#long way of saying i think he should have a over the shoulder ponytail when hes older. and he should have a mood disorder. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nightingalescall · 1 year ago

Text

Weight of the World

Kingdom of Ebreau:

prologue|part 1(you are here)|part 2|part 3

"You really do look like God."

Zephyr caressed your cheek with his thumb as he smiled lovingly at you. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours before raising his other hand to cup your face.

He stared into your eyes, awestruck before signing blissfully, "You look just like him....". You remained silent at his blatant display of affection. Zephyr continued, nuzzling his nose against yours as he closed his eyes and let out a content chuckle. In an effort to ease the awkwardness you felt from having the saint be so close to you, you adverted your gaze to the side, landing on your and Zephyr's reflection in the standing mirror situated in a corner of your room.

Zephyr was dressed in his usual white robe but today, he had put extra care into his hair and tied it in a low ponytail using a black ribbon. As for you, you had long since changed out of your old blouse and shorts. In fact, the temple gave you a makeover and threw out your old clothes the moment you stepped foot inside the building, saying your current attire was "unsuited for their beloved Messiah". It had been a few days since your "fall from heaven" as the devotees liked to call it but you still clearly remember the absolute bewilderment you felt when the nuns handed you your new clothes. Holding a golden dress with black beads as embellishments around the collar, skirt and hem of the long sleeves, the nuns grinned brightly at you, expectantly waiting for you to try it on. It looked more expensive than your total salary as the guards' errand girl(which wasn't a lot but you still could never imagined spending all that money on one piece of clothing). You declined at first, unable to accept such a gift but the dejected expressions and teary eyes that immediately came onto the faces of the nuns made you reconsider. Reluctantly, you took the dress from their hands. You stepped inside an empty room nearby and changed into the dress. Oddly enough, the dress fitted perfectly. Not too big, not too small. It was a wonder how they matched your measurements so well.

You slowly creaked opened the door, feeling bashful and self-conscious for wearing something so....Different from your usual attire. Your body felt foreign to you as you struggled to walk normally, thinking you should change the way you carry yourself in order to better match the sophisticated aura the dress brings. Feelings of doubt crept into your mind as you began to regret being so gullible to the nuns.

But what's done has been done. The door opened and dozens of eyes snapped towards you as you reappeared from within the room. The staring made you feel even more awkward.

"Does it look weird?" You asked, hoping to divert their attention and save yourself from the uncomfortable silence. Zephyr was the first to move. He immediately came forward and grasped your hands in his. His smile was wide as he answered. "You look wonderful, Messiah." He seemed a bit breathless.

Thud!

You heard something heavy hit the ground and some frantic voices come from behind Zephyr. You peered over his shoulder and saw that a few devotees had fainted.

"Messiah? Are you alright?" Zephyr's voice rang in your ear, cutting your flashback short. As you came back to reality, you saw Zephyr's reflection in the mirror staring back at you, a concerned frown clear on his face.

"Yes. Sorry, I was, um...." You tried to come up with an excuse as you turned your gaze back at him. Your eyes flickered towards his ponytail and a lightbulb lit up in your mind. "I was admiring your new hairstyle."

A bashful smile spread across Zephyr's face the moment you finished your sentence. "Do you like it? I'll tie it up more often if you like." He blushed slightly. Before you could reply, a knock came from the door.

You saw Zephyr's smile drop before he turned away and excused himself to go answer the door. Now with the saint out of your personal space, you could finally breathe again. Even if Zephyr wasn't cruel or strict in any way, his position as saint was still quite daunting. You felt like you needed to be on your best behaviour whenever he's around.

Sighing in relief, you took a seat on the edge of your bed, the soft mattress sinking lightly with the addition of your weight. You stretched and heard your joints pop softly before you reached for the cup of water placed on the bedside table. Bringing the beautifully decorated porcelain cup to your lips, you took a sip.

You held the almost empty cup in the palm of your hands as you stared down at your reflection in the water after you had your fill. Your face came into view and you were once again reminded of how familiar and yet foreign your face was now.

In the water, a pair of golden eyes looked back at you. This was the mark of Calerus. This was what the temple used to determine you were their Messiah. Calerus had given you the same golden eyes he had when he declared you his lamb that day. You are the one and only human in Ebreauan history to ever possess golden eyes. You're the first person to ever resemble their God. Such was the infatuation the devotees held towards your gaze, fawning whenever you even looked in their direction. So far, Zephyr is the only one who could somewhat keep his composure around you.

You stayed seated on your bed, waiting for Zephyr to finished attending to the person who came knocking. It was taking longer than anticipated.

"...me help the Messiah put them on, Saint Zephyr." Your ears perked up at the mention of your name(or your title to be exact) from the doorway. You glanced over at Zephyr and saw he was conversing with a young monk. You leaned back a on your bed, trying to get a better look at him from your position.

The monk seemed to notice movement within his vision and moved his gaze from Zephyr to the inside of your room. You both make eye contact and you finally notice the brown box he was holding in his hand.

A package?

The young monk's voice suddenly echoed through your room, drawing your attention from the box back to him. "M-miss Messiah. H-hello!", he waved enthusiastically at you, a toothy grin plastered on his flushed face. "Please allow me the honor of-" "Thank you, Brother Esten. I'll take it from here." Zephyr suddenly cut him off, snatching the box from the young monk's hand before slamming the door in his face. You jumped, startled as the door closed with a loud bang.

Zephyr walked over to you, holding the box the young monk had delivered, his usual kind smile back on his face. "Sorry that took so long, Messiah. Brother Esten can be a bit stubborn but he is a good soul." He smiled and handed you the box. You took it from his hands as you nodded. "Did he want something?" You asked, shaking the box gently as you tried to guess what was inside based on its weight.

Zephyr shook his head before reaching for the lid of the box. He lifted the lid and revealed the contents inside. A pair of black ballet flats. You raised an eyebrow in confusion.

You didn't order any shoes.

Zephyr simply chuckled at your expression before taking the flats out of the box. "These are a gift from the temple, Miss Messiah. We thought they would go well with your dress." He said as he went down on one knee in front of you. Placing the flats on the floor beside him, he gestured towards your feet.

"May I?"

You hiked up your dress, revealing the old brown boots you've worn even before becoming the guards' errand girl. They've been with you through thick and thin, through stormy and sunny weather so it pained you a bit having to say goodbye to them. Zephyr slowly undid your shoelaces and slipped the boots off your feet. “Brother Esten had asked to help you put on your new shoes but I informed him that I could do it. He was persistent though, insisting that he should be the one to do it.” He began to recall, taking one of the black flats and slipping it onto your foot.

“In his words and I quote, “A lowly task like this shouldn’t be handled by the saint. Let this humble servant of god do it instead.” I, of course, refused.” Zephyr relayed what transpired at the door just now as he slipped on the other shoe and checked if they fitted you.

You nodded, unfazed by his confession. Zephyr had been constantly at your beck and call ever since you became Messiah, lending his aid even when unnecessary. He goes out of his way to serve you and make your new life as comfortable as possible. In addition, you've also noticed that he had taken over the other nuns and monks' jobs of serving you, such as delivering meals, giving you fresh clothes and other menial tasks after a few days of observation. Sometimes it truly feels like he's your servant rather than your colleague.

You take a look at your new flats too, admiring its design. They fitted perfectly just like every other clothing the temple has given to you. "They're very comfortable. Thank you." You thanked Zephyr for helping you put on the shoes despite not needing the assistance. He smiled tenderly at you before reaching out to hold your right foot in his hand. "You're welcome, my Messiah." He pressed a kiss on your foot.

Your eyes widen in surprise at his action. You blushed and adverted your eyes to the side, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. No matter how much time you spend with him, you don't think you could ever get used to his odd affection towards you.

"Miss Messiah..."

You heard Zephyr's voice call for you before feeling some weight on you lap. You looked down and saw he had placed his hands on your lap before resting his chin there. He gazed up at you, a look of concern plastered on his face. "You seem distracted today." He frowned. "I noticed you staring at your cup in a daze just now when I was talking to Brother Esten." Zephyr said as he moved one of his hand from your lap and reached for your hand. He gently rubbed the back of it with his thumb as he continued, "Is something bothering you?".

"Oh..." You let out, not expecting him to point out your habit of daydreaming. They've become more frequent after you came to the temple as Messiah. You just had a lot to think about. Your duties, your future, your new role and now the future of Ebreau as well as the well-being of its citizens. The role of Messiah required you to stand with the people and lead them towards a better life. The sudden drop of weight on your shoulders of being Messiah was a heavy one indeed.

"I'm fine. Just a lot to think about especially with how Ebreau is right now." You confessed and sighed, sharing your concerns about the country's current state. Zephyr reached up and cupped your face, making you look at him. "You have a heart of gold, my dear Messiah. I understand that with the way things are presently, you have much to worry about but please remember to not overwork yourself. Too much stress will do no one any good." He stated firmly, his eyes clear and free of doubt, wholeheartedly believing in what he said just now.

You were shaken by his conviction as you fell silent, processing his words. You nodded after a while. "You're right. I'll try my best to manage my anxiety. Thank you, Saint Zephyr." You thanked him, grateful he helped you snap out of it.

Zephyr smiled before leaning in to kiss your cheek. "You're welcome, Messiah. Also, please just call me Zephyr." He pulled back as he looked into your eyes, his gaze soft and warm. "Thank you, Zephyr. You may call me (y/n) too." You smiled back.

For a brief moment, you saw the corner of Zephyr's lips twitched. He suddenly looked down at your lap, avoiding your eyes before taking a deep breath. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion at his behavior.

Did you say something wrong?

"One would suggest thee to not push the saint's self control too much."

A familiar voice rang inside your head. It was Calerus. You perked up at his sudden presence. "Oh, hello." You thought in your mind. The God of prosperity had a tendency to randomly pop up and speak to you directly through your mind ever since you became his lamb. Sometimes it was advice on what to do as Messiah and sometimes it was just to give one-off comments about the situation at hand. It was the latter this time.

Zephyr suddenly sprang onto his feet, pulling you off the bed by your hands as he did so. Not expecting the sudden pull, you stumbled and fell into his chest. You heard him chuckled as he wrapped his arms around your waist and hugged you tightly against him. You looked up from his chest and stared at him, perplexed. Zephyr simply laughed, "Let's take a walk in the garden, Lady (y/n)."

~✟~

The temple's garden was big and well kept. The flowers here bloomed splendidly, attracting little bees and butterflies to come play on their petals. The soft breeze of the afternoon blew gently, weaving through the yellow leaves of the aurum trees lining the walkway through the garden and shaking them lightly. The soft rustling of leaves paired with the running of water from the nearby fountain was a pleasant change in atmosphere that you desperately needed at the moment.

Zephyr walked beside you quietly as he let you bask in the warm afternoon sun and relax yourself. You sauntered through the garden, going off the pathway and inched closer to the various flower beds. You admired the flowers and couldn't help but smile at the sight of them.

It was a welcomed change of pace. You never found yourself to be a flower lover but here you were. Perhaps it was just a lack of exposure to them in the past.

"This is nice." You mumbled, crouching down and observing a butterfly on a purple flower. "What's this flower called?" You pointed at the flower as you turned your gaze up at Zephyr.

Zephyr smiled and joined you, crouching down beside you. "These are meripurlets."He started as he tucked a loose hair of yours behind your ear. "Their flower language is devotion." He smiled.

You raised your eyebrows at his words. "You know flower language?" You tilted your head. Zephyr chuckled, "Just the few that are commonly used around the temple."

You nodded with a brief "I see." and went back to the flowers before you. Their colours were vibrant and its leaves were evergreen, signifying that they are well taken care of. The shade of purple was nearly identical to that of Zephyr' eyes. You stared as you wondered who's in charge of taking care of the garden, awed by their dedication to these flora.

...

"...siah!"

A voice too soft and distant suddenly caught your attention. You couldn't make it what the voice said but it sounded frantic. You looked around the garden as you searched for the source of the voice, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Beside you, Zephyr did the same except instaed of being confused, he seemed more cautious and alert.

"Messiah!"

The voice got louder and closer as you heard it call for you. You turned and looked towards the entrance of the garden. A man waved at you as he ran over, tripping on his feet as he did so. Behind him, you see two guards tailing him closely, screaming at him to stop.

"Sir, stop this at once!"

"This is an act of trespassing and will have you arrested!"

The man ignored their demands as he continued to sprint towards you. As he inched closer, you noticed he looked familiar.

Mr. Citris?

Before you could confirm your suspicion, someone blocked your view, shielding you behind them. It was Zephyr. He kept you behind him, his hand holding onto yours in a tight grip as he watched the man approach.

You heard a thud come from in front of him. You tried to peer over his shoulders to see what was going on but unfortunately, he was too tall even when you went onto your toes.

A familiar voice rang and you confirmed who the man was.

"Saint Zephyr! Please let me see the Messiah!"

Mr. Citris pleaded but Zephyr didn't budge.

"My brother, while the temple is open to all followers of his Lord, Calerus, the garden, however can only be accessed by the devotees of this temple." His voice was deadly cold, unbefitting of his usual warm manner.

"I know, my saint, I know! But please! I'm at my wit's end. Please just let me talk to the Messiah!" Mr. Cirtris begged. He really did sound panicked. What got him so worked up? In your mind, nothing could ever shake Mr. Citris.

Mr. Citris is a farmer who sold fresh produce at the central market. You remembered passing by his stall when you were shopping there a few times. He scared you at first. His tough appearance paired with the ever present scowl on his face, it wasn't just you who felt reluctant to approach him. It was only until after you heard more about him from the guards that you changed your opinion on him.

Mr. Citris lives near the northeast outskirts of Ebreau. There, he has a plot of land where he use to plant his vegetables and fruits. His wife passed from complications of childbirth many years ago so it's just him and his daughter at his home.

However, life seemed to be particularly unfair to him as his one and only daughter suffers from a degenerative muscle disease that causes her to have difficulty moving. She still tries her best to help out her dad in his field but she can only work for so long before the pain kicks in. She's been prescribed some medicine to help slow down the degeneration and ease the pain but from what you heard, the medicine is quite expensive and is an extra burden on them when they can only make enough money to put food on the table each day. However, Mr. Citris somehow made it work by selling his products at the market and doing odd job around the city. Tiring as it is, he was able to make enough to afford the medicine and food for his daughter.

From then on, you invested in his small business when you could and even spread the word of his predicament around so people would consider buying from him more. You're not sure if it helped but at least you've seen an increase in customers at his stall ever since then.

In short, Mr. Citris was a big guy with an even bigger heart. Family was everything to him and you admired the lengths he went to for his daughter.

"My brother, the garden is a private resting place for the devotees and workers of the temple. You're intruding on the Messiah's personal time." From your angle, you could see the frown on Zephyr's face as he looked at the man.

Mr. Citris sounded like he was on the verge of crying as he called for you, hoping you would listen to him from behind Zephyr's back. "Messiah, please give me some of your time! It's about my sick daugther!" That immediately caught your attention. Zephyr continued to shield you behind him.

"Brother, you need to leave."

This time, Mr. Citris was silent and you felt a chill run down your spine at Zephyr's demand.

Zephyr stared him down and once he made sure Mr. Citris had nothing more to say, he ordered. "Guards, please escort this man out." Footsteps sounded as the guards approached Mr. Citris.

"On your feet, sir." One of the guards demanded when Mr. Citris remained unmoving on the ground. "I..." Mr. Citris breathed shakily. The guard who had previously ordered Mr. Citrus to move leaned down and grabbed onto his arm, ready to pull him up. Just as his hand touched Mr. Citris, another appeared, its touch soft but firm in stopping any further action.

You stepped forward, coming out from behind Zephyr's back. Pressing your hand onto the guard's, you stopped him from taking Mr. Citris away.

"Lady (y/n)?" "Messiah?" Zephyr and the guards let out in astonishment.

You kneeled down onto the ground as the guard withdrew his hand from Mr. Citris. Mr. Citris kept his head down, his eyes fixated on the ground. Now on the same eye level as him, you could see the redness at the corner of his eyes.

He was holding back tears.

"..."

Something big must have happened for Mr. Citris to be this desperate.

"Mr. Citris, what happened to your daughter?" You finally asked. Mr. Citris' head suddenly snapped up and stared into your eyes, his own wide in shock, seemingly only noticing your presence after you called for him.

"My Lord..?" Mr. Citris whispered in disbelief, his body trembling. "Sorry?" You asked back, caught of guard by his question.

"C-calerus." A invisible question mark appeared above your head.

"I'm (y/n), Mr. Citris. The Messiah. You asked to see me, no?" You attempted to correct.

"Mes...Messiah?" He repeated as if he was unsure of your dentity even after you told him

"Yes." You nodded and smiled at him, wanting him to believe you. Mr. Citris' mouth stayed shut as he blinked, staring at you as he seemed to ponder something profound.

You lightly coughed and asked again, ignoring his stare. "So, tell me, Mr. Citris, what happened to your daughter?" You wanted to get to the bottom of Mr. Citris sudden visit.

At your question, he snapped out of it, shaking his head as he took a breath. "Y-yes, Messiah....Of course..." He mumbled under his breath before meeting your gaze once more.

"I...It's..." Mr. Citris stuttered, his voice shaking and you saw tears well up again in his eyes. "Take a breath. Slowly now." You patted his shoulder reassuringly.

Mr. Citris breathed in deeply and calmed himself. "My daughter....She has a degenerative muscle disease ever since birth but she has been prescribed some medicine to help with the sickness. They are expensive but I am able to pull together enough money each month to buy them by selling vegetables I've planted on my land at the outskirts of the kingdom." He began to tell and you nodded. Nothing you didn't know of.

He suddenly paused, swallowing as he seemed contemplate something. You raised an eyebrow and ushered for him to continue.

"No need to be hesitant, Mr. Citris. Let me hear it."

Mr. Citris nodded and continued. What you heard next stunned you.

"Recently, my house got attacked. By...by the Casvians." Your eyes went wide at his words. Behind you, you felt Zephyr stiffen.

"Casvians?" You repeated, not believing your ears.

Mr. Citris nodded. "They attacked my house, burned my land and my crops with it. I managed to save my daughter and myself before they got to us." He said mournfully. You listened attentively, nodding each time he looked at you for conformation to carry on.

"We've been living at an inn in the capital for the past 2 weeks but with my land gone, I've lost my main source of income from selling vegetables and fruits on the market. I...I can barely afford food for us both now, let alone...." He trailed off but even with no words spoken, you knew what he was going to say.

He can't buy medicine for his daughter.

You bit the inside of your cheeks. This was a tight spot for Mr. Citris. Food, medicine and now accommodation? Even if he did still have his land, you doubt that'd be enough to afford all three of them.

He said Casvians attacked him but how? You knew Mr. Citris' house was near the boarders between Ebreau and its neighbouring country, Casviren but it couldn't be that close to where he would get caught in the crossfire.

Then, assuming he isn't lying, for the Casvians to attack Mr. Citris' house would only mean either the Casvians are getting bolder or...

Ebreau's defenses are falling.

You clenched your fists as your expression hardened.

The situation may be more dire than you thought.

This kingdom is falling apart. Fast.

You took a deep breath and steadied yourself. The state of the kingdom needed to wait for now. First, you need to help Mr. Citris.

You turned back and looked up at Zephyr. "Does the temple have spare money to buy the medicine for his daughter?" You asked, standing back up and facing him. Zephyr was silent as he stared at you, his face unreadable. You felt uneasy at his silence. You glanced downward briefly and saw his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Was he angry?

The thought crossed your mind for a second but you quickly brushed it off. Why would he be? You're helping someone. There was nothing wrong in that.

Right?

Zephyr noticed that you have spotted his curled up fists and quickly release them. He cleared his throat before answering. "While the temple does not lack in terms of money, the Royal family specified that the funds given to us should be spent on strictly temple related matters and nothing more." Zephyr said, his lips turning down into a small frown and his eyes softening in concern.

"Them, is there anyone in the temple with medical training that can help Mr. Citris' daughter?" You refused to give up, searching for another way to help the man.

To your dismay, Zephyr shook his head, a look of sorrow on his soft features. "There are some nuns and monks that have basic medical knowledge but I am not aware of any that are experienced enough to able to take care of someone with this sort of disease."

You bit your lip, your eyebrows knitted together in worry. This was bad. How were you going to solve this...

Just as you were going to begin panicking, Zephyr gave you something that lessened your anxiety. "However, if Mr. Citris likes, he may collect meals from the temple." You tilted your head at his suggestion. Zephyr smiled at you and elaborated. "The temple prepares food for all devotees everyday and most of the time, there will be leftovers. If Mr. Citris doesn't mind, him and his daugther may have the leftovers." Zephyr looked at Mr. Citris behind you. "I know it's not what you wanted but hopefully, it will at least decrease your financial burden." Zephyr added, bowing his head apologetically at Mr. Citris.

You turned and looked back at Mr. Citris. He was staring at you and Zephyr, unmoving and silent.

"I...Thank you, saint. I am grateful. Any help is appreciated." Mr. Citris lowered his head. He sounded... Disappointed.

Everyone fell silent. The light breeze that tickled your face had stopped blowing and the sun that shone brightly had dipped behind the horizon, leaving behind only streaks of its rays as the afternoon turned into evening and soon night. You sighed silently and hung your head like Mr. Citris. You felt so ashamed at your incompetence. As Messiah, the people expected you to lead, to guide, to help but today's encounter showed you that you were still far from fulfilling any of those requirements.

You were Messiah in name.

Power and will?

You can only pray Calerus will give them to you in the future.

Mr. Citris sniffled and the boulder weighing on your heart became heavier. You felt a hand on your shoulder. "You're trying your best, Lady (y/n). Don't blame yourself." Zephyr whispered into your ear. At that, you loosened your fists which you didn't know you were gripping.

Yes, calm down, (y/n). Nothing can be accomplished by moping around.

You inhaled deeply before kneeling back down. Mr. Citris kept his head low, unwilling to meet your gaze. On the ground beneath him, you saw small splotches.

He was crying.

And he didn't want you to see his tears.

Your heart ached at his predicament but what else could you do?

Carefully, you reached for his hands. You clasped them in yours as you pulled them close to you and shut your eyes.

There was nothing left to do but pray.

You mumbled your prayer, loud enough only for you and Mr. Citris to hear.

"Calerus, our lord high above."

Your grip on Mr. Citris' hands tightened.

"A problem arises that cannot be solved by our mortal hands."

I'm sorry, Mr. Citris.

"Please grace us with your mercy and benevolence in this time of need."

I wish I could do more for you.

"Spare the daughter of this follower of yours. Let her pain be subsided. Let her agony be gone."

But, alas, I am a fraud.

"Give the daughter the strength to overcome that which plagues her body. Give the father the strength to overcome that which plagues his mind."

I am only a pawn in Calerus' hands.

"Let your power be seen through this pair of parent and child."

I am at Calerus' mercy.

"Earnestly, we pray."

Clink!

Your eyes snapped opened at the sudden sound.

Clink! Clink!

You looked around, confused at what's making that noise. It sounds like....Coins dropping?

Clink! Clink! Clink!

You gazed down. On the ground between you and Mr. Citris, a few gold coins laid there, some still spinning in place.

Clink! Clink! Clink! Clink!

More appeared, seemingly falling from thin air. They fell rapidly, like they were overflowing from their source. You were perplexed at where they were coming from until you looked at your hands.

Gold coins seeped out from within your sleeves and onto the ground. They flowed like water, their speed and frequency of appearance increasing rampantly.

"What in the..." You gasped as you looked in disbelief. Gold coins were basically pouring out of your sleeves right now.

"Messiah...!" Mr. Critris gasped as he finally lifted his head and saw the scene before him. "I, um," you struggled to find words to say in this situation.

Mr. Citris suddenly bowed down to you, his forehead pressing on the ground. " Thank you, Messiah! Thank you! Thank you! This will be more than enough!" He thanked you before raising his head, a wide smile plastered on his tears stained face. He wiped away his tears, drying his eyes as he continued to thank you. "Messiah! Truly, my Messiah!" He cried, tears of joy (you assume them to be at least) continued to roll down his cheeks despite just wiping them.

The pour of coins slowly calmed down into a drizzle before finally stopping. In front of you, a small pile of gold coins sat on the ground, reflecting the last bits of sunlight and shimmering softly.

You stared in shock at what just happened with a still emotional Mr. Citris kneeling before you, muttering incoherent thank-you's while scooping up the gold coins. Your brain was melting from having to process the weird occurrence. Was that Calerus' answer to your prayers? Or was that your power all along and it was just a matter of you not knowing? Your head was spinning.

A hand suddenly grabbed your arm and pulled you onto your feet. You looked back and Zephyr glared at Mr. Citris over your shoulder, a frown tugging on his lips. He pulled you back behind him, pressing you to him so you couldn't do something he didn't expect again.

"Mr. Citris, it seems our gracious Lord has answered your prayers." His tone was cold despite the miraculous event that called for a joyous celebration. "Now that your problems have been solved, I think it's time for you to go back to your daughter, yes?" He questioned, his voice holding a certain persuasiveness and firmness in it, like he wasn't asking but ordering.

"Yes, thank you. Thank you, my Messiah...My saviour...m-my God!" Mr. Citris smiled, looking up at you. His smile grew into a grin as he began to mumble to himself. You grew concerned at his mumbling.

Mr. Citris isn't usually like this...

Before you could ask if he was alright,. Zephyr tugged at your arm and pulled you away from the scene. "Help Mr. Citris collect his money and escort him out of the temple." He ordered the two guards before quickening his place and pulling you away with him.

You were still in a daze, astonished by what just transpired. You barely even noticed Zephyr had dragged you towards one of the entrance to the temple that connected with the garden. Only when you both stepped back inside the temple did he let go.

You finally snapped back to reality as the familiar white marble walls and well lit halls came into your view. You raised your hands and stared at them. They seemed fine. Nothing looked different from before....Then, what on earth happened back there?

Another pair of hands came into your peripheral before intertwining your hands in theirs. You looked up and saw Zephyr staring at your hands in his.

"Zephyr?" You raised an eyebrow. He's been acting weird since Mr. Citris came.

You felt him tighten his hold as he breathed shakily. "Lady (y/n)..." He whispered, eyes still glued to your hands.

"Are you alright?" You made no move to pull away from his grasp.

Zephyr was quiet.

"..."

"Zephyr? You're worrying me." You voiced your concerns. Zephyr was really out of it today.

At your words, he raised his head and met your eyes. His signature smile still absent from his face.

"Did you know, Lady (y/n)?" He began.

"Know what?" Zephyr was beginning to confuse you. You thought you had a decent understanding of him now after living together for the past few weeks but...

Maybe there was still more to him than what meets the eye.

"Meripurlets and aurum trees have a symbiotic relationship." He rubbed your hands.

"Meripurlets have short roots which causes them to have a hard time finding water especially during dry seasons. To battle this, they grow near aurum trees which have long roots and can easily absorb water deep within the soil. A meripurlet will penetrate its roots into an aurum tree's to take its water. As such, meripurlets are categorized as a parasitic plant." Zephyr glanced outside towards an aurum tree.

"However, if you look in books, they will say that the relationship between meripurlets and aurum trees is mutualism. Fascinating, no?" A small smile finally crawled onto his face. You couldn't help but feel relieved when you saw it. At least he looked like he was back to normal. Wish the same would apply to his voice though.

"That is because meripurlets only take a small amount of water from aurum trees. Just enough to sustain itself. In return, they give nitrogen they absorbed from the soil to aurum trees to let them grow taller and stronger. Research also found that each meripurlet plant only ever get water from one aurum tree. It doesn't matter if another one is planted beside it, once it chooses one, it will depend on that aurum tree for the rest of its life. A very...devoted flower, don't you agree?" This was interesting and all but you couldn't wrap your head around why Zephyr was telling you all this. He continued on with his rambling.

"Despite all the good they do for each other, did you notice that the meripurlets and aurum trees in the garden are not planted together, Lady (y/n)?" This time, Zephyr tilted his head.

You recalled back to your walk. Indeed, the flowers and trees were separated from each other. You nodded, unsure where this was going to lead.

Zephyr smiled wider. "Well, another fascinating thing about meripurlets is they don't like to share."

"What?" You blurted out.

"When another parasitic plant comes and lives off the aurum tree they had chosen, the meripurlets will suck all the water from the aurum tree and will stop giving the tree its nitrogen supply. Slowly, the aurum tree will wilt and die just like any other host plants in parasitic relationships." Zephyr explained as he stepped closer, brushing his lips against the back of your fingers.

"As for the meripurlet, the excessive water will cause it to rot from within until it eventually dies." His gaze darkened and you unconsciously swallowed nervously.

"The meripurlet would rather kill the aurum tree it tethered itself to than share it with another plant. It would rather die than choose another aurum tree to depend on." Zephyr looked back down, his bangs tickling your hands.

"To this, botanists like to say..."

He leaned in and whispered into your ear.

"Devotion can kill."

~✟~

Done! Another chapter in the bag. Thank you all for the immense support you've shown for the prologue. I didn't expect it to blow up like that especially since it's the first thing I've ever posted here. Thank you again for the support and for waiting for the next chapter!(I'm a slow writer so please bear with me!(´-﹏-`；))

Same thing applies, if you find any problems, please tell me so I can make corrections in order to give everyone the best reading experience!

Taglist

@ursinaw @ceeesxy-blog @deepinballs @vash-yuu @fairy-lenaa @fleurescentlight @surprisemodafakas @cerisearan (you wrote master list but I'm gonna assume you meant tag list. Sorry if I'm wrong(T_T)) @avyannasstuff

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 10 months ago

Text

So Hear My Voice Remind You Not to Bleed

Pairing: Daryl Dixon and Fem!Reader (pre-relationship)

Setting: Alexandria

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; Injuries; angst

Summary: You're injured and benched, unable to go with Daryl on runs. When someone else is brought in to take your place, it does not go well.

A/N: for @darylsgarden. I had mixed feelings about this and had a couple of wonderful friends ( thank you @shadowcitrine and @enlightndone!🩵) read it and help me out. I hope it's at least close to what you were looking for 🩵

*gif is not mine

“It doesn’t even hurt.”

“Uh huh.” Daryl stopped preparing his bag and stepped across the living room, beckoning you with a wave of his hand. “Then walk over here without limpin’.” You narrowed your eyes and pushed yourself up off the couch, setting your jaw.

You didn’t even make it a single step before falling forward with a choked off shout.

And, of course, he was there to catch you as you crumbled.

“Thought so.” He said with a hint of a smirk, depositing you back onto the couch. “Doc said ya gotta stay off’a it a couple’a weeks an’ that’s whatcha gonna do.” You whined and flopped around like a fish out of water. “Stop.” He chuckled, grabbing his bag. “Got paired up with someone who just got here ‘til ya get better.”

You stilled, brow creasing. “You got a new partner. Who said? Rick?”

Daryl continued to shoulder his bag, then his crossbow. “Deanna.” Why would Deanna step in? “Said she needs to see what the woman can do to help. She’s s’posed to be good with a bow but I dunno.”

Woman? Bow? You already didn’t like this suggestion. “Oh.” It was all you could think of to say. You didn’t want him to go before when you thought he was going out alone. Now that you knew he was going with a strange woman, you really didn’t want him to go. But why? Daryl was your best friend. You didn’t have any say in his comings and goings, and why should you?

A knock on your door startled you out of your thoughts, Daryl watching you with a flat expression.

“Guess that’s her. See ya.” He started toward the door, and you found yourself leaning nearly off the couch to see who was on the other side. When he opened it, your breath caught.

Her long blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, a bow and quiver somehow anchored to her back. She was almost as tall as Daryl, lean and curvy in all the right places. Shit. She was gorgeous.

“Uh, bye.” You muttered. Daryl didn’t even regard you. Maybe he hadn’t heard. Or maybe he was too busy ogling the beautiful woman in front of him. You couldn’t tell from his position. What you could see was the woman giving your run partner an appreciative once over before smiling.

“Hey! You must be Daryl. I’m Angie.” She held out a hand, which the archer ignored with a grunt, pushing his way past her to walk to his bike. He was taking the bike? You sighed. You weren’t supposed to care. Daryl was your friend. Not your—he was your friend.

And you just kept telling yourself that.

Even a week later, when you were able to be up and about but not without difficulty, things felt—different. Daryl was always gone with Angie, like he was at that very moment. Now that you could actually move, you went about slowly cleaning up the house the two of you shared and started making something for dinner. You could leave Daryl’s in the oven for him to eat later.

You had just finished your own when you heard the roar of the bike, saw the headlights illuminate the walls inside the dining room window, sending the shadows scattering. You found yourself excited to see him, to show him you were mobile. Hobbling over to the window, you felt silly for the ridiculous smile splitting your face but you didn’t feel that way for long.

Angie was standing in front of Daryl at the bike, her bow in her hand at her side. He had already unlatched his crossbow from the back of the bike and had it across his back. She was smiling brightly with her perfect teeth and small creases next to her bright blue eyes, looking every bit like a model in the middle of the apocalypse. And Daryl—his lips were turned up on one side, a very Daryl smile that he gave when he was relaxed and in a good mood.

You had known the man since the quarry and it had taken months to earn that smile. Angie was getting it in less than a week?

You should have turned away. Spying on them wasn’t right. Daryl wouldn’t be pleased if he caught you, no matter what he was doing. He never liked feeling as though he was being watched too closely.

You should have turned away but you didn’t.

And then you wished you had.

Angie reached out as she spoke, her words muffled and distorted through the glass. Her long, slender fingers wrapped around his bicep and squeezed, her thumb stroking the skin there. Daryl glanced at her hand but that was it. He didn’t ask her to remove it, didn’t step back to increase the distance between them.

You didn’t want to admit that you were jealous. Even as your mind and heart both screamed only I can touch him that way—for two entirely different reasons—you refused to grant it a name.

You couldn’t take anymore, limped away from the window and climbed the stairs with more than a few whimpers of pain. Daryl would usually help you to your room at night and back down in the mornings. But you didn’t want to see him, felt an anger toward him that was just as confusing as it was unjustified. You felt the same anger toward Angie, a woman you knew nothing about beyond the things Daryl would tell you.

And he didn’t tell you a lot.

You still should have been happy that Daryl both wanted to share something with you and that he had found someone that seemed to make him happy enough to gab about them, limited as it was.

But you weren’t happy.

It hurt. You hurt. Your heart felt constricted, wrapped in a cord that would tighten with each breath, faster and faster with each moment you spent thinking of him just outside, smiling at her.

She didn’t deserve his smile.

She hadn’t been there when Merle was left behind in Atlanta. She hadn’t been there when Sophia went missing and Daryl ran himself ragged trying to find her. She wasn’t the one to care for him after he’d fallen and was shot. She hadn’t been the one whose arms he’d finally chosen to let hold him when Merle died. She hadn’t run to him and felt his relief at being reunited after Terminus. She hadn’t walked along with him and coaxed him to drink just enough water to stay alive on the road. And she damn sure hadn’t stood up and told everyone he needed his own place in Alexandria so he wouldn’t feel more trapped than the gates already made him feel.

That had been you. Always you.

The door opened and closed downstairs, your name being called. You could hear the concern, knew it would be there at not finding you downstairs. You shimmied out of your jeans and climbed into bed—your back to the door—and just listened. Daryl methodically looked around, his voice carrying from different rooms throughout his search. Your room would be last because it would be the last place he’d think of you being. Not without his help.

The oven door opened and closed, too quickly for him to grab the food. He was checking to make sure you had been there. Likely spotted your used dishes as well. You barely heard his boots on the stairs. Daryl, for all his height and muscle, moved like a spirit. Still, you knew his gait, what to listen for that signaled his approach.

You drew up the comforter just as the soft knock came and a quiet call of Y/N? that you decided to not answer. The light from downstairs was pale in your room, starting on the floor and soon bathing your bed and walls. He didn’t say anything, simply closed the door and descended the stairs just as quietly.

And somehow, that’s what made the tears come.

There were two days of tense air in the house before Daryl’s next run. Your ankle had improved but you were still unable to put weight on it. Denise advised you to stay off of it but you had waved her off with a yeah yeah, absolutely zero intention of heeding her advice.

When you arrived at your home, Angie was already leaning against Daryl’s bike like she belonged there. The sight infuriated you. Your attempt to pass her by was quickly foiled by the woman herself, her hand coming up to tap a finger on your shoulder.

“It’s Y/N, right?”

Sighing, you turned, sitting your bad foot up on the toe of your boot to keep the pressure from taking you down. “Yeah.”

“I’ve been dying to meet you. Daryl’s told me a lot about you.”

“Funny. He hasn’t told me much about you.” She didn’t seem fazed. I’m glad he’s so chatty with you. “Nice to meet you.” You said in place of your inner monologue. “Excuse me.” You started to turn when she stood straight.

“Hey, uh—I was just wondering. Are you and him a thing?” She flipped her hair—braided today—over her shoulder.

“A thing?” You knew exactly what she meant, but feigned ignorance. It was not a conversation you wanted to have.

“Yeah, you know—a couple.”

Closing your eyes, you inhaled through your nose and exhaled through your mouth. “No. Why?” You didn’t even realize you had clenched your fists until her eyes flitted down and back up, forcing you to relax lest she tell Daryl you were being hostile toward her.

“No reason. He’s a great guy, isn’t he? Handsome too.” Now she was just trying to push your buttons.

“Yeah. The best, actually.” Don’t cry, don’t cry, do not cry. “Don’t hurt him.” You said flatly—a clear warning—and limped your way up the steps and inside.

“Where ya been?” Daryl’s voice greeted you before the door had even closed. He was on the couch, lacing up his boots. You regarded him silently for a moment, allowing Angie’s words to sink in before setting your jaw and squaring your shoulders.

“I’m going with you today.”

His hands stilled, frozen for a moment before he sat back a little and placed his forearms over his knees. Piercing blue eyes scanned over you before settling on your bum ankle, the urge to place your foot flat on the floor too intense to disregard. “Nah. Y’ain’t ready.”

“You don’t get to make that call.” You snapped, more harshly than you had intended, but it got your point across. His eyes narrowed, his own jaw tightening.

“Maybe not, but I do get to say who goes with me an’ it ain’t you. Not today.” The archer went back to his boots while you gaped at him, lacing the right one up before getting to his feet and grabbing his things.

“Why not? Because suddenly Angie is better than me?”

Daryl scoffed. “Stop.” He went for the door, opening it a couple of inches before your palm landed flat against the surface and shoved it closed. “The hell ya doin’?!”

“I won't stop.” You mocked, drawing your lips back in a snarl. “You’ve been up her ass since you met her. Hardly ever here and when you are, you don’t even talk to me.”

“The fuck you on ‘bout? We go on runs, get the things people need. Ya forget food an’ meds ain’t just down at the convenience store anymore, Y/N?” He pulled the door open again, and again, you pushed it shut. “Let go.” His voice had dropped into that serious tone, the warning before the anger.

“No. I’m going with you. I’ll let you open this door when you agree to that.” You stood straighter, tucking your lip between your teeth to stave off the whimper when you dared place your weight on the healing ankle. Of course, Daryl and his hyper awareness caught it.

“Guess it ain’t openin’ cause y’ain’t goin’.” He tried once more with the same result, this time letting his burdens fall to the floor in order to face you, nearly nose to nose. “Alright, ya got my attention.” He growled. It had been so long since he had spoken to you with such enmity, you couldn’t suppress a jarring flinch.

Swallowing hard, you attempted to control the wobbling of your bottom lip. “Please, take me with you.”

“How many times I gotta say no?! Y’need to take your ass to that couch an’ let your damn ankle heal ‘fore I even think ‘bout lettin’ back out there.”

“Daryl.”

“No, Y/N.”

With a deep breath through your nose, you stepped backward, freeing up the space. “Fine. But maybe you should stay with Carol for a while when you get back.” Giving him your back, you didn’t bother to hide the limp.

“Y’don’t mean that.”

You needed to force yourself to keep walking when you heard the dejection in his tone. “I do.” You didn’t. “I don’t need you here.” You did.

“Y/N—”

“Angie’s waiting.” You detoured at the last second and veered into the kitchen, seeing him from the corner of your eye, his hand lowering as if he had been reaching for you. Your heart was beating in your ankle by the time you were leaning heavily against the countertop.

When the door closed, the floodgates opened.

Two days. Daryl and Angie had been gone for two days. It wasn’t anything new to be held up on a run, but there were always close calls involved and you couldn’t imagine Daryl battling his way through herds or humans without you at his side. The two of you predicted one another’s movements, flowing and fighting together like a well oiled machine, always ending up victorious and on your way home.

Did he have that with her now?

“You know it’s not like that with the two of them, right?” Carol looked up from beneath her lashes as she chopped up the herbs and available vegetables for the stew. You knew it was more of an admonishing statement and not entirely a question.

“I don’t know that and neither do you.” You replied bitterly before tipping your glass to your lips. Carol smiled, that suspicious grin like she knew something you didn’t.

“I know Daryl.” She picked up the cutting board and used the knife to scrape the occupying ingredients into the pot. “Why does it bother you so much anyway?”

“He’s my best friend.” The answer came out a little too quickly.

The other woman chuckled. “Is that all?”

“Yes.” You countered almost gibingly. She only spared you an arched brow before turning to place the pot on the stove. You decided to ignore the intensely foreign fluttering in your chest and began spinning the glass between your palms. “Do you think they’re okay?”

“I—”

The knock at the door was sudden and urgent, repeating after only a few heartbeats. Your questioning expression met Carol’s. Spinning on the island stool, you eyed the door until it was opened. Carol’s hand on the edge tightened until her knuckles were white, but you could only make out quiet words and someone’s heavy breaths. Hobbling from your perch, you grabbed the door and pulled it back further.

Angie was a mess, covered in dirt and blood and walker innards. “Y/N.” She panted.

Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. “Where’s Daryl?” You didn’t remember ducking beneath Carol’s arm or pushing past Angie. The pain in your ankle became a mere afterthought as you walked backwards toward the steps, awaiting information.

“He’s in the infirmary. He’s asking for you.”

You didn’t wait, running with only the slightest hitch in your step. Daryl was more important than any amount of discomfort. Your mind was running rampant with scenarios. What if he was bit? Dying? What if he died before you made it to him? The last thing you had said to him was that you didn’t need him.

And it was such a lie.

“Y/N, wait!”

You tried to ignore her, the infirmary within sight. You needed to get to him so that you could breathe again.

When her hand caught your shoulder, you reacted almost violently, throwing her away from you and almost to the dirt. “What?!” You bellowed. “What could possibly be more important than Daryl right now?!”

“Lana is!” She answered quickly. “My Lana!” Breathing heavily, you shook your head and threw out your arms, a silent but gestured question. “My wife.”

You felt like the wind had been punched right out of you. “Your—your wife?” Damn you, Carol!

“Yeah. I think there’s been a huge misunderstanding.”

“You’re telling me.” You muttered, looking toward the infirmary with an expression of remorseful longing.

“I asked those questions because—because that man is so obviously head over heels for you that it’s absurd he hasn’t made a move. I thought maybe—maybe I could push things along.” She rubbed at the back of her neck, her eyes brightening at something she saw just over your other shoulder. When you turned, a dark haired woman was making her way over, a toddler on her hip. “I just—he’s not much of a talker—until I mention you.” Another glance at the other woman. “I’m sorry.”

When she started to leave, you reached out a hand, the new information still pinballing around in your head. “I’m sorry.” You had treated her—thought of her—so unfairly, and still, she smiled at you.

“Go on. He’s waiting for you.” And then she was walking away to kiss her wife before converting to a motherly gentleness, her lips pressed to her son’s forehead.

God, you were an asshole.

To her.

To Daryl.

Your ankle only received a moment to remind you it was still weak before you continued your journey to the infirmary.

“M’fine! Quit proddin’ at me!”

The sound of his voice gave your heart permission to beat again. You stood at the door, listening to him argue with Denise until the woman finally gave up with a huff and a clang of metal. Opening the screen door, you limped inside with a hiss, the adrenaline draining out of you, no longer blanketing the pain. You would definitely be set back a week or so after this.

Daryl was on the exam table, filthy and cut up, shirt open and left foot propped up on a pillow. You could have laughed at the irony if you weren’t so relieved at seeing him there and breathing and whole. Alive.

His ranting came to an abrupt halt when he noticed you in the doorway, eyes softening. His entire body seemed to visibly relax with an audible exhale.

“Y/N.”

You didn’t even try to control your quivering lip this time and rushed to cross the distance even with Denise scolding you in the background.

Your arms wound around his neck and his around your back. “Daryl. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it—I didn’t—”

“S’fine. Know ya didn’t.” He whispered against your temple. Denise cleared her throat behind you and the weight of one of Daryl’s hands disappeared before returning with renewed pressure. The sound of the door opening and closing signaled that he had—in one way or another—told Denise to get lost. Neither of you spoke until you pressed your face into the side of his neck and began to sob. “Hey, m’okay. Just fell on my ass.”

“How?” You sniffled.

“Window was in my way.”

You laughed wetly, his shoulders bouncing with a breathy chuckle of his own.

“Idiot.” You chided, pulling away to wipe at your eyes. He watched you gather your bearings, blue eyes dancing between yours. “Are you really okay?”

“Yeah.” His hand was so gentle against your face, thumb sweeping over your cheek to wipe away the tears. “Need to talk to ya ‘bout Angie.”

You shook your head but placed your hand upon his so that he didn’t dare move it. “She beat you to it. I’m so sorry. I was being a jealous asshole.” He tilted his head and squinted.

“Jealous cause I was spendin’ so much time ‘round her?” It was like he knew the answer that you hadn’t quite accepted as truth yourself.

“Among other things.” You rubbed your lips together and ducked your head. Daryl hummed in question, his hand sliding down to your jaw, thumb absently stroking across your bottom lip. Your voice instantly decided to become lost in your throat, your mouth opening when his hand fell away. “Daryl, I—” You almost bolted, felt the insane urge to run begin to vibrate throughout your legs from a nervous twitch that started in your stomach and spread throughout your chest.

“That man is so obviously head over heels for you—”

Your lips were on his before your brain had even fully given the order for you to move, likely startling you just as much as it had him—if the sharp inhale through his nose was anything to go by. So, you stayed there, frozen with your mouth against his, neither of you moving until it was so awkward that you thought more than once of how great it would be for the earth to open up and swallow you. Humiliation coloring your cheeks, you began to pull away—and then his mouth moved over yours, his warm palm coming to rest on the side of your neck. Brilliant as you were, you pulled back in shock, wide eyes blinking at him. Cerulean pools were shimmering with horror and shame.

“That bad, huh?” He asked, dropping his hand and picking at a patch of dry skin on his palm. His eyes lowered to follow the movement.

“No!” You blurted. Daryl actually flinched and reeled back. “No, no. It wasn’t—there’s no way it could be—ah, fuck it.” Your hands cupped either side of his face, pulling him to meet you in the middle. There was no hesitance on either side, mouths moving, tongues dancing, a delicate exploration of new territory, both literally and figuratively. His hands settled on your ribs, fingers flexing, trying to pull you closer when there was already so little space between you.

When you parted, it wasn’t from a lack of oxygen, but from Daryl attempting to alter the angle, forgetting that you were no longer alone in the land of bum ankles.

“Ow, ow, ow!”

You pulled away and jumped back, hands in the air to ensure he knew that you were no longer touching him—as if he weren’t already missing it. “What? What happened?”

“Ankle.” He hissed, gingerly placing his foot back on the pillow. Once the pain had ebbed, he chuckled and beckoned you back over with a wave. “Looks like we’ll both be trapped at home, sunshine.”

“There are worse things.” You brushed a strand of hair away from his face. “We have to talk about this.” You knew you sounded scared, and you were. Everything had just changed in the blink of an eye, the man you knew as your best friend had just suddenly become more, and it was terrifyingly exciting.

“Yeah, I know. Couch ain’t big enough for both’a our lame asses.”

You giggled and shook your head. “Guess it’s off to Carol’s extra bedroom.” When he arched a dark brow, you etched the most serious expression you could summon onto your face. “Strictly for logical reasoning, Mr. Dixon. We can’t climb stairs. She has one bedroom on the first floor. Lecher.”

“First time I been called that.” He gave you that smile, the one that was so special, and seeing it then, you realized that he hadn’t given Angie that smile at all. It was yours and yours alone.

And you’d need to thank the gorgeous woman with the bow.

#murda writes #daryl dixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon twd #Spotify

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amillionideas · 17 days ago

Text

Bill and Charlie

I think it’s so intriguing when you pull back the curtain on Bill and Charlie. On the surface, they’re framed as the “cool,” successful older brothers: Bill with his suave curse-breaking career and ponytail, and Charlie with his rugged dragon-wrangling life in Romania. But beneath that image? There’s definitely a deeper, more complex story. Why did they both leave home so quickly, and why did neither seem eager to come back and carry the burden of their large, struggling family?

The Pressure of Being the Oldest

As the eldest, Bill and Charlie would’ve grown up carrying a huge weight of responsibility. The Weasleys are a working-class family with seven children and not a lot of mone: Arthur’s humble Ministry salary barely stretches far enough. Bill, as the firstborn, would have felt the pressure to succeed in a very tangible way: to set the tone for his siblings, to be the “responsible one,” to help his parents. And yet he leaves for Egypt as soon as he finishes school, rather than staying to support them. That feels… telling.

Charlie, similarly, runs off to chase an inherently dangerous, not particularly glamorous job working with dragons. For both of them, there’s a kind of escape embedded in their career choices. It’s not that they don’t love their family, it’s that they needed to get away from the emotional intensity and the demands of being a Weasley. Maybe it was suffocating to be the “golden children” in a family already bursting at the seams.

Why Did They Leave?

• The Weight of Expectations

Imagine growing up in a home where money is always tight, where your parents are constantly stressed, and where the unspoken expectation is that you’ll do your part to ease that burden. Bill and Charlie are both exceptionally talented (Bill was Head Boy, Charlie was a Quidditch star) yet instead of staying close and contributing directly to the household, they leave. That suggests they may have felt smothered by the expectation to put the family first.

There’s a quiet rebellion in that choice: to prioritize their own lives over family duty. Maybe Bill didn’t want to be the surrogate third parent. Maybe Charlie couldn’t handle the pressure of being the role model. Their absence says, I can’t stay and be what you need me to be.

• The Weasley Family Intensity

The Weasleys are warm and loving, but they’re also loud, opinionated, and emotionally overwhelming. Molly’s love can be suffocating, and Arthur’s laid-back, idealistic nature leaves a lot of practical worries on the shoulders of the older kids. Bill and Charlie, by virtue of their independence, may have craved a quieter, freer existence. Their careers, isolated, adventurous, and away from home, could reflect a desire for space from that constant emotional pressure.

• Survivor’s Guilt (in a Family Sense)?

It’s possible that both Bill and Charlie carry a kind of guilt for leaving their younger siblings behind. They got out, they pursued their passions, but they also know that means the weight of “holding things together” fell to Percy. Bill, especially, seems aware of this when he reenters the family dynamic during Half-Blood Prince. His relationship with Percy is probably one of recognition, he knows what it’s like to be the one expected to succeed, and maybe he understands why Percy snapped.

• Molly’s Intensity as a Mother

Molly Weasley is a wonderful mother, but she’s also a smothering one. She worries, she controls, and she has a vision of what her children’s lives should look like. Bill and Charlie’s choices defy her ideals (Bill’s long hair and earring are a quiet act of rebellion against the tidy image she wants for him). Charlie’s outright rejection of a more stable Ministry job feels like a rejection of her overprotectiveness. Maybe they left because staying meant losing their sense of self under the weight of her love.

The Emotional Cost of Leaving

For all their independence, there’s a cost to that distance. Bill and Charlie are noticeably absent from key family struggles, especially Percy’s estrangement. Why didn’t they intervene? Why didn’t they pull him back from the edge when they, of all people, would understand what it’s like to clash with their parents?

And in general, I feel like any reader can notice Charlie’s absence in the aftermath of a lot of dramatic moments. He’s there sometims, yes, but he isn’t a central emotional anchor. It makes you wonder, does he feel guilty for not being around more? Does Bill, with his new responsibilities as a husband to Fleur and his work at Gringotts, feel the weight of leaving too much unsaid?

The Relationship with Percy – A Missed Opportunity

I love to think about how much richer Percy’s arc becomes when you view it through the lens of Bill and Charlie’s departure. All three brothers share a similar drive, ambition, independence, a desire to carve their own path, but while Bill and Charlie did so in socially acceptable ways (curse-breaking and dragons are cool), Percy’s Ministry career was treated with ridicule. What does that say to a kid who already feels like an outsider? What message does it send when the brothers who “did it right” are celebrated, but he is mocked for his choices?

I can imagine a version of this story where Percy’s break from the family isn’t just about the Ministry, it’s about being angry at Bill and Charlie for leaving him behind to carry the weight. Maybe there’s resentment there: You got to leave, and no one called you selfish. Why am I the bad guy for wanting something better?

Why This Complexity Matters

Again (more on my post about the Weasleys), the Weasley family feels so real because they aren’t perfect. Their love is fierce but complicated. Bill and Charlie are adored, but their absence leaves scars, on Percy, on Ron, and even on Fred and George, who are forced to grow up in the shadow of their cool older brothers without the same freedom to escape.

By exploring their reasons for leaving, the emotional weight of their distance, and the gaps they leave behind, you transform them from "cool big brothers" into something deeper: men who love their family, but who also had to choose themselves to survive.

And the best part? This adds so much more emotional punch to the moments when they do come back. Bill helping to protect the Burrow and standing by Fleur against his mother’s disapproval. Charlie arriving for the Battle of Hogwarts. Their return is meaningful because of the distance, because it shows that love, even when it’s messy, always finds a way home

#harry potter #fic prompt #hp headcanon #the weasleys #bill weasley #charlie weasley #percy weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #ron weasley #ginny weasley #molly weasley #arthur weasley

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0phantom0 · 11 months ago

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Swimming (Matt Sturniolo)

description: y/n and the triplets go swimming for content. But matt and y/n's sweet intractions definitely do not go unseen.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sexual things.

I have had a crush on Matt for the longest time. Everybody always tells me that he likes me back, but I never belive it.

Today, Matt, Chris, Nick and I have rented out a swimming centre, so we can film content in there. I was so exited, I had done swimming in the past and it was always a huge part of my life, something that I could do where I don't overthink or get stressed or anxious. "Y/n?" Matt says, breaking me out of my thoughts. "You alright?" I nodded, continuing to gaze out of the window humming quietly to 'TV by Billie Eilish.'

I suddenly felt a warm feeling on my inner thigh, I peered down at my lap and saw that it was Matt's hand. Slowly rubbing circles with his thumb. I felt a hot flush of heat run to my face as I turned away, biting my lip.

Around 5 minutes later, Matt removed his hand from my thigh to park in a space outside the swimming pool. I was sad at the loss of contact, but I knew matt had to use both hands so he didn't rear end the car beside him. As soon as he had parked we got out, Chris came up behind me and ruffled my hair "hey!" I said looking back at him annoyed. " I was having a good ponytail day!" All he replies with is "whoopsies" as he runs away like a child. Matt came up behind me and wrapped his arm over my shoulders pulling my back into his chest as he walked behind me. He carefully moved my misplaced strands of hair back to their original places. Little did we know Nick was recording us behind long enough to catch the whole thing. "Definitely keeping this in, it will be good for the edits." Whