and doubt pressing down on you. “I just want it to be perfect for Riwoo.”

Jihoon crouches down in front of you, meeting your eyes. “Riwoo doesn’t care about perfect. He cares about you. And he’s going to love this because it’s coming from you.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for the first time in days, you feel a spark of hope. Maybe he’s right. Maybe Riwoo won’t care if you don’t get every step right.

“Take a few more minutes,” Jihoon says, standing up again. “Then we’ll go over the first half one more time.”

You nod, letting yourself breathe. You’re tired, but you’re not giving up. Not yet.

On the night of Riwoo’s birthday, you’re nervous. No, more than nervous—you’re terrified.

You stand outside his apartment, shifting from foot to foot, your hands shaking. The small speaker in your bag feels heavier than it should, and you wonder if this was a mistake. Maybe you should’ve just said “Happy Birthday” like a normal person.

But it’s too late now. You’ve come this far, and there’s no turning back.

You knock on the door, and a few seconds later, Riwoo opens it, his face lighting up when he sees you.

“Hey!” he greets you with that easy smile that always makes your heart race. “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“Yeah, I, uh, wanted to surprise you,” you mumble, stepping inside.

He looks around as if expecting to see something else, like a wrapped gift or a cake. “Surprise? What is it?”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I… I learned something for you.”

His brow furrows in confusion. “Learned something? What do you mean?”

Instead of answering, you pull the speaker out of your bag and set it on the floor. You find the song you’ve been practicing to and press play. The familiar beat fills the room, and you turn to face him.

“I—remember that dance you showed me a while back?” you say, barely meeting his eyes. “The one I said I couldn’t do? Well, I—um, I’ve been learning it. For your birthday.”

Riwoo’s eyes widen, his mouth parting in surprise. “Wait, you’re serious?”

You nod, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “I’m not good at it, but… I wanted to try. For you.”

For a moment, he’s speechless, and you’re sure this was a terrible idea. But then, he smiles—the kind of smile that reaches his eyes—and suddenly, all the nerves and doubt don’t seem to matter.

“You did all that for me?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” you mutter, suddenly embarrassed. “I didn’t want to just say ‘Happy Birthday.’”

His eyes are shining as he steps closer. “Can I see it?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, but you nod. You position yourself, take a deep breath, and begin.

The first few steps go smoothly. You’ve practiced them enough that your body moves on instinct, even if you still feel awkward. But as the routine continues, you fumble—just like you knew you would. Your feet get tangled, you miss a turn, and by the time you hit the fifth step, you’re completely out of sync with the music.

But you don’t stop. You keep going, pushing through the mistakes, because this isn’t about being perfect. It’s about showing Riwoo how much you care.

When the song ends, you’re breathless and flushed, waiting for his reaction. You feel exposed, vulnerable, like you’ve just laid your heart on the line.

Riwoo steps forward, and before you can say anything, he pulls you into a tight hug.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers into your ear. “That was the best gift anyone’s ever given me.”

You exhale, tension leaving your body in a rush of relief. “Even though I messed up?”

“Especially because you messed up,” he says with a laugh, pulling back to look at you. “You didn’t have to do all that for me, but you did. That means more than you know.”

You smile, feeling lighter than you have in weeks. Maybe Jihoon was right. Riwoo doesn’t care about perfect. He cares about you.

And in the end, that’s all that matters.

❥﹒ boynextdoor taglist: @minkilicious @dobbiesvvorld

[injestedsoap]

Dirty, dirty, NSFW fic where you welcome home your favorite sergeant with tongues and fingers

for @femalefemur, please never stop sending me porn links, babe.

It had been a long deployment and Soap knew it was going to be a short break. Price had told him he'd have a month, Soap was skeptical it would be more than two weeks. But none of that mattered right now. Not his exhaustion, not his buzzing brain, not the new scars he came home with, not even the fact that his ears were still ringing from the battlefield. None of that mattered because you were tongue deep in him while your hand tugged on his weeping cock.

"Ah," Soap moaned, pressing his face into the mattress and his ass back against your tongue, "Ah, hen what you bloody do to me,"

You pull back with a loud slurping noise, giggling at Soap's moan as you spit in your hand and go back to working his cock. "What do I do to you, hm?" you tease, dancing your finger over his slit, "What does my pretty mouth do to your slutty hole?"

Soap whimpered and looked back over his shoulder, his eyes sleepy and hooded as he spread his thighs further, "You drive me out my damn dead is what you do."

You beam, kissing his softly furred ass sweetly before reeling back and spanking him hard, well, as hard as you could. Instead of a squeak like you were hoping for you get a long low groan which is a pretty good consolation prize. You get a hand full of his dark curls and tug and that gets a whine and a weak swat, "Careful back there," Soap complains, like his hole isn't fluttering from the sensations of light pain, "I'm not looking to get plucked my first night home."

You snicker but lean in and kiss his ass again anyway.

Home.

Probably too sappy a thing to be thinking about when you're eating out your military boyfriend. You spread his cheeks and spit a fat wad of saliva on his twitching hole, relishing the half moan, half giggle you get in response.

"Gross," Soap whispers into the sheets.

"Mmh," You hum, leaning in and kissing his wet pucker before going back to work, tonguing deep into him and wiggling your tongue. Soap whimpers and pants above you, his balls drawing up tight as you massage them. You work your hand down, tugging his cock a few idle times before reaching to gently squeeze his stomach. He was getting older, he wasn't as easily able to keep the softness off his midsection, 20 year old Soap's cut abs gently morphing into 27 year old Johnny's tummy. Oh he had abs, but he didn't feel the need to dehydrate and cut carbs any more. He was just as much a badass after his morning muffin and too sweet coffee.

"Love," He whined as you ran your fingers over his treasure trail, "Cock, please,"

You pulled back from his hole just enough to laugh breathlessly, "Needy now that you're back," you tease, the very tip of your nail tracing the vein of his cock.

He looked back, one big blue eye peeking over his massive bicep, exaggeratedly batting his lashes, "I am always needy when it comes to your whore mouth on my respectable hole,"

You let out a screech of a laugh and gave him another spank, relishing the 'ow' let out in the middle of his own laughs. "Alright," You say, spitting in your hand and dragging the dribbles of precum up his shaft as you push him down onto the mattress. "Alright," the hand that isn't working his shaft slides up his thigh, giving his ass a soft pat before sliding two fingers into his already loose ring of muscle, going right for the little bundle of nerves. "Alright," You repeat, your voice softer as Soap presses his moans and whimpers into the mattress, his cock leaking profusely. You lean in, pushing your tongue in along side your fingers. It's not easy or comfortable and it's not coordinated but it must be enough because before Soap lets out a broken little noise and cums all over the towel you'd laid down before you pounced.

The orgasm must have been load bearing because with that Soap collapses, barely avoiding the puddle and barely giving you time to adjust yourself so you didn't get yanked down tongue first. As it stands the two fingers in his ass are connected to the arm that is holding you up and the angle isn't comfortable for either of you.

"Hold on," You grunt, finding a spit to put down your other hand and gently extracting your fingers from him. Grinning when he let out a noise of contentment, nuzzling down into the pillows. He'll worry about getting you off tomorrow (and the next day and the next day and the next day...) but for now you let him lay, bundling up the towel and washing your hands and face before coming back with a warm washcloth to gently clean him up.

"Thank you," Soap sighs.

"For cleaning you up or the rim job?" you tease.

He answers by grabbing you by the ass and tugging you down until you're situated so he can get his soft cock between your soft thighs, already prepping for your wake up call. He looks at you through his lashes and you roll your eyes, kissing him anyway and sucking on his tongue the way he likes. You let your hand drift down to scratch lightly at his round bottom, feeling the coarse hair and taught muscle under your fingers as you suck on the warm wet muscle between your lips, tasting cinnamon toothpaste and need. You pull away for just long enough for you both to breathe, laughing tiredly as Soap whines and chases your lips, even if he is panting too, and then go back in, twisting your fingers into his mohawk and pressing him closer still. You both stay like that, wrapped up in each other, lungs full of each other's air, until you finally drift to sleep, please to be back together no matter how short that time may be.

[iwritesickfic]

Surprise

part 1! - partially in response to a few prompts, partially its own thing. enjoy!

Seamus is almost vibrating with excitement. He hasn’t seen Theo in a month, and tonight is finally going to be the night. He’s been touring, and though Seamus would love to travel with him, he has all his own shit to do in Ireland. Lots of shit. Unfortunately.

But he finally had the time to fly the 7 and a half hours to New York to see Theo perform this week. And Theo has no idea. He's taken every precaution to make sure of that.

The show is just about over, and Seamus is standing in one of the cinderblock and concrete access hallways below the stadium, fidgeting like he’s waiting for his prom date.

Then Theo’s there, swarmed by crew members and production people, gorgeous as ever. He’s still a ways away down the hall, and it doesn’t seem like he’s seen Seamus yet. He gives it a few moments before calling out.

“Theo!” A few heads turn, and Theo looks around, totally confused, so Seamus calls again. “Theo!” His voice echoes in the cavernous space, and finally Theo’s eyes find his. Then he’s sprinting down the hallway toward him, nearly knocking Seamus over as they embrace.

The first thing Seamus notices above all else is how hard he’s trembling. It’s more like shaking. Seamus holds him tight, pulling him flush against him, and feels Theo start to cry, his face buried in Seamus’s neck. He's sobbing, gasping for breath. He’s slick with sweat, his hair stuck to his temples and forehead.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Seamus says gently, and kisses his cheek. “Are you happy to see me?” He asks teasingly, and Theo pulls back, looking half overjoyed and half exhausted. He presses a kiss to Seamus’s lips, then rests his forehead on his, eyes closed. He's out of breath - from the crying or the sprint or the kiss Seamus isn't sure.

“You have no fucking idea,” Theo whispers. His voice sounds totally shot, and he’s still shaking. He’s flushed and warm too, but that can probably be chalked up to the fact he just did a two hour set under stage lights. “Please tell me you’re staying the night. Please, fuck.”

His arms are looped around Seamus's neck.

“As long as you want,” Seamus says, and presses another kiss to his cheek. God, he’s warm. He runs his hand through Theo’s sweat damp hair, pushing some off his face and forehead. “You wanna sit down?” Theo nods, and Seamus guides him to a folding chair. He stumbles, and Seamus catches him by the elbow.

He’s getting more and more concerned with each passing moment. He’s seen Theo after shows before, and it’s never this bad. He almost seems drunk.

Theo practically collapses into the chair, then folds forward, elbows on knees, head in his hands. His greasy strands of auburn hair hang down around his face. Seamus lays a hand on his back and squats down.

"Are you ok?" he asks, hushed, and Theo nods, but doesn't say anything. "Are you sure?" He swallows thickly and looks up.

"I'm so happy you're here Shay, I'm just having a terrible fucking day and I-" he stops abruptly as he sees something over Seamus's shoulder and forces a smile.

"Amazing show tonight!" a female voice says, and Seamus looks back to see Emma, the tour manager. Immediately Seamus feels his shoulders tense. He and Emma always seem to be getting into screaming matches. He never intends it to be that way, but that's how it always ends up.

"Thanks," Theo says, voice still hoarse. She keeps walking, and as soon as she's gone, his smile drops again. He lowers his voice and looks back to Seamus. "Can we just go? Please, can we go home?" He sounds on the verge of tears, like he's unsure of what the response will be. Seamus tucks some of his hair behind his ear.

"Teddy, of course." He's beyond worried now. Theo stands, and Seamus is about to make a joke when Theo's eyes roll back. Then he's falling. Seamus is frozen for a second before he makes a desperate grab for his arm. It doesn't help. He's limp, and though Seamus manages to break his fall somewhat, he's on the ground. "Theo!"

A crowd starts to gather almost immediately, and Seamus's heart feels like it's going to burst out of his throat.

Theo's eyes are already fluttering open again, but in contrast to how flushed he was a minute ago, he's gray-pale now. A soft noise escapes his chapped lips.

There's a medic kneeling beside them now, and Seamus lays his hand on Theo's chest. Theo's hand clumsily finds his, fingers still trembling. Seamus's hand is shaking too.

"You with us, Theodore?" the medic asks, and Theo nods, starting to push himself up. Both Seamus and the medic simultaneously ease him back down. "Whoa, take it slow. Just relax for a minute. I'm gonna take your blood pressure, alright?"

Theo nods again, his eyes falling closed.

The crowd is murmuring, and another medic arrives. They exchange a few words before he goes to work too. Taking his temperature, his blood oxygen, his pulse. The whole time, Seamus is sick to his stomach. He just tries to focus on the feeling of Theo's chest rising and falling beneath his palm.

Finally, they sit him up and he opens his eyes and the first thing he does is lean his forehead down onto Seamus's shoulder. He's still holding his hand, and Seamus squeezes it tight. He's also still extremely warm, and Seamus really wants to ask the medic what his temperature was.

"Dehydrated?" he asks instead, and the medic tilts his head as if to say "sort of." He stands and starts to talk to Emma, who looks more stressed out than concerned. Seamus tries to make out what they're saying, but he can't quite. He knows it's more than dehydration. Something is wrong, and Emma knows. The medic knows. Everyone knows but him. And it's making his blood boil.

"Shay, please, I wanna go home," Theo whispers, his lips hot and dry against Seamus's throat. His face is tucked in the crook of Seamus’s neck. His pleading, soft voice brings Seamus back down, and he's able to shift his focus.

"I know," he whispers back. He rubs his back, and Theo hums. "When did you start feeling sick?"

"I'm fine. Please just get me the fuck out of here." He's obviously not fine, but now isn't the time to argue the obvious. The second medic returns with a bottle of Pedialyte and a straw, which Seamus hands to Theo.

"What's - Do you know…?" he asks, and he doesn't miss the way the medic's eyes dart over to Emma before he answers. It relights the fire in his stomach.

"Low blood pressure from dehydration. Once he drinks that he should be good to go," he says, and leaves before Seamus can ask anything else.

"Maybe we could get you an IV?" Seamus asks, and Theo shakes his head.

"Seamus, please just get me home. Please."

"Ok."

He texts the driver to pull around and a flags down a PA to grab them a golf cart. He has to practically hold Theo up as they get into the cart, and as soon as they sit down, he presses his too warm body against Seamus's.

It's the same story for the car, and as soon as the door shuts and they're on their way, Theo lets out a heavy sigh.

"What's going on?" Seamus finally asks, and Theo tucks his head back against his shoulder.

“Tough show,” he mumbles, and when Seamus's silence indicates he isn't satisfied with that explanation, he sighs "I feel like shit.”

"I can tell." He presses his lips to Theo's temple, and is sure beyond a shadow of a doubt he has a fever. "How long?"

"Long time," Theo says. Seamus has so many questions he can't even get one out.

"You've been sick?" He finally asks. Theo nods. "How… What is it?"

"My throat,” he murmurs, and Seamus brings his hand to Theo’s throat, feeling under his jaw. Sure enough, his glands are swollen, and when he brushes his fingertips over them Theo stiffens.

“Baby,” Seamus breathes out, and Theo shakes his head weakly.

“It's not that bad.” Again, Seamus doesn't need to say anything for Theo to get the message. “Ok, well it's better. It's getting better.”

Finally, Seamus asks the question that's been bothering him the most.

“Why didn't you say anything?”

Theo takes a breath like he's about to speak, but the sound of his phone ringing cuts him off. Seamus is about to tell him to leave it, but Theo is already pulling it up to his ear.

“Hey,” his weak voice says, and though Seamus can hear someone speaking on the other end, he can't make out who. Eventually, he just hands the phone over to Seamus.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Seamus. You guys are headed back to Brooklyn?” It's Zeke, Theo's manager.

“Yeah, we’re on the bridge.” He pauses, staring out the window.

“Ok, that's fine, we were all just wondering where you guys went. Especially since he passed out, we wouldn't - well… It's just good you're getting him home.”

“Tell me what's been going on,” Seamus says, and Theo makes a small sound of protest beside him.

“Seamus,” he whispers, as if pleading with him to drop it.

“Realistically, we can’t cancel every time-” Zeke starts.

“Zeke!” Seamus snaps, incredulous.

“I care about him just as much as you, but what has to be done has to be done.” Even he doesn’t sound fully convinced.

“Spare me,” Seamus spits back.

“Shay, please,” Theo murmurs, and Seamus takes a deep breath.

“Just tell me everything.”

–

He didn’t have to carry Theo in from the car, but he certainly had to carry him upstairs. He’s exhausted, not even to mention the fever he's running. Someone in perfect health would be exhausted after the tour schedule Theo has.

He’s had some kind of throat infection for at least the last month, and he's been doped up on painkillers and antibiotics nonstop for the last two weeks. In the interest of keeping him on stage they've had a doctor shooting him up with Prednisone before each show. If it wasn't for the steroid shots he likely wouldn't be able to talk, let alone sing.

Seamus always knew deep down the label would do anything to keep their tour rolling. But he never imagined it would come to this. Performing with a throat injury is playing with fire, it’ll be a miracle if his voice doesn’t need serious rehab. For now though, Seamus is just focused on trying to make the best of the situation at hand.

Theo is sitting on the edge of their bed, flushed and shivering, while Seamus slowly helps him out of his sweat damp clothes. As he goes, he presses kisses to Theo’s overheated skin, slowly and reverently. Theo melts under him, pushing himself as close as he can get.

The way he’s pressing closer, the sounds he’s making - it all says he wants things to go further, but Seamus knows that would be ill advised at best, disastrous at worst, so when Theo’s fully undressed he pulls away.

Still, he leaves one hand on Theo’s head, the other on his shoulder.

“I’m gonna go make some tea, alright?” Seamus says, and Theo gives him such a miserable look Seamus almost wants to forget it and just lie down with him right now. He runs his thumb over Theo’s temple. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

He kisses his forehead before heading back downstairs to the kitchen. He can’t decide whether he’s more livid or worried out of his mind.

A month. He’s been sick for a month, and he didn’t tell Seamus. Seamus imagines him in fancy hotel rooms trying to sleep with a soaring fever. All by himself. Shivering, aching after a two and a half hour show. It’s enough to make Seamus want to punch a hole in the wall.

While he’s making the tea, he schedules an appointment with Theo’s doctor and his ENT for tomorrow morning. He’ll need to dig through Theo’s bag to find his antibiotics, not that they seem to be doing any good.

The last call he makes is to Emma. While the line rings, his jaw is clenched so hard it hurts.

“Hey there, Seamus,” she says when she picks up.

“Hey there, Emma,” he says, barely holding himself back. “I was just calling to let you know we’ll need to be rescheduling the next week of shows. So that’s…” He squints at his notebook. “The next two nights in Edison, then Boston, Philly, and Pittsburgh.”

There’s a long silence. So long he almost thinks she hung up.

“Ok, Seamus. I understand you’re concerned for him. We’re all concerned for him. We all want what’s best for his health.”

“Emma,” he starts, just barely contained.

“We’ve discussed this in the past, and I’ve explained to you time and time again that he is an adult. He does not need you coming to his rescue, especially when you don’t have the full story. He’s perfectly capable of telling us himself if he’s too unwell to perform. Frankly, I think your behavior -”

“That is such fucking bullshit, and you know it.”

“Please,” she sounds bored more than anything, and that’s only making him angrier. “Can I explain?”

“How he lost 15 pounds in a month? Why he can’t stand up without blacking out? Why I wasn’t told about any of this?”

“You’re his boyfriend. Not his mother, not his husband - his boyfriend. And maybe the question you should be asking is why he didn’t tell you.”

Seamus’s fists are clenched so hard he feels his fingernails digging into his palms. He forces himself to relax. He takes a deep breath before continuing, fighting to keep his voice even.

“The bottom line is he’s not showing up for the next week. So do whatever you need to do, this isn’t a discussion.”

“Maybe you should discuss this with Theo before you break his contracts for him,” she says, her tone more grave. Of course now that her money is on the line it’s suddenly very serious.

“Goodbye, Emma.”

He wants to throw his phone. But the tea is done and Theo is upstairs waiting for him, so he takes another deep breath and heads back up.

When he walks in the doorway to their bedroom his heart nearly breaks in half. Theo's curled under the comforter shivering, breathing like he's trying not to cry.

Seamus doesn't hesitate in getting closer - they've been apart too long. He pulls Theo into his lap and strokes his hair, trying to not let how overheated he feels overwhelm him.

He's on fire with a fever, and it doesn't help that what little Pedialyte he drank has probably burned off already.

“Seamus,” he murmurs, like it's the only word he knows.

“I made you some tea,” Seamus says softly, and Theo makes a soft sound. “I'm gonna grab the thermometer and some ibuprofen and I'll be right back, ok?” He feels Theo nod, so he maneuvers his way out from under him and into their ensuite.

In addition to the thermometer and medication, he soaks a washcloth in some lukewarm water. When he gets back, Theo's half sitting up, taking hesitant sips of the tea, eyebrows furrowed.

Seamus climbs onto the bed next to him and presses the damp cloth to Theo’s forehead.

“I love you so much,” Theo whispers, and his voice sounds even worse than it did an hour ago. Seamus just kisses his cheek. He brings the thermometer up, and doesn't need to say a word for Theo to open his mouth obediently.

They sit there in silence as they wait for the reading, Seamus combing his sweaty hair out with his fingers. He’s terrified to see what his temperature actually is, and tries not to panic when he reads “102.8”

“Why didn't you tell me?” He finally asks.

Theo presses his chapped lips into a line and sighs. Seamus draws the damp washcloth down the side of his throat, then down his sternum.

“You know I would've dropped everything. I would've been on the first flight,” Seamus says, and Theo’s trembling fingers wrap around his wrist. They're so unnaturally warm.

“That's exactly why I didn't tell you, Shay.”

[jsmelodies]

Here's part one of my contribution for day 3 of @cassianappreciationweek! I hope you enjoy reading it.

More chapters focusing on Nessian's growing family will be coming out over the course of Cassian week as well. Stay tuned!

Cassian was tired. 

He’d just spend almost two weeks in the Northernmost parts of Illyria, helping to distribute supplies and look after the training of the younger warriors. It hadn’t been a bad visit necessarily, but he hated sleeping in a bed that wasn’t his, and waking up at odd hours of the morning to oversee training. It was draining. Especially since the mating bond had been quieter than he was expecting.

His feet touched down on the balcony of the House of Wind and he made quick work of crossing its halls to get to his room.

At over five hundred, he was getting too old for this. The aching cold had settled into his bones, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with Nesta, who was likely already asleep. 

She wasn’t asleep. Instead, she was propped up against the headboard, pillows supporting her back, reading what he imagined to be one of her novels. Except she wasn't reading, he realized upon closer inspection. Her eyes were on the page, but it looked like she was reading the same line over and over.

Nesta jolted upright when she noticed his attention on her. “You’re back. I thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow.”

He offered a tired smile. “I decided to fly through the night. I couldn’t wait to come back home to you.”

Nesta didn’t say anything. Instead, she merely shrunk in on herself, silence lingering for way longer than it should.

Confusion furrowing his brows, Cassian took a step closer. “Is everything alright, sweetheart? You seem-”

The lingering scent of iron registered in his brain before he could finish his sentence. 

“You’re bleeding?” he asked, wings flaring. 

“I was.” 

He knew he was overreacting. Being a typical territorial fae male. But he couldn’t help scanning her entirely, looking for any sign of hurt and evidence of who caused it. If someone had hurt her–

“I got my cycle when you were away.”

Everything in his body relaxed. That is, until he noticed the pained expression she still wore.

Nesta looked ready to collapse, like one poorly placed word might break her. 

Cassian was confused. Yes, he could admit when he was an ignorant male. If her cycle was already over, which by the scent of her it was, he couldn’t for the life of him understand why she was still upset. 

“You should have sent for me, Nes. I would’ve come back to be with you.” Nothing ever would have been able to keep him away, if he’d known. He had wondered why their bond felt a little more closed off than normal. Now it made sense, he supposed.

Her shoulders moved up in a shrug. “I didn’t want to bother you. You had more important things to worry about.”

Bullshit. That was complete and utter bullshit. The last time Nesta had gotten her cycle, he’d been in bed with her for days. She’d gripped his shoulders tight and made him keep his warm hand on her stomach the whole time, the contact seeming to be the only thing that brought her any semblance of relief. 

“No, I really didn’t,” he said. “You’re feeling ok now, though?” he asked. Apprehension laced his tone. Something was off, but he didn’t quite know what it was. 

“It ended yesterday.” She wasn’t looking at him again. “It’s been a while since my last one.”

His mind quickly did the math. “It was almost eight months ago.”

“Yeah.”

Why would that matter? Yes, they’d been trying for nearly a year, but surely she knew how long it might take?

Unless. Unless she didn’t.

“You thought you might have been…”

Once again, Nesta remained silent. Then, a few seconds later, her head dipped in a single nod.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He moved the final few steps to the bed and sat down next to his mate, reaching out his hands to pull her against him.

Her eyes widened, and she moved back an inch. “What are you doing?”

Cassian stopped instantly. “I was going to hold you.” His arms dropped a little. “But I should have asked first. I just thought…”

His words trailed off. Nesta was watching him with an expression he’d never quite seen before, a mixture of confusion and apprehension.

“I didn’t think you would want to,” she said.

His hands fell, running over the soft blankets of their bed. “And why would you think that?” he asked.

“Because I failed.” 

His heart sank in his chest. “What are you talking about?”

“I got my cycle. I…failed.”

“You did not fail,” he almost snarled, holding himself back for her sake. “Do you hear me? You didn’t.”

“But I did. I will. Madja said it might never happen. That because my cycles are as inconsistent as they are, I may never be able to bear a child.” 

He shook his head. “Madja said that might happen. That we might have problems with infertility. It wasn’t a guarantee,” he reminded her. “And plus, fae children take longer to conceive than human ones. Feyre and Rhys were the exception, not the rule.”

“And if it never happens?” she asked. When she looked at him again, her eyes were rimmed with tears. Fuck. “It’s a real possibility. I don’t want you to…regret choosing me.”

“I would never,” he swore.

“You say that now. You’d already be gone, if it was a human marriage,” she said. “Even still, you have an acceptable reason to leave me. No one would question it. All I ask is that if you do, please don’t drag it out. I don’t think I could take that.”

If that didn’t break his heart, Cassian didn’t know what would. 

“Nesta. I’m going to say this as many times as you need to hear it. I do not love you for your ability to give me children.” 

He squeezed her hand in his, and made sure he was looking into her eyes when he continued. “I love you because you’re my brave Valkyrie. Because you are fierce, and strong, and so incredibly kind, even when you try to hide it. And I am proud to call you mine.”

Nesta relaxed a little, and he kept talking. “I want nothing more than to have children with you. You have no idea,” he said. “But for now, maybe the two of us should take a step back.”

He saw the moment his stupidly-phrased words hit their mark, instantly knowing how she had interpreted them. “If that’s what you want,” she whispered. Something like betrayal flickered in her eyes for just a moment, before those bricks rose too quickly, blocking him out. Then she shifted in an attempt to get off the bed. Away from him.

“Fuck. No, Nes, that wasn’t what I meant,” he said, not letting her go too far, stopping her with a hand around her wrist. “I didn’t mean take a step back from you. I just meant, maybe for now, we should stop trying.”

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

He took a deep breath. “I hate seeing you like this,” he said. “I hate that you feel like you’ve failed me. That couldn’t be any further from the truth.”

“But I–” Nesta paused, and shook her head. “I don’t get it. I might never be able to have your children, Cassian. I know how much you want them.”

“I do, Nes,” he said. “But I know how much you want them, too. And I made you a vow. I promised you that we would always face these things together. Always. I don’t ever plan to break that promise.”

Her eyes closed in a long blink as she exhaled. Cassian wiped a tear away with his thumb, stopping it before it ran down her face.

“You promise?” she asked quietly.

“I promise,” he repeated.

This time, when he went to hold her in his arms, Nesta didn’t stop him. He hugged her tight, not daring to let go. He didn’t ever want to let go.

“How do you feel about talking to Evelyn again?” he asked, when he felt that she had calmed down.

Evelyn was a couples’ therapist with a practice down in Velaris. They initially enlisted her services after the ordeal with Bryce–he’d seen the distrust and sadness on her face and promptly decided he never wanted to be the cause of it again. Being with each other was something they both wanted to choose, every day.

It had been rough, and messy, and at times, painful. But they got through it. They learned a lot about each other.

He learned that his mate forgave easily, but words lingered longer in her mind than most. Pathetic. Useless. Unworthy. Those were the ones that popped up the most often. So he made a point to replace them whenever he could. Every night before they went to sleep, Cassian placed a kiss on her brow and told her that he loved her. That he valued her. And every night, she looked closer and closer to believing him.

She learned that his jokes and his smiles hid a lot. More than he would like to admit. And when he’d started revealing those insecurities, it was enough to make Nesta tear up in Evelyn’s office.

But this…he had a feeling that they would need to dig deeper for this. That this wasn’t the type of problem that could be fixed with one conversation.

“You think we need to?”

“I think that I want to know where those thoughts are coming from,” he countered. “I think I already know what it is, but I’m not an expert in these things. I just want to make sure we’re doing this for the right reasons.”

The room once again fell into silence while Nesta considered his words. “Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll book an appointment.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

He continued to hold her, his hand stroking gently down her back. The worst of it was over, he knew. For tonight, anyway. But a hollowness still echoed in the room.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t better news,” he said quietly.

She sighed. “I really thought this might have been it. Eight months is a long time, especially to someone like me.”

Someone who used to be human. Someone who used to have a one month cycle.

He understood perfectly. There were some aspects of fae life that he knew she still struggled to adapt to. Scents was one of them. She had trouble picking up on the subtleties of emotion that a person carried, and they usually tended to overwhelm her, especially if she was in a crowded room.

 ”I know it is.”

He broke them apart just enough so he could see her face. “How about this, sweetheart,” he said, once he had her settled against him again. “Let’s enjoy life with just the two of us for a little while longer, while we still can. I’ll take you dancing somewhere new every week–I know you like that. Let me spoil just you for now.”

“You’re saying I have to put up with your company?” Nesta asked the question with a newfound sparkle in her eyes, one that hadn’t been there when he got home.

He rolled his eyes, flicking her nose with her fingers. “Smartass.”

“You love it,” she said, resting her head on his chest.

“That I do,” he agreed. “Now, let me go change out of my leathers and I’ll join you in bed, alright?”

They reluctantly parted. Cassian made quick work of stripping himself of the leathers and changing into a sleep shirt, then he slid back into bed.

“I guess I wouldn’t mind being spoiled by you for a little bit longer,” she said when he returned, settling into his arms. “But I think I also want to negotiate two bakery visits a week.”

“Two, hmm?”

“You know I like my cake.”

“I do know that,” he conceded. “Fine. Dancing once a week, and a bakery trip three times a week. Final offer.”

Nesta snorted, and a grin broke out on her face. “We have a deal.”

He offered her a small smile of his own, and hers softened to a look of pure contentment.

Cassian leaned in. “Can I kiss my beautiful wife?”

She loved it when he called her that. His wife. A person that he had chosen for himself, not some Cauldron or other authority.

Her eyebrow raised. “Just kiss?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed, pressing a light kiss in the space between her jaw and her earlobe, and said, “I want her to know just how much I love her.”

His wife was beautiful when she was flustered. When he pulled away, he found that she was exactly that: eyes blown wide and her lips slightly parted.

Her hands running through his hair was a feeling he would never tire of, and he groaned as she pulled him into a slow kiss. Bodies flush against each other, Cassian traced his fingers down the curve of her body, landing on her hip.

Before he could be tempted to do anything else, Cassian pulled away, noticing the red that had appeared on Nesta’s cheeks.

“Sleep,” he said. “I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.”

He draped a wing over her body and pulled her against him so she was protected. Her head rested along his arm, using it as a pillow, and exhaustion seemed to finally win out in her head as her eyes fluttered shut.

“I’m glad you’re home,” she said, the sound muffling against his chest. “I missed you.”

Cassian held her tighter. “I missed you too, love.”

[evenmorecrows]

(Nice Dream) - 1.1k ( Aug 4th: Dreams )

In a car, body, world that is not his, Johnny dreams.

Written for @silverv-week! Would you believe I wrote this months and months ago, when the prompts were first released, and I still haven't finished the main fic the V in this belongs to? Whoops!

Anyway, this is supposed to take place after the Temperance ending, and before the fic that I'm still working on, so it's at least not missing too much context. I cannot say the same for what I wrote for the August 10th prompt, haha.

Fic title from Radiohead's song (Nice Dream), of course.

The world feels fuzzy- warm. He's in Night City, but it's empty. No irritating buzz of chatter on the sidewalks, no ads blaring from screens almost as big as the building they were slapped onto. The LED lights aren't searingly bright like they usually are, all of them emitting a soft, fading halo. He's walking, and it feels like moving through waist-high mud, but for whatever reason, he can't find it in himself to care. He stops outside of a megabuilding, which one was this again? Something pulls him inside, past the unmanned ramen cart, into the elevator, some red string of fate. Something compels him to press a particular floor, and something compels him to wait there till the doors ding open. The scenery blurs in his head- and then he's in front of an apartment door. H10. He stands there, his hand hovers, like he's reaching for a knob. He knows it's empty, it has to be empty. After all, he's wearing it's last tenant's corpse like a fucking coat. But with the door closed, he thinks, what if? V could still be alive, behind this door, for as long as it stayed closed. Johnny could be the specter he was always meant to be, should've been, haunting this hallway until there's no hallway to haunt anymore.

His hesitation, however, doesn't stop the door from automatically sliding open. It doesn't occur to him that it should've slid open the second he stepped in front- not when a shock of blue-purple hair catches his eye on the other side of the room. For a moment he is destabilized, stands there in the doorway like a gonk. It doesn't make sense, but does it matter? Nothing fucking makes sense in Night City- that's how he ended up as a parasitic little chip in the first place, in the neck of one of the best people Night City's ever shat out. V's standing there, looking out the window beside his bed- Johnny remembers their first night, smashing his head against it- nausea rips through him at the memory- before he looks over his shoulder, having heard the hiss of the door. He turns to lean against the window sill, and he smiles warm and brighter than the sun itself, it takes Johnny's breath away. "Hey Johnny. Didn't think you'd be back so soon." Back? He takes a few tentative steps forward, eyes always on V- if he looks away, the other might vanish into thin air, his brain tells him. "What-" His voice is gravelly, hoarse. It warbles and distorts off the walls. He clears his throat, "What're you doin' here, V? You're... You should be..." He can't bring himself to voice it, his tongue sits leaden in his mouth even thinking about it. He hovers now, in front of V, too scared to touch him in case he's made of smoke and ash, another person Johnny's burned down. "I live here, duh. You feelin' alright?" His face pinches, and he comes closer, reaches out a hand to Johnny's forehead, and Johnny squeezes his eyes shut, scared, so fucking scared, that the second V makes contact, he'll just collapse into dust, disappear back into cyberspace, leave him alone again with what it cost to still be alive-

But the feeling of the back of a hand graces his head, and he opens his eyes, and V's still there, looking even more worried. "You feel fine, but... Maybe you should lay down. Actin' a bit weird." So close, so tangible, and Johnny's never yearned for anyone's touch more, so it's no surprise when he crushes him into a hug instead, V letting out an 'oof' with the force of it, but quickly wrapping his arms tight around him, one traveling up his back, cradling the back of his head. The rage, the unease, that awful fucking pit of depression- none of it exists, not in his arms. He wants to say, 'I missed you', and 'Don't leave me', and 'You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, will ever happen to me.', but his throat constricts around the words. That mushy shit just isn’t how Johnny Silverhand rolls. "Hey, hey. It's alright. We got all the time in the world." He says, rubbing soothing circles into his back. "You're doin' good, real good. But listen, alright? You can't keep boggin' yourself down like this, can't keep usin' me to deny yourself a life. You know why I gave mine to you." I love you, he means. They shared a brain, after all. Not much either could hide, only things they didn't acknowledge. "V-" He croaks. Somethings not right, his surroundings shift and twist, less of a place and more of a concept. He tries to cling to V, impossibly tighter, like if he holds on hard enough he won't fade away. It doesn't work. V melts right through his fingers. His eyes open to the roof of V's his car, his eyes streaming. Of course it was a fucking dream. That's the only place V can exist now, he should have known. He sits up in the backseat, scrubs at his eyes, caught between wishing he could've slept forever and never sleeping again. He shouldn't fucking be here, it should be V, in his body, living his life goddammit! It's not. Fucking. Fair. And there's jack shit he can do about it.

In his frustration, he lashes out, smashing his fist into the passenger seat headrest, which startles Nibbles, who was apparently sleeping up front. "... Shit." He takes a breath- better yet, he gets out, has a cigarette. Calms his nerves. He's currently in the middle of nowhere, Nevada, which means the light pollution isn't god awful, and the air smells clean. He can actually see the stars. It's a nice backdrop, all things considered. Tomorrow, he keeps driving, or tonight maybe, depending on how he feels when he gets back in the car. He doesn't have a real destination in mind; all his old contacts are still in Night City. He just knows he has to keep moving, like a shark pushing water through its gills. If he stopped, he figures he'd do one of three things; drink himself to death, fuck himself to death, or waste away in a bed till death was his only option forward. And as much as the guilt ate him alive, burned him from the inside out, he wants to at least make an effort to live, for what V gave him. It'd feel like spitting in his face to throw it all away because he was, what, too sad? Fuck that. One foot in front of the other. He gives a weary sigh, puts out his cigarette, and gets back in the car.

[punkpoemprose]

Virtual Chemistry Pt 10

Universe: Modern AU/ College AU/ Cam Boy AU

Rating:  E (Explicit, this is filth)

Length: 2116 Words

A/N: Forgive me for any inconsistency, it's been a hot second.

Anna awoke to the familiar sound of her phone’s alarm and rose with uncharacteristic quickness. It was just the first of the three alarms that she set for herself each morning during the semester, and she couldn’t recall having ever risen with the first one, let alone now when she didn’t need to be up for anything.

Falling asleep with your phone on your face certainly has the benefit of startling you awake.

She made a mental note to avoid the position in the future, and quickly unlocked the device with her fingerprint, just to confirm that last night’s texting had not, in fact, been a dream.

The blue and grey text bubbles that greeted her had her heart fluttering as she looked at the screen and replayed the conversation. He’d been so easy to talk to, and she’d found that having to wait a bit longer for his replies than she was used to when texting Elsa had made each message just that bit more precious. It felt silly to count the extra few seconds as “worth the wait” but it had been.

She flushed when she scrolled down past the last message she remembered sending and receiving, to find another.

Huhgtgcfrgyu

She really had fallen asleep with her phone on her face, and somehow, as it the universe didn’t think she’d had quite enough mortification, the message had sent.

Huh?

She scrolled past his response and found another ten minutes later:

I’m guessing you fell asleep? That’s alright, it’s late.

Then a few minutes after that, a series of texts sent a minute or less apart:

It’s been a long and exhausting semester honestly. I wouldn’t blame you for sleeping all week, I feel like that’s what I’m about to do.

I’m glad you were part of it. Even with everything.

Maybe we can talk about that? The everything?

When we both wake up from our hibernation of course.

Sorry, I’m rambling again.

Sleep well Anna.

She didn’t feel quite so embarrassed by the time she got to the end of his messages back to her. There was something about his messages, short as they were, that mirrored the gentleness with which he treated her in person. There was a nagging part of her that was imagining one more message after what he’d sent. She just couldn’t put out of her mind that he was the sort of man who would end his messages with “I love you”.

She tried to push the thought aside but she only succeeded in hearing his last message in her head, complete with her silly addition, in his voice.

Sleep well Anna, I love you.

It was unfair how her brain could forget the answers to exams after several hours of studying, but how she could perfectly mentally replicate the tone of his voice saying something that she’d never even heard him utter before. She could even imagine how it would sound, breathy in her ear, with her back pressed to his chest and his arms wrapped around her.

She collapsed back on the bed, knowing full well that she wouldn’t be able to put herself back to sleep, but feeling unwilling to face the day until she managed to stop blushing and thinking about how good it would feel to just be in Kristoff’s arms.

***

Kristoff allowed himself a moment to breathe, Sven not the least exhausted at his side, was looking at his owner in rapt anticipation of the next leg of their jog around town.

He’d barely slept, unable to keep himself from listening for his cellphone to chime with another message from Anna all night long, even hours after he’d sent her a goodnight. He’d just stayed up and let his imagination run wild with both the ways he wished and feared his relationship with Anna would evolve in the coming days, weeks, and months. The worst fear was that it wouldn’t go anywhere at all. He already knew her too well to let himself worry about the worst case scenario effecting his work, despite the fact that they still had plenty to talk about there, he knew that Anna was not going to tell anyone about his extracurricular activities.

It had really been his hopes keeping him awake all night. He’d forced himself into a cold morning run at 8 am because of those hopes, because of those fantasies. He’d imagined holding her in his arms and kissing her gently and slow. He’d imagined lifting her from the floor, pressing her back into a wall and swallowing her gasps and whimpers as he kissed her. He’d even thought about what it would feel like to have her small hands explore his body.

Then he’d envisioned carrying her to his bed and giving himself to her in all the ways she wanted him. His fantasy was that she’d share her fantasies with him, carefully curated from hours of watching him, and rife for exploration together.

He flushed now, and not from running, at recalling the ways he’d imagined that he would tuck her into bed at his side, pressing gentle soothing kisses into her hair to help her fall asleep. He wanted everything with Anna, and his active imagination wouldn’t allow him to come up with any situation in which he didn’t take care of Anna in every way. He wanted her for more than sex, he wanted her for life.

The frosty run was helping, but he was still thinking about running toward the park next and launching himself into the partially frozen pond to cool his head. Sven, always excellently observant for a dog, tilted his head at him with curiosity.

“Look buddy,” Kristoff said, huffing from the particularly hard run he’d just subjected them to, “I know you like her a whole lot, and that’s making this even harder because I know you deserve a mom, but we have to give her some space, okay? I kind of did this whole thing wrong I think, and we’re going to have to wait for her. She might not even want to see me again.”

He didn’t have it in him to say that she wouldn’t want to see them both again, because he was extremely aware that he was the one who had screwed up in this situation, and that his dog was, frankly, irresistible, and impossible to stay mad at.

Sven, fully knowing this about himself, huffed through his nose and lowered his head before giving Kristoff a meaningful look.

He knew what the dog was communicating.

Don’t count yourself out yet.

In his pocket, his phone chimed. 

The dog wagged his tail in response and Kristoff couldn’t help but chuckle to himself.

“If this is her, I owe you double treats when we get back.”

***

Anna typed and deleted at least five texts as she poked at her oatmeal. Elsa was taking a call in the next room over, and Anna could overhear all the details of the business transaction taking place. It was hard to think about what she wanted to say when she was listening to her sister talking shop. It was a good thing that it was a family business, or her breakfast would constitute corporate espionage.

She finally settled on setting her phone down and actually putting some food into her actual mouth. Normally the quantity of brown sugar and maple syrup she put on top of the oats would have been enjoyable, but she’d spent too long ignoring it and nearly gagged at the cool sticky gruel she’d managed to shovel into her mouth.

She couldn’t stop herself from opening her mouth and letting the mush fall back into the bowl with a very unladylike and unceremonious plop. It wasn’t the oatmeal’s fault that it had turned into a disgusting gluey abomination, but Anna still stared at it with narrowed eyes as if it were the enemy.

It’s too early for this. Or anything.

She sighed and picked up her phone again before standing up deciding that if she was awake, and if her home was currently being used as a corporate office, she may as well go out and get a halfway decent breakfast. Visions of cinnamon rolls danced in her head as she trudged toward her bedroom to don some clothes that were at least halfway appropriate for public consumption.

She decided to tear the proverbial band aid off before tossing the phone on her bed.

Good morning

Two words, zero punctuation, no room to read into anything at all, putting the ball firmly in his court so she didn’t have to text any of the things she wanted to say because they were undoubtedly too much to say now.

She slipped off her pajama yoga pants and made the difficult decision to choose her jeans over her daytime yoga pants after consulting the overly complicated smart home device that Elsa had purchased for her as a birthday gift and being informed that it was too damn cold for thin breathable fabric. Comfort, sometimes, unfortunately had a temperature component.

When her phone buzzed from its place on her unmade bed, she made herself take two whole breaths before descending on it like a woman starved.

Good morning

She grimaced. She’d never been good at tennis but she could see, very clearly, that it had been an easy serve to hit and that the proverbial ball was, once again, in her court.

“Shit.”

She took another two whole breaths before buttoning and zipping her pants and thinking long and hard about both the t-shirt she would choose to wear (whichever was on top) and whether she could text him any of the eighty things she wanted to say.

“Hi Kristoff, just wanted to say that I absolutely didn’t have a dream about you and I making out on a lab table last night because that would be super weird, haha.”

She rolled her eyes at herself and instead typed out what she knew she should say.

Sorry I fell asleep on you last night.

She couldn’t help but to wish that she had fallen asleep on him in the literal sense. She could only imagine how good that might feel. She just hoped that she didn’t mess this up badly enough that she would never get the chance to find out.

It’s okay Anna, I’m glad you got some rest.

She’d tugged her top off while she had been waiting for his response, and she forced herself to choose a shirt to put on while she thought about an answer to send back. It was easy enough to manage the first requirement, tugging on a green sweater when she remembered exactly hot cold the weather was meant to be. The second was, as the rest of the conversation had been on her side, more complicated.

What are you up to this morning?

She played it safe, because the last time she hadn’t, she’d been crushed. She knew Kristoff enough to know that he wouldn’t ever hurt her intentionally, but she’d grown up since her last assumption of a man’s feelings toward her, something that being home brought back to her mind.

She was dressed and out the front door by the time she got his answer.

Just went for a run with Sven. We’re about to get breakfast. Have you ever been to Oaken’s?

 Anna nearly snorted out loud, but the cold biting her face kept her from dawdling long enough to manage it. She didn’t run to her car sitting in the driveway, worried about any ice that wasn’t making itself evident, but she did walk briskly.

I used to think they had the biggest cinnamon rolls in the city.

She texted him quickly when she sat in the car and pulled the door shut and then, once she’d managed to click on the seat heater with chilly fingers, she sent a follow up.

You proved me wrong at that diner by campus, but they’re still my emotional support baked good.

She’d been planning on going to a closer, less delicious breakfast place, but there was really no harm in going the extra few minutes towards the city center to join him if that was where he was heading. She did find him much easier to talk to in person after all.

Did you grow up here?

Immediately after, faster than she thought that he could type, her phone buzzed again.

I think I just put two and two together with your last name. I feel like an idiot.

She tried not to laugh, but it was impossible. She suddenly felt much less embarrassed about sending him a sleep gibberish text.

[actual-lea]

Hello it is a new chapter of this thing please read it if you wanna?

AO3 | First chapter | Previous chapter

Daniel’s hands don’t stop shaking for the entire ride back to the motel. It’s not until he empties the contents of his backpack onto the bed, until he flings his journal and everything in it into the too-small trash can in the corner, that the adrenaline finally begins to wear off.

That’s when the ache in his chest returns, radiating in waves from his still-healing ribs. It echoes with his every sob, stealing his breath until he's on his knees gasping for air, clutching the sheets of the bed like a lifeline. It hurts like his lung is collapsing in on itself all over again, the cracks in his bones split open from his scuffle with Widmore’s security.

He closes his eyes and wraps an arm around his chest. He’s being overdramatic; the six weeks since his hospital stay have nearly passed, and he won’t go back now. He can’t.

He just needs to breathe, to feel the air fill his chest and let it go.

In, and out. In, and out.

Slowly, the pain begins to ebb, leaving him hollow and shivering in its wake. He stays on the floor, his forehead pressed to the side of the mattress, his eyes screwed shut in a futile attempt to stop the tears. He counts his heartbeats as they pass, loses track somewhere around three hundred and has to start over twice.

He’s only made it to forty-two on the third count when a sound shakes him from his stupor: a cell phone vibrating.

Daniel pushes himself to his feet, carefully, and leans forward to sift through the rubble of his meaningless life. It takes too long to find the phone, too long to flip it open with his clumsy fingers, too long to make his eyes focus on the name written on the screen, long enough that it should have stopped ringing already.

Finally, he brings the phone to his ear with a shaky hand. “Hello?”

Four heartbeats pass before he hears a response. “Daniel?”

The familiar voice should feel like a salve to the burning in his throat. It doesn’t. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. “Yeah, it's me. Uh…” He should have figured out what to say before he answered the phone. What do people say on the phone? “How's– how are you?”

“Fine.” Concern colors the word. “We're all fine, but you don't sound so good, brother. What's happened?”

Daniel runs a hand through his hair. “It's a long story,” he says, biting back a humorless laugh. “Do you think you could…meet me? Somewhere?”

There’s a long pause on the other end. “Pick you up, you mean? Does that mean you’re–”

“Yes.” He’s done with the island. He’s done with all of it.

“Then, yeah. Of course. Where, ah…”

“California,” Daniel provides. “Los Angeles, preferably, but I’m not picky.” He hasn’t left the country since his return several months prior, and trying to use the passport of a dead man probably won’t go over well, even if he is the dead man in question.

Another pause, and some faint shuffling in the background. “Aye, we can do that. Though, it’ll take some time.” More shuffling. “A few weeks, at least. You have somewhere safe to stay in the meantime?”

Safe. He nods slowly, then remembers Desmond can’t see him. “Yes. Yeah. I can… I’ll be fine.”

“Alright.” Desmond doesn’t sound convinced, but he doesn’t press.

“What, um…” Daniel swallows against the lump in his throat and wills his voice to steady itself. “Why did you…call me?”

Desmond exhales. “Yesterday was Charlie’s birthday.”

Shit. Daniel squeezes his forehead with one hand and fights the urge to sink to his knees again. “I’m sorry, I… I completely forgot,” he chokes out, like it isn’t obvious.

“Don’t worry about it, brother,” Desmond says. “I hadn’t told anyone you were planning to call. I don’t think he understands yet how phones work, anyway,” he adds, with a smile in his voice, “So he’ll be much gladder to see you rather than just hearin’ your voice.”

Daniel nods mechanically.

They’re both silent for a long moment. “D’you wanna talk about it?”

Daniel shuts his eyes and shakes his head. “No.” It’s the only word that he won’t choke on.

“Right.” Desmond's voice is gentle. “Hang in there, brother. We’ll see you soon, yeah?”

------

The FOR SALE sign in front of Daniel’s childhood home sways in the breeze, emitting a harsh creak with each particularly strong gust.

Daniel stands across the street from the house, still in the same spot where the taxi dropped him off. He wraps his jacket tighter around himself to keep out the cold wind, idly wondering whether he ever actually missed the New England weather, or just the idea of it.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out, watches the fog from his exhale dissipate into the evening air, and finally crosses the quiet street without bothering to look both ways.

He pauses at the gate to take a closer look at the FOR SALE sign, with its weathered corners and slightly faded ink. He could call the realtor’s phone number to ask how long the house has been on the market, though he probably wouldn’t get a straight answer.

It doesn’t really matter; the house will be just as empty, either way.

The front door is locked, so he circles around to the back porch. Finding the spare key hidden among the potted plants hanging from the eaves takes longer than it should, considering that he was probably the one who left it there long ago. It takes a bit of effort to force the slightly rusted key into the lock – or maybe that’s all in his head – but it still fits, and he opens the door.

The dining room table is gone.

He stares at the small nicks in the hardwood floor where it used to stand, the scratches from years of chairs being pulled in and out, the only signs left – besides the thin layer of dust settled on the countertops – that the space isn’t just a model kitchen from a demo home that’s never been lived in.

The single step he takes echoes in the vacant room, and he resists the ingrained habit to take off his shoes before walking into the house. He won’t be here long; not in the grand scheme of things, anyway.

It’s probably not the safest place he could go to wait for Desmond, if he’s being honest. If someone’s looking for him, his one known address in the country would be the logical place to start.

Of course, it doesn’t actually matter; Widmore’s made it abundantly clear that he can find Daniel anywhere, after all, so what difference does it make if he stays in one all-too-predictable place? At least it’s familiar.

Well, sort of.

He steps into the living room. White sheets cover all the furniture – the couch, the coffee table, the lamp in the corner. The only sign of life is the large windowsill with its neatly arranged row of plants he always forgot the names of. He was never actually sure if they were real or fake; the fact that they aren’t dead would suggest the latter.

Otherwise, the room is empty, the walls bare. The house is silent and still as a mausoleum.

Daniel frowns. Something is missing.

A ridiculous thought, considering just how much is missing from this place he once called home. Still, he can’t shake the feeling as he makes his way upstairs to investigate his old room.

Everything’s mostly intact there, at least; there’s still a bed and a desk, even if the chair and CD player are gone.

He sets his backpack down on the bare mattress, but doesn’t start unpacking just yet, aside from digging out his journal. He could’ve left it behind in Los Angeles rather than retrieving it from the trash can mere minutes after throwing it away, but there are too many years of his life contained within, in the form of so many contextless equations and scattered notes and half-finished diagrams. Maybe he’ll let it go one day; maybe months from now, he’ll drop it into the middle of the Pacific Ocean with little fanfare, watch it sink to the depths from the deck of Our Mutual Friend.

For now, he places it in the center of the desk and busies himself with searching for a set of sheets from the hall closet. It’s a mess, unaffected by the vanishing act of the rest of the house, and it takes a surprising amount of rummaging around to unearth a matching set.

Downstairs, the front door opens.

Daniel freezes. He tries not to flinch when it swings shut. Footsteps, unhurried and incautious, cross the bare floor somewhere below.

He glances over the contents of the closet, but no weapon presents itself. He doesn’t own a baseball bat, or a golf club, or anything helpful, and so he creeps down the stairs with nothing to defend himself except a wooden chess set clutched in both hands, ready to swing.

The faucet in the kitchen turns on, and he freezes again. Is Widmore's thug filling a glass of water for himself? Maybe he’s thirsty, didn’t stop anywhere for a drink on the drive from the airport.

The water stops, and the footsteps begin again, alongside a soft sound that Daniel can’t identify at first.

Humming.

A woman humming, bright and cheerful.

Slowly, he lowers the chess set to the floor and descends the last few stairs.

The woman leans over to water one of the plants on the windowsill, her back to Daniel, her short blonde hair golden in the sunset streaming through the curtains.

“Caroline?”

She yelps in surprise, splashing water on the floor as she whirls around. Her shocked expression only intensifies when she sees him. “Daniel?”

He nods hesitantly. What is he supposed to say? “What…are you doing here?”

Caroline stares. “What am I doing here?” She shakes her head. “Dan, I– I thought you were…”

Oh. Right. “Dead?” he finishes for her, with something like a shrug. “Well…I’m not,” he adds when she doesn’t respond.

She sets down the glass and takes a small step toward him. “You're not,” she repeats, like she’s still convincing herself, and then she laughs in disbelief. “You’re not.”

She hugs him, and he freezes momentarily before awkwardly returning the embrace. When she pulls away, she’s beaming. “Oh, I am so happy to see you!” she declares, taking his face in her hands a bit too tightly.

“I’m glad to see you too, Caroline,” he says, and he means it. “But…what are you doing here?”

“I drop by every few days to check on the house,” she says, returning to the windowsill. “Take care of the flowers, make sure things are nice and tidy. Helps keep the resale value up.”

Daniel watches her in silence for a few seconds. “So, my mother is selling the house?”

“That’s right,” Caroline says. She pauses, then turns back to him, her face twisted with concern. “Does your mother know? That you’re alright?”

He laughs once, a sharp, surprising sound. “Yeah, she knows. She definitely knows.” The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. He clears his throat. “I, uh… I don’t guess she told you how it happened? Or, uh. Supposedly happened?”

“No, she never did say,” Caroline replies. “She only mentioned that there was some kind of accident.”

“Hm.” He crosses his arms and drums his fingers on his elbow. Why would his mother go around telling people something that she didn’t definitively know herself? Why would she tell Caroline unambiguously that he was dead, when she had no way of knowing whether or not it was actually true?

Caroline is staring at him. “What?” he asks.

She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You’re…different, than the last time I saw you.”

Functioning, she means. Able to act like a normal person, or at least a close approximation of one. Able to hold a full conversation without forgetting the beginning halfway through.

The last time she saw him must have been three years ago, at least – before the island. She was his caretaker then; after his mind shattered, it only made sense for his mother to hire Caroline, the kind neighbor he’d known since he was a child, someone who used to babysit him for weeks at a time, someone who wouldn’t have to reintroduce herself to him multiple times a day.

He remembers only the rough edges of that period in his life, like the vague outline of a dream he can’t recall. Even his clearest memory – his mother urging him to take the job he’d been offered by Charles Widmore – persists only in bits and pieces, fragments of sensory experiences with no context attached. The jingling of car keys set on a table, the click of his mother’s shoes on the hardwood floor, the smooth resin of the piano keys beneath his fingertips.

He freezes. Something is missing. “Where’s my piano?”

“I think she sold it, not long after you left,” Caroline says quietly.

Daniel steps into the empty space in the corner of the room, struggling to fill the matching empty space in his chest with logic. Of course she sold it. He was gone. Dead, for all she knew. There would be no reason for her to keep it. He’s never known his mother to be particularly sentimental when it comes to mementos.

And it doesn’t matter anyway. Even if he could remember the last time he played, it still wouldn’t matter. He won’t be here for long, after all, so why should it matter?

“How long has the house been for sale?” he asks, turning back to Caroline. “I mean, has anyone made any offers, or…?”

She shakes her head. “Not that I’m aware of, no. Although, you’d have to ask the listing agent. I have her number, if you want it,” she adds, crossing the room to grab her purse.

“No, thank you, that’s alright,” Daniel says quickly. The last thing he needs is for his mother to drop by unannounced; better to avoid speaking with anyone who might be in regular contact with her.

“I’m not sure how long it’s been since the last open house,” Caroline continues. “Several months, at least.”

Daniel nods and takes a deep breath. “Well, in that case, is it… Is it alright if I…stay here? For a little while?” What an odd question to ask in his own home.

Then again, is it his home? He’s lived more than half his life here, but it’s not as if he has any real claim to the house; it’s his mother’s name on the deed, not his. Legally speaking, he’s technically trespassing.

“Of course.” Caroline smiles and laughs a bit. “It’s your house, Dan.”

He forces a smile of his own. “I guess it is.”

She steps forward and gives him another quick hug. “Welcome home.”

------

The next few days pass without incident. A week, two weeks, then three, all without anyone kicking down the door to drag Daniel away on Widmore’s orders.

He spends most of the time reading back issues of old tech magazines, the few remnants of his collection that haven’t been cleared out along with everything else. Most of the pages are decorated with small wrinkles and creases, a clear indication that he’s spent some time – a lot of time, probably – thumbing through them before. More than likely, he’s read them all cover to cover hundreds of times, each time the first, since he undoubtedly didn’t retain any of the information within.

It's a full month of finding ways to while away the hours before Desmond calls, early one afternoon, to let him know they’re only a few days out from Los Angeles.

Daniel starts packing as soon as he hangs up. He might as well leave now, so he can meet them on arrival. Maybe he’ll have a chance to say goodbye to Hurley as well; they haven’t spoken since the last time Dan visited Santa Rosa, since he left abruptly to track down Locke.

He's stuffing the last of his things into his backpack when a knock at the front door shakes him from his thoughts; Caroline, no doubt, delivering the usual semi-weekly supply of groceries despite his protests. He’s more than capable of buying his own, regardless of the mass of fast-food wrappers she’d found in the trash the first time she came to check on him.

He puts on his backpack as he descends the stairs. He’ll have to be more adamant in his refusal, since he’s leaving today. He opens the door.

“Afternoon,” says one of the two men standing there. He holds up a badge. “You Daniel Faraday?”

“Uh…” Daniel blinks. “Yeah?”

“Cool. Gonna need you to come with us, then.”

He blinks again, not understanding. “What… Who–”

The second man steps forward, producing a pair of handcuffs.

Daniel steps back. Is he being arrested? “Why are you– What’s the charge?”

“Arson. Murder.” The first man shrugs. “Jaywalking. Take your pick.”

The second grabs Dan’s arm roughly to spin him around and cuff him, and Daniel stares at the floor, too dumbfounded to do anything else.

Arson. Murder. The library at the University of Michigan? Leon? How could anyone try to blame Daniel for any of that? How could anyone have even connected him to it, when he wasn’t using his real name?

He’s escorted out of the house and deposited into the back seat of a car idling in the street. It’s not until the car pulls away from the curb that he finally understands. “You aren't really cops,” he says quietly, almost a question but not quite.

Neither of his kidnappers respond.

Daniel exhales. What was even the point of the police façade, then? “So, what, you're working for Widmore?”

The first man, the driver, laughs. “Is that what you think this is?”

“It… It was.” Daniel shifts uneasily. “Who are you, then?”

The second turns around in his seat to face him. “You’ve got bigger things to worry about, my friend.”

Daniel’s mouth is too dry. He swallows. “Like…what?”

“You still don't even realize you're playing for the wrong team.”

“I…wasn’t aware there were teams,” Daniel says flatly. He swallows again. “So, what team am I on, exactly?”

The man grins like he’s said something funny. “The one that's gonna lose.”

(next chapter)

[climbthemountain2020]

Love You Like Oxygen - Chapter 3

Part 3/8 | Ao3

I remember tears streaming down your face When I said I'll never let you go When all those shadows almost killed your light I remember you said don't leave me here alone But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight

Helion flew through the air on Meallan, ready to go back to Day Court after some of the worst few months of his life. The war with Hybern’s armies raged, and as they pushed in on Autumn, enforcements from Day were beginning to require his presence more and more. He was proud his father trusted him with their armies, but he was exhausted after months on the front lines, and he simply wanted to spend a few weeks in his home, tucked into his warm bed or standing in the sun. He was tired of being covered in mud and blood, tired of the endless screams of war. He knew he was privileged, knew so many would never return home, but right now he just wanted to hold his mother, eat a hot meal, and collapse.

Suddenly, a violent tug in his chest caused him to grip the reins so hard that Meallan nearly ripped him from the air.

“What in the Cauldron–” But the yanking tore at him again, pulling him rapidly east. “Alright, alright.” As he flew, a panic that wasn’t his own blew through him. Overwhelming, sickening realization ran through his veins like a fire through a dry forest. It was then, he knew, that Alanna was in trouble. He bore down on the reins, digging into Meallan’s sides. As always, he read his intentions and took off through the air like a bolt of lightning.

Steadily, his chest felt like a great, long-closed chasm yawning open. It opened wider and wider, the fear and anguish overwhelming, the bond fully open as it hadn’t been for years; It had been a century since he’d felt it this unlatched and vulnerable. Though words never fully came through it, he could feel the intent in each, like he always had, down that lightly humming tether between them.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

It was a goodbye.

Helion rode harder, pushing Meallan to the brink of his abilities, his pegasus sensing the desperation in Helion’s fervor. Then, there, on a rocky outcropping, he saw a bright flash of red in the distance. It was Alanna’s hair, whipping in the wind as she swung a great branch at the pack of Hybern’s hounds closing in on her. He could see the bright blooms of blood on her sage dress, the torn fabric and her frenzied eyes telling him all he needed to know. He saw red as he jumped off, not even pausing as he tore the hounds apart one by one with his bare hands, ripping through jaws and ribs and flesh like wetted paper in his hands.

When the bloodbath was over and the shrieking of the dying hounds had stopped, Helion stood, covered in dirt and blood and panting wildly. His eyes met hers, overcome with fear and awe and reverence, and before he could say anything she’d clambered up from the ground and thrown herself into his arms, sobbing.

It had been so long since he’d felt her, smelled her. That early morning dawn and dew from their last goodbye still as sharp in his memory as the day she left. She was terrified now, bawling and shaking like a leaf, but she was here in his arms, that charming smell of woodsmoke and chestnuts embracing him like a warm blanket on a cold night. Before he had a chance to talk himself out of it, he was leading her to Meallan, holding her firmly but gently to his chest, and resolving to take her back to Day with him.

She didn’t question him, just held him close as they flew off into the sky. Her sobs gently faded into heavy breaths, her eyes closing, but she never lessened the grip she held on his shirt. When they landed in Day at the palace stables, he simply scooped her up again and moved with intention to his personal chambers. She’d fallen asleep by the time they arrived, the shock and adrenaline wearing off and leaving her entirely exhausted, but he laid her softly onto his bed and checked her injuries to make sure nothing was serious. He mended what he could, taking the time to run a bowl of warm water and taking the softest cloth he could find to remove the traces of blood from her body and hair and face. He refused to change her clothes until she woke–gods knew she’d spent enough of the last hundred years having that choice taken from her.

When she was as clean as she could be, Helion sat at her side as day bled into twilight and then night, and Alanna slept. He looked at her beautiful face, so peaceful in sleep. She looked different than he remembered, but still just as heart-stoppingly beautiful as the night they’d met. She looked older, more mature, and he guessed she was a mother now. He heard things, of course, through the gossip of the courts. She’d been kept busy, four kids in the last hundred years. Eris, her oldest, conceived almost immediately after her marriage to that monster. A bit later, another youngling along, Tanwen. Then, she’d had twins–almost unheard of in the realm, and usually considered a blessing. He didn’t know their names; he’d stopped inquiring after a while. Knowing that Beron was with her, receiving the life Helion would have burned Prythian to the ground for was hard enough. The truth was, outside the female he knew, she was a different person now away from him. She had lived an entire life since the last time they parted, and she wasn’t the familiar young female who hid in alcoves to eat cake and send enchanted animals to harass high lords anymore.

Towards dawn, her eyes began to flutter and she started to stir. He sat up to lean forward, making sure she wouldn’t wake in fear. But the second her eyes met his, they began to water.

“You’re here. Am I dead? Am I free?” The words nearly cracked his heart in two. What was she enduring in Autumn?

“You’re in Day. In my room. I took you here when I found you.” Her chin wobbled, her eyes shutting tightly.

“The hounds…they….my sisters.” The tears began to fall in earnest now.

“I’m so sorry, Alanna. If I had gotten there sooner, I–”

“No. No. They were already gone. They told me to run…they bought me time.” But the sobs were wracking her slim body now, and she was reaching out blindly to Helion with her hands before her mind could catch up. Of course, he was already there on the side of the bed, his arms moving to hold her without his permission. He’d had tonics for the pain and for sleep ready for when she woke, and he handed them both to her silently. She took both then met his eyes.

“Lay with me? Please?” He didn’t need to be told twice. He held her loosely as they lay back on the pillows, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest as she cried and told him what had happened. Beron had sent her to hide with her sisters while Autumn fought Hybern’s armies, spreading his children out to preserve the bloodline and sending her away to be elsewhere. Eris was brought to fight at the front with Beron, despite still being fairly young by fae standards. Tanwen was sent to the east with family on the edges of the fighting–Beron had insisted he get battle experience. Gareth and Killian–he made a note of the twins’ names–had been sent to various members of the family, still only children.

She was wracked with guilt. First, for allowing her children to be sent off–not that she had even the smallest amount of say in it. Then, for her sisters, who had seen Hybern’s men and the hounds coming and made the joint decision to send their youngest sister to run–who had pleaded with her to take this fighting chance and live. They’d held each other for a too-brief moment and she’d taken off into the woods, the wind whipping at her face and the tears burning her eyes as she’d heard the horrid screams behind her fade to nothing.

“They wouldn’t have wanted you to blame yourself.”

“What worth does my life have over their own?”

“Your life, Alanna, is worth everything. They loved you.”

As I do.

The words were right there, and yet he did not say them. “You’ll stay here tonight while you heal, then I can bring you back.”

Her head shot up, panicked eyes finding his even in the near-darkness.

“Don’t bring me back yet, Helion. Please.”

“You…you want to stay?”

“For a while? Beron is at war. No one would have to know. We can tell them I was hiding in the woods afraid of the hounds that came, unsure of who to trust.” Her voice was nearly a whisper, the words barely making it to his ears, but they were some of the most important words he’d ever heard her say.

“Of course, Little Spark. Stay as long as you want.”

Stay forever.

But she was already fading back into sleep, the tonics taking her under. He smoothed her hair softly out of her face, but his heart was beating through his chest. She was here. She was here, with him, and she didn’t want to leave. He knew she couldn’t stay forever, but this time? It was more than he had ever imagined they would get again. The early light of dawn was peaking over the horizon, so he flicked his hand and the curtains pulled closed, choosing instead to wrap his arms around her as he’d yearned to do so many times since he’d first met her.

The following day, he’d run her a bath in the pool in his personal chambers, procuring her gowns while she did so. He’d almost gone back to Autumn to raze it himself as he saw the scars dotting her skin. One day, he’d see to it that Beron was killed, hopefully in a way that befitted a male who hit females. He wanted to tell her that she deserved better, wanted to wrap her in his arms and kiss each bruise and scar until all that was left were thoughts of him and not of the demons that haunted her. But when she looked over her bare, wet shoulder at him, he didn’t do any of that. He just held her eyes as she turned in the water, rising up as the drops cascaded off her, catching the sun like diamonds as they fell. And as she stepped out, his feet moved without his bidding. Like a puppet on a string, his hands rose and his fingers caressed skin as she closed her eyes at the touch. She smiled up at him with a hint of the female she’d been before, and Helion was lost.

For an entire month, he hid her from his mother, choosing to stay at the palace and spend every moment possible with her. At times, he was sure his mother knew, but she never said otherwise past a knowing glance in his direction when he’d make his excuses for why he had to leave. Alanna and Helion spent every possible moment buried in each other, pretending that they could have that life that they were meant to, the tether between them strong and beautiful and glowing the way it was always intended to. She talked about herself, more than she said she’d been able to in decades.

She told him how she’d never stopped loving him, had never stopped missing him. She told him how she loved being a mother, but hated Beron so violently that it scared her sometimes. She told him how she felt like her magic was dying in her veins. Beron didn’t let her use it, and at first, it had begged to be let out, but more and more now, it had gone quiet within her. She told him that she wanted to be the strong female that he fell in love with, but she was so scared that that female died sometime in the past century, bent over a bed, a fist in her mouth to stop her screams.

He held her while he held back the rage that he felt could tear down entire courts. He wished, both privately and aloud, that he could keep her with him forever. And they’d smile and touch and kiss and dance around it, but her imminent departure weighed on them like the heavy clouds of a summer storm. He made sure that he changed the wards to his rooms, marking them to always allow her in if she ever needed a safe space. He keyed them so she could winnow straight in if she was ever in danger. Though the thought alone filled him with wrath unlike anything he’d ever experienced, he felt somewhat better knowing she had the option, even if she never used it.

They moved the day that they’d decided she would return once, twice, three times, then finally they dragged themselves with nothing but sheer force of will to say goodbye. They spent the whole night before lost in each other, not sleeping a wink, and in the morning Helion felt like he was committing a crime by erasing his scent from her. He held her gently, told her how much he loved her, how much he always would, and felt like he was severing a limb.

As she winnowed off, back to Autumn, her jeweled prison, Helion thought he could be content with this. He told himself that this time was precious, and it was. He told himself repeatedly that he would take anything she gave, and it would be enough.

But it wasn’t enough, and as he lay on his bed in the dark alone, he knew it deep within himself.

It would never be enough until the day she was back in his arms for good.

Taglist: @cauldronblssd @dreaming-for-an-escape @clockwork-ashes @tele86 @julesofvolterra

[what-if-i-just-did]

So, the subject of 9/11 has been coming up in my life lately for some reason, and like everything I think about, it quickly got infused with my spn obsession.

Now I'm not American, and I wasn't even alive at the time, but Sam and Dean are and were. And it's the type of thing, where you remember exactly what you were doing when it happened, right? So, what where Sam and Dean doing?

It's 2001. This is the year that Sammy left for Stanford. Not only is it the year Sammy left for Stanford, but it's very, very soon after. The school year starts late august or early september. The Twin Towers crashed on the eleventh of september, so... not exactly early september, but not quite mid, either. Let's say Sammy's been gone about two/three weeks. Now, I figure John kept Dean around for one more case before he sent him away- couldn't look at him, only saw Mary, probably blamed the boy for Sammy leaving. Dean's walking around with this pit in his stomach, thinking he wasn't good enough to keep his family together and some mild panic about not being able to take care of Sam and some exsistential dread about who is he if he's not taking care of Sam. He's probably flirting too hard with all the girls in his cases, choosing the whiskey over the beer just a little too many times. Fingers hovering over the call button at any given time. This is the general state of Dean during this time.

Sam? He's just gotten out of the life. He's just promised himself he's never gonna hunt again, he misses his brother but he's more angry at him, for now. He hasn't made any friends yet, and it's starting to get to that time where his body feels he's been in one place for so long now that his dad is gonna come pick him up soon. He's antsy, but again, angry. Stubborn, smart. It's gonna take a long time for him to feel normal while staying in one place for more than three months at most. He's barely started adjusting to civillian life.

Now John. There's a journal entry for september eleventh. It says he suspects Supernatural interference with this, and he's been on the phone with other hunters all day. He's gonna head down to New York to take a look at things, and he's meeting up with people over there. No reference to Dean or Sam at all, nothing about being worried. The most emotional thing in the entry is the first sentence, "Shaken." .Honestly, it's more than I expected from him. The man has worse emotional regulation than Dean does, and that's saying something. He's still dealing with shoving down whatever form of hate or regret or pride come bubbling up when he thinks about Sam taking off, so he's not thinking about it.

I think he called Dean. I think it was a short conversation, full of "Yes, sir."'s from Dean's side and orders that looked like questions from John's. He says he called to get Dean's opinion of the Supernatural element of the crash, but Dean'll only say what John wants him to and somewhere, he knows it. He does not realise the reason he called Dean is to make sure Dean's alright, and he tries to distract himself from thoughts of Sam by keeping busy.

It's random Tuesday, and Sam probably signed up for some 8 o'clock class, so that would be what he was doing when the planes crashed. Of course, soon, the news got out, and classes got cancelled. Sam's head becomes chaotic, because of course this happens during his first few weeks, that's just his luck, and he's worried, about his dad but mostly about Dean. He calls Bobby, who's fine and tells him his dad's fine too, and Sam thanks him and hangs up, because he doesn't wanna waste the man's time. He and a bunch of other students are huddled around a tv, terrified. Ten AM, the first Tower collapses, and he has no idea what to do. He wants to help, but... what can he do? He wants to call Dean. He doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know what's going to happen. He's terrified. He spends the majority of the Eleventh huddled around that tv, with a bunch of other students he doesn't know as well as he could. It takes one, maybe two days for Sam to decide to get to New York, probably with some other students, so he can help. It's only about two hours away, and the impromptu medical skills he's gotten from patching up his dad and brother may not have helpedn anyone, but he can damn well help clean up.

Dean wakes up between five and six AM, has a beer, cleans his guns. He knows what's happening fairly early for someone who isn't in New York, because he checks the news, wether he's looking for a case or out of boredom or out of habit, and he kinda panics. He thinks, I don't know where dad is and I don't know if Sammy's safe I can't protect him and shit are we under attack what's gonna happen next and he kinda panicks. If he's already on a case, he kinda forgets about it. He stays in his motel room all day, following the news and thinking up worst case scenarios. His dad calls him, shortly, and he manages not to sound scared. His dad suspects demons did this or something, but he doesn't really care. At least he knows his dad's safe, and if he's feeling something about the fact that dad didn't ask him where he was or if he's okay, then he shoves it down and pretends it's not there. Eventually his worry wins out over whatever was stopping him from calling Sam, and he has to cough when Sam picks up because otherwise he might do something else. He can tell by Sammy's tone of voice that Sam's scared, and doesn't once bitch about Dean calling him. Just says he's safe and worried and still at Stanford, and that's good enough for Dean. Dean subcounsiously avoids New York and area for the next year or so, worried about something or other. No one he knows is dead, he should be happy.

Okay, wow. That got longer than I expected it to.

[ejzah]

The Other Shoe, Part 11

***

A week from the day Deeks accepted Sam’s offer, he, Kensi, and Sam all sat in Dr. Nehme’s office to complete the initial part of the donor process. Later today, they’d meet with Deeks’ entire transplant team to discuss the next steps.

“Mr. Hanna, since being a living donor comes with not insignificant risks and possible lifelong changes, there’s some things we need to go over,” Dr. Nehme told Sam.

“It’s Sam. And I already know the risks and I’m not having any second thoughts,” Sam replied calmly. While Kensi and Deeks were both obviously nervous, he seemed perfectly at ease. “Deeks has saved my life more times than I can count, gave me four more years than I would have had with my wife, and is one of the people I trust most. He’s my brother.”

Deeks squeezed Kensi’s hand, touched and overwhelmed by Sam’s words.

“I understand why you want to help him,” Nehme said gently. “It’s a courageous and selfless thing you’re doing. However, I find especially when it comes to friends and family, that sometimes the outcome and risks can be unexpected. I want to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

“Believe me, I’ve done my research. But go ahead; I know you have a protocol to follow.” Sam lifted his hand for the doctor to continue, and Nehme blinked a couple times in bemusement at having his meeting hijacked.

Deeks had a feeling Dr. Nehme was in for a trying time as he met more of the team. He’d have to warm him before he encountered Eric and Nell with their ever mounting pile of nephrology research.

“Ok then. I like to start by discussing the short term risks immediately following surgery. Obviously, there’ll be pain—”

Kensi snorted, pressing her lips together when all three men turned to look at her in sunrise. “Sorry,” she apologized. “Once you get into his medical history, I think you’ll understand.”

“I’ve had a few…incidents with work,” Sam explained vaguely.

“Yes, I noticed,” Nehme commented dryly. “Very impressive. Alright, moving on. There are also risks for infection, pneumonia, blood clotting issues, collapsed lung, issues with the urinary tract, and of course, death. Now, some of these are mitigated by your excellent health, prior injuries aside.”

“Do you have percentages for these risks?” Deeks asked.

“Not at the moment, but I can provide them if you’d like.”

“Relax, Deeks,” Sam said. “I’m not concerned.”

Deeks ignored him. “Thank you, doctor. I’d appreciate that. What about the long term risks. I read that some donors develop high blood pressure afterwards.”

“Yes, that and other chronic conditions are a possibility,” Nehme agreed.

“My family hasn’t had high blood pressure, cholesterol, or diabetes going back four generations,” Sam spoke up again. “And even if that happens, I can handle it better than you can with kidney disease. So hush up, and let the doctor finish.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hanna,” Nehme said wryly. “There are some other details you can look over before we meet with the entire team, but I did want to emphasize that this will likely impact your livelihood. I understand you hold a law enforcement position, and living donors are often restricted from that type of career.”

“I’m aware. I’ve made my peace with that possibility.” Sam glanced back at Deeks as he said it, as though he wanted to make sure Deeks hear and understood him. “I didn’t make this decision lightly or impulsively.”

“Well, then I think that’s everything for now. I’ll see you back with the entire team in an hour.”

***

“So, how’s it feel?” Sam asked as they walked out of the medical complex. After four hours, and multiple meetings, they had a plan to go forward. “In a little less than a month, you’ll have a new kidney. Well, slightly used, but in perfect condition.

Deeks smiled around a yawn; after everything today, he felt completely exhausted. Which wasn’t that usual these days.

“A little surreal,” Deeks admitted. Having resigned himself to being on the donor waiting list, it now felt strange that everything was now moving ahead so quickly.

Beside him, Kensi threaded her fingers through his, leaning into his side.

“I know I already said this, but, uh, thank you, Sam. This is such an incredible sacrifice. A gift.”

“Yes,” Kensi murmured, gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you, Sam.”

“Hey, I can’t have you going on without your shaggier half.” Smirking, he squeezed each other their shoulders, his sobering slightly. “I meant what I said,” he continued, speaking directly to Deeks. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.

“Man, you can’t keep saying things like that,” Deeks muttered, clearing his throat roughly. “The medication has me crying at Folgers commercials.”

“Now, don’t get yourself too worked up, cause I’d do it for anyone on the team,” Sam said teasingly.

“Kilbride?”

Sam grimaced at Deeks suggestion. “Eh, I’d have to consider.”

“What about Rogers?” Kensi asked.

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.” Releasing them with a final squeeze, Sam nodded towards the parking lot. “C’mon, let’s get some food. You’re looking too damn scrawny, Deeks.”

***

A/N: After a very long break, I’m back with this story. I hope you still enjoy it. As always, I try to make the medical elements somewhat realistic, but there will be mistakes or irregularities.

[the-shadowsingers-whore]

a court of wards and shadow

chapter four

series overview

summary: aelis starts her training and grows closer to azriel in the process. the looming threat of a meeting with the high lord causes anxieties to rise until aelis reaches her breaking point.

length: 5.5k

warnings: (18+ mdni) mentions of war and violence, anxiety/depression, panic attacks, mentions of assault, suicidal thoughts/tendencies

disclaimer: this fic in no way represents any of sarah j. maas' work or ideas, it is for purely fictional/personal entertainment purposes

masterlist /// next chapter >>

over the next two weeks i find myself following the priestesses to their afternoon training sessions. i don’t know why i do it. maybe i’m just trying to punish myself. i don’t know. all i know is every day after lunch, i find myself sitting in the corner of the training ring watching. i never join or engage, just observe. 

during the few afternoons azriel makes an appearance, he always glances my way, giving me an acknowledging nod as he enters the training ring. but that’s the extent of his interaction. he doesn’t look my way as he instructs the priestesses or say another word to me about joining. if it weren’t for the initial nod my way, i would think he didn’t even know i was there. 

the same cannot be said for nesta though. every day she pesters me relentlessly during the training sessions, badgering me to join. and every day i refuse. 

except for today.

when nesta approaches and asks me to join, i surprise myself by nodding and pulling myself up from the spot on the ground i have sat every afternoon. i notice a glimmer of surprise on nesta’s face before it is overtaken by a broad smile. i keep my expression neutral, hiding my own shock. 

“we’ll start with the basics. simple strength training exercises. you’ll need to develop a good base of muscle and strength before we move on to any actual fighting techniques. that is, if you decide you would like to learn that, it’s all up to you,” she quickly adds, hesitant about overwhelming me and scaring me back to my corner.

“alright,” i respond simply, offering her a small smile, still unsure what possessed me to agree. the thoughts of shame and unworthiness start to rise to the surface again as i follow nesta out onto the training ring, but when i look across the arena to find azriel watching me, a ghost of a smile on his face, the feelings fade to the background.

and just like that my training begins.

* * *

an hour later i’m lying flat on my back on the floor of the training ring, staring at the sky, every inch of body coated in sweat. the workout nesta directed me through was much easier than anything i had seen the priestesses do over the last two weeks of observing, but it still left my lungs heaving for air and muscles screaming for rest. despite the pure exhaustion racking my body, i can’t help but smile at the feeling rushing through me right now. the guilt and shame that have been an ever present cloud over me since my rescue are nowhere to be found. instead all i feel is a sense of control, a power i have never felt in my entire life. 

and that feeling is what has me coming back the next afternoon.

and the next.

and the next.

every day i wake up with new sore and aching muscles and i smile through the pain as i drag myself out of bed. the mornings crawl by as i count down the hours until training. and the afternoons disappear into a haze of sit-ups and lunges and sweat and hard work. i collapse into my small bed every night and fall almost immediately into a deep sleep, so exhausted from the endless list of brutal exercises that even the continuing horrors of my nightmares don’t bother me as much as usual. 

days blur into weeks and the weeks turn into a month. i find myself lasting longer in training, able to do more difficult exercises, and not struggling to keep up with the other priestesses like i was just a few weeks ago. the shame and disgust i used to feel when looking in the mirror has transformed into a sense of pride and accomplishment as i notice all the places on my body that muscles are starting to harden and develop. 

i’m running late today and i push myself into a jog, ignoring the soreness in my legs as i rush to the training arena. but when i walk up to nesta, ready and eager for today’s exercises, she simply states, “you’re training with azriel today,” before turning back to the group of priestesses in front of her. 

i pause for a moment, too shocked by what she said to notice the sound of azriel’s approach. it’s not until he gently clears his throat that i turn around. “i’m training with you?” i manage to say, surprise coloring my tone.

“nesta told me you have been doing quite well and that she thinks you are ready to start learning the basics of sparring.” he pauses, assessing my reaction for any signs of unease before continuing. “that is, if you're up for it.”

“yes, i think i am,” i reply and a nervous sense of excitement floods me at the thought of doing more, learning more.

the corners of his lips tip up in the faintest hint of a smile before he turns to lead me to the corner of the arena with sparring mats laid out. “after today your training will be split up into two parts. the first half will simply be a continuation of what you’ve been doing, continuing to work out and improve your strength. and then you will work on mastering sparring. normally you’d be doing it with a group of the other priestesses, but for today i’m going to work with you individually so you can get at least a basic understanding.”

i nod in agreement and he wastes no time getting started. he begins walking me through basic fighting stances and i quickly realize the importance of all the weeks of strengthening exercises. the next few hours pass in a mess of fumbled steps and unbalanced positioning. azriel is patient with me the whole time, gently correcting my form and offering his hand every time i fall over. 

by the end of the afternoon, i’m already starting to improve. i still have plenty of work to put towards maintaining my balance and switching seamlessly through the different positions, but i can’t help the broad grin that spreads across my face when i manage to successfully execute all of the stances azriel taught me today. 

“good work,” he says when we finish for the day. like always, his face remains schooled into careful neutrality, revealing nothing, but i still find myself blushing at his compliment. no longer distracted by focusing on training, i’m reminded how overwhelming it is to be so close to him. my eyes flit back and forth across his face as i try to grasp how someone could possible be so beautiful. 

after a moment i remember myself and pull my gaze away, mumbling a soft “thank you,” before excusing myself to head back to the library with the other priestesses.

* * *

it only takes a few days to settle into the new training regimen. as azriel described, i continue to practice the basics of sparring with a small group of priestesses of a similar skill level. nesta often instructs, with emerie or gwyn, who i’ve come to learn are also very skilled warriors, occasionally taking her place. 

i still see azriel and cassian from time to time, but they are always instructing the more experienced priestesses. i find myself struggling more with training on those days, my attention wavering as i fight the inane urge to glance over at azriel constantly. i don’t know what’s come over me. never before have i felt like this, never before have i possessed an extraneous interest in another fae, and yet i find myself always on the lookout for him, scanning the training ring everyday to see if he is there. 

this afternoon i decide to head to training early, eager to get started. i enter the arena only to find azriel and cassian amidst an intense sparring match. both shirtless. i freeze in my tracks and my mouth goes dry as i take in the sight before me. my eyes rake over the smooth skin and swirling tattoos, transfixed by the rippling muscles highlighted by a sheen of sweat from the afternoon sun. the two males fight in a blur of limbs and powerful movements, giving me a glimpse of how truly fearsome they can be.

after a moment, i start to back out of the training arena, unable to tear my eyes away quite yet, but not wanting to interrupt. one of the shadows circling azriel seems to notice me, darting across the floor to twirl around my ankles. his gaze flicks to me for a split second and he falters, giving cassian an opening. all i see is a flash of limbs and then cassian is standing above azriel, laughing as he extends a hand to help azriel up from the ground.

cassian says something i can’t hear and azriel shoots him a glare before pulling his shirt back on and heading towards me, leaving cassian smirking behind him. “you’re here early,” he says. his face is schooled into its usual neutral expression, but his eyes are bright, immediately drawing me in with their warmth.

“ahh, yes. i wanted to get a head start on the afternoon session. i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“well now look who’s all ambitious about training?” he asks playfully, the corners of his lips tipping up. “and don’t worry, you weren’t interrupting anything important, just a friendly little spar.”

friendly definitely wouldn’t be the first word i would use to describe the intensity of the match i just witnessed. “alright then, well i better….ummm….” you stumble over your words, distracted from the conversation at hand as you recall how he looked only minutes prior, bare chested and fighting with a deadly sort of elegance you had never seen before.

“get started on training?” he proposes, a knowing glint in his eyes.

“yes. exactly. yes. well i better get to it.” i move to rush past him, hoping he can’t see the blush painting my cheeks and creeping up my neck.

“aelis, wait.” i pause and turn back towards him, eyes darting back and forth as i try and fail to look directly at him. “would you like a little one on one training? i have the time.”

despite my embarrassment, i can’t help but agree, eager to spend more time training with him. we spend the next half hour reviewing and reinforcing what i learned over the last week. by the time the other priestesses start to trickle into the ring, sweat has already begun to coat my skin and dribble down my spine. 

“thank you for your help, i feel like i’m finally starting to catch up to the others.” i take a long sip of water, leaning against a nearby wall to take a moment to rest.

“it was my pleasure. and if you want some more help, i’ll be back again in three days. i could come early if you would like to do some more training.” he says it simply as if it’s no big deal. i don’t know all that his job as spymaster entails, but i do know rhysand keeps him very busy, especially with all the ongoing fighting amongst the illyrians and the looming threat of brekkan’s plotting. i can hardly believe he is so freely offering his time to train me, someone who barely knows the basics of sparring, instead of using it for more important matters. 

“oh it’s alright, you don’t need to do that. i can practice on my own.”

“it’s really no trouble. i’ll see you in three days.” and with that he moves past me to the group of priestesses waiting for his weapons lesson.

* * *

the two of us quickly slip into an easy rhythm of training. on the afternoons he comes to instruct the priestesses he arrives early to work one on one with me. he guides me through the essentials of sparring and then eventually moves on to swordplay, correcting my mistakes and offering tips related to how to adapt different techniques to work for my size. every little complement has me beaming with joy and i swear sometimes i can see a glimmer of pride in his eyes beneath his mask of neutrality. 

under his instruction i improve rapidly and we move on from the basics to some more advanced sparring maneuvers. despite how well i’ve done until now, i find the new techniques particularly challenging and have spent the last couple of sessions failing over and over again. and today is no exception. 

“you need to engage your core in order to maintain your balance.” azriel repeats the statement for the third time in the last hour.

“i’m trying!” i release a frustrated sigh, irritated with how much more difficult this is than it should be. “i can’t seem to figure out how to use the right muscles.”

“here, let me help you,” he says as he steps closer. “may i?” i nod in silent response, just like i do every time he asks permission to touch me in order to show me how to properly position my limbs or isolate muscle groups.

he walks around me, standing slightly behind my left shoulder. he gently places his hands on my sides and my mind flashes back to the last person who had their hands there, just like it often does when someone touches me. i shake off the thought as i always do, focusing on his words instead.

“okay, flex these muscles here.” i do as instructed, engaging the muscles beneath his hands. “good, now relax them. and flex. and relax. there you go. good. now try the same thing with these muscles.” his hand slides around to the top of my abdomen and i fight the urge to shudder as memories flood my mind. i grit my teeth and force all my attention into contracting and releasing the specified muscles.

“good, and now these ones.” his hand slides a bit further down my belly and i freeze. flashbacks course through my mind before i can stop them and all i can think of is camden, pinning me into a corner with his body, his hand possessively snaking its way down my stomach while I fight the bile rising in my throat……

i jump away from azriel, pushing him slightly in the process and whirl around to face him. i try to take a deep breath, but the air catches in my throat and i suddenly feel like i’m choking. my heart races as i try to focus on something to ground me, but all i can think of is camden looming over me. his hands, claiming me as his. i squeeze my eyes shut and my breathing turns ragged as panic overtakes me.i feel like i’m being smothered.

“breath.” i hear that one word through the chaos of my panic-ridden state.

“aelis. breathe. in and out, just breath. in and out.” gently authority fills the deep voice and i can’t help but listen to and obey the even tone. “there you go, in and out. in and out.” the voice continues to coach me and eventually my breathing slows and evens out, my eyes eventually opening.

i’m on the ground with my knees clenched tightly to my chest, azriel kneeling a foot away, his features tense and focused. i continue to take deep breaths, reminding myself that i am safe. i am in the night court. he cannot reach me here. i will not be afraid.

i take a deep, shuddering breath and relax. azriel notices the change and tentatively asks, “are you alright?”

i nod slightly as i push myself to my feet. “yes, i’m fine. i’m sorry about that.”

“you don’t need to apologize, i just want to make sure--” 

i cut him off before i have to explain what just happened. “let’s just get back to training, okay?”

he opens his mouth as if to argue, but he catches himself. “Okay.”

i throw myself back into training, turning all of the turmoil and chaos of my mind into sweat as the afternoon wears on. with every exercise i work through, i push the thoughts and memories of camden deeper and deeper down until all i can think about is the screaming of my aching muscles.

but despite my efforts, when i finally lay down in bed tonight, closing my eyes and surrendering to sleep, my nightmares still come, and they show up stronger than ever before.

* * *

the days and weeks continue to fly by and i begin to feel like maybe i can move on from my past, start fresh. i start interacting with the other priestesses more and more, eating with them, laughing with them, working in the library with them. the estrangement i felt when i first arrived becomes less and less until it disappears almost entirely. i finally feel like i just might belong here with the others. 

only at night, when my nightmares plague my sleeping mind, do i remember the real reason i ended up in this place. but then the sun rises and i throw myself back into my routine, the light of my busy days chasing away the dark thoughts.

except not this morning.

my stomach drops as i stare at the note that clotho handed me as i headed into the library. a summons to meet the high lord in his office in the house of wind this evening. no other details.

i know exactly what this meeting will entail. 

i’ve already been here for over six months. that’s much longer than i originally thought i would be allowed to stay, but so much shorter than i now wished. dread pools in my veins and i have to push down the panic that threatens to overtake me as i head to the training arena. they have finally decided to send me back. 

and how could i blame them? why should the high lord risk causing conflict with another court over something as silly as a scared little kitchen maid.

when i arrive to the training ring, i start running through my warm ups as i ponder how the high lord will break the news to me. will he be gentle and kind? or forward and to the point? no matter the delivery, the news will be the same. i will be going back and there is nothing i can do to stop it.

as the drills begin i quickly grow frustrated with every mistake and slip-up i make. and my growing frustration only lends itself to more sloppiness. every time i miss a step or emerie has to correct my form it feels like a slap to the face. six months of daily training and i have almost nothing to show for it. sure, i’ve gained some strength and learned a few things, but i haven’t made enough progress to be deemed significant.

i will be going back to the day court almost exactly how i left it: utterly defenseless and completely pathetic. the thought leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. 

what was the point of staying? it would have been better to simply jump back into the nightmare that was my life there than to get to experience a few months of freedom before having it ripped away. i was just starting to experience how different my life could be, but now all the thoughts and memories that plagued me before the mountain come rushing back in. fear and shame and desperation start to simmer low in my gut while my mind races.

the turmoil inside of me only grows throughout training until i become a live wire, ready to explode at the slightest of strikes.

as i run through a series of attack and defense combinations with one of the priestesses, i fumble one of the blocks for the third time and curse loudly at my mistake, tossing the practice sword across the floor in frustration. 

after a moment i stalk across the arena to retrieve it before heading back to my practice area. the priestess i’m sparring with takes a step back as i approach, fear clouding her face from whatever she sees written across mine.  

“aelis, geneveeve. that’s enough for now.” i halt at the sound of azriel’s voice and turn to see him headed across the arena towards us. “geneveeve, go spar with gwyn for a while. practice wielding both a sword and a shield at the same time.” the priestess nods slightly before turning and quickly heading to where gwyn is teaching a few others.

“aelis, let’s work through that block and figure out where you’re going wrong.” everywhere azriel. i’m going wrong everywhere. everything about me being here is wrong, you just haven’t realized it yet. 

he tries to walk me through the block, but i keep messing it up. over and over again. whether it’s the way my form is slightly off balance or the angle with which i’m holding the sword, i just can’t seem to get it right. each failure only adds to my already overflowing frustration until i can’t take it anymore.

if i can’t get a stupid block right in training after practicing it over and over again, how can i ever expect to be able to defend myself in a real situation once i’m back in the day court? all this training is worthless. absolutely fucking worthless. 

i don’t know why i’m even bothering spending my afternoon trying to master this stupid block when i’m going to be sent home tomorrow. i’m just wasting my energy and everyone’s time.

as azriel starts repeating the drill after i fail yet again i abruptly drop my sword and break my stance. he pauses, confusion momentarily filling his gaze.

“i’m done.” 

he doesn’t say anything for a moment as his eyes flick across my face, trying to get a read on me. i keep my face neutral while he assesses me. “what do you mean you’re done?” 

“i mean i’m done.” i turn and start heading back towards the house of wind. after a moment he appears at my side, walking in step with me. 

“it’s okay. you’ll master that block eventually. it will just take some time.” i shake my head slightly, knowing i have no time left. “here,” he says, handing the practice sword back to me. “let’s practice some offensive strikes instead.” there he goes again. always freely offering his help like it’s the simplest thing in the world. when is he going to realize that i don’t deserve it?

i take the sword from him and stop in my tracks. he turns and starts walking back to the ring, but pauses after a few strides when he realizes i haven’t made a move to follow him.

this is the last time i will hold this sword. the last time i will stand in this training arena. the last time i will see these priestesses hard at work training so the world may never hurt them again. the thought almost breaks me. 

i collect myself as i watch azriel open his mouth to say something and cut him off with an icy glare. i march up to him and shove the practice sword into his hands.

i throw every ounce of bitterness i feel into my words as i slowly repeat myself, “i said i’m done.” i turn on my heels and head quickly into the house of wind, a sob threatening to burst forth from my chest at any moment.

i push down the emotions, willing myself to keep them under control until i reach the library and can lock myself in my room. all of a sudden i feel a hand close around my elbow and i’m flipped around. i catch myself right before i crash into azriel’s chest. when i look up at him a small gasp slips through my lips. his eyes look as though they are on fire and an emotion i can’t identify is cracking through his normally neutral expression.

“you don’t get to just walk out like that.” his voice is even and calm like always, but i can tell he’s barely managing to keep it that way. 

“i just did.”

“you’re going to turn around and go back into that arena and finish your training.” i try not to flinch at the authority in his voice, determined to stand my ground even as i feel tears beginning to clog my throat.

“no. i’m done.” 

“fine,” he spits out, frustration starting to edge his tone. “but you’ll be doing extra drills tomorrow.” i won’t be here tomorrow.

not that he will know that before it’s too late. 

he already put himself out there to not only allow me to stay in the night court, but again to stay in velaris itself. and for some reason i have yet to uncover, he has been there for me these last six months. in more ways than he has for any of the other females he has rescued and brought here. he introduced me to training, he took his free time to give me additional help, he has always pushed me to improve and succeed. even today, with him insisting that i finish training. i don’t know why, but he is invested in my being here.

and as much as i want to deny it, i know that he would argue with the high lord if he found out about me being sent away. i don’t want to cause strife amongst them simply because i don’t want to leave. i can’t. not after everything they’ve done for me. everything he’s done for me.

so, instead of screaming and crying and begging azriel to help find a way for me to stay, i force myself to keep my voice empty and detached, not willing to give away the feelings that are tearing me apart inside. “no. i’m done with training entirely.”

“what?” 

“i said i’m done with training entirely. for good.”

the disbelief in his expression quickly transforms into anger and frustration. “no. you’re going to keep training until i say you’re done.”

“i thought you said it was my choice to decide if i wanted to train or not,”  shoot back.

“because i always knew you would eventually come around to it. but you don’t just get to quit. i won’t let you just give up like that.” his voice is still calm, but i can hear it start to waver as he nears the edge of restraint.

something about his possessive tone, the pure emotion lacing his words breaks me. “well i did quit. and i don’t know what ever lead to believe you get a say in the matter, but forget it because what i choose to do is none of your fucking business!” i know i’m not being fair, but my emotions are spilling over and i can’t think of any other way to protect me, to protect him from the fallout of me leaving, besides pushing him away now.

“what happened? you want to know why i care so much what you do?” he starts to raise his voice and i can see his chest rise and fall as he pulls in a deep, unrestrained breath. his stare beats down on me, but i don’t back down, refusing to say anything in response. 

“i saw everything that day on the mountain.”

i swear i can feel my heart stop for a moment. “what?” i whisper, barely able to speak.

“i told you i found you right after that bastard threw you into the rockface, but i lied. i was there before that. i was fighting on the other side of the mountain when my shadows alerted me of something. they were acting in a way i have never seen before. i followed them and found you trying to help that fallen soldier. you didn’t even see him coming. i was flying as fast as i could, but i was still so far away and my siphons were almost entirely drained. i had to watch as that bastard….”

he pauses to suck in a sharp breath before continuing, his voice rising with every sentence. “you were just trying to help a wounded soldier and that brute grabbed you, he tried to….., and then he threw you into the side of that mountain like you were nothing more than a sack of grain. i had to listen to your body break against those rocks. i can still hear it breaking. 

“so yes, i’m going to have a say in what happens in your training because i couldn’t get there fast enough that day. i couldn’t get there and you didn’t know how to defend yourself so you almost died! you could have died, aelis!” his voice breaks on his final statement and i pause. i have never heard him say so much or with such emotion in his voice before. i don’t respond for a moment, i simply stare at the intensity burning in his eyes and the devastation written across his face.

he cared about me before he even knew who i was. and he cares even more now. so much so that it haunts him that he didn’t get there sooner that day. he saw me trying to help that day court soldier and so he thinks i’m like all of the females he has saved and brought here. all the good and kind females who didn’t deserve what happened to them. and why would he think otherwise? i’ve been lying to him and everyone else since i got here. the last little piece of my heart shatters at the realization.

and i can’t do it anymore.

so, i don’t stop myself as the next quiet words exit my mouth. “well, did you ever consider that maybe that’s what i wanted?”

surprise colors his features at the words and his voice drops to nearly a whisper. “what?”

“everyone believes that i was there with the healers that day, but you know that i wasn’t in the healer’s tent when you found me. not even close. have you really never stopped to think about the fact that i have never told you the real truth of why i was there that day? did you never stop to think that maybe i knew what i was getting myself into when i climbed up the mountain that day?”

the volume of my voice raises as i finally release the truth that i’ve been hiding for the last six months. the truth that i’ve kept a secret from him because i thought the nightmares that led me to walk up rontuwan that day were behind me. “that maybe i knew i wasn’t prepared to fight whatever i would find there? that maybe i knew if i set foot on that mountain i wouldn’t be stepping off of it? and that maybe, just maybe, that was what i wanted?” my voice breaks and i fight to quell the tears i can feel burning in my eyes as i lay the truth at his feet.

“you don’t mean that.” he says quietly. i look up at him and find a tenderness on his face i have never seen there before. pity. 

the expression makes me steel myself, pulling back the tears and straightening as i look at him with the coldest glare i can muster. “well, azriel, as someone who specializes in finding out people’s darkest secrets, you shouldn’t look so surprised to find out mine.” and with that i turn on my heels, walking away before i have to look at the pity in his eyes for one more second. 

i barely make it to my room before the sob i’ve been holding back breaks forth from my chest. i slowly slide down my door to the ground, my body going numb.

since the day i got here, azriel has only ever looked at me as someone who is capable. and strong. he never treated me like damaged goods. he was the only person who never asked questions or made assumptions about my past. his unwavering faith in me made me start to move past everything that brought me here in the first place. i was starting to feel alive again, like maybe i could be something more than just a product of my circumstances.

but now, as my vision blurs from the tears running freely down my cheeks, all i can see is the look on azriel’s face when he realized who i really am. how weak and broken i am beneath all the lies. it flashes through my mind over and over again, that look of pity that makes me question if i can ever be fixed. if i should even try.

next chapter>>

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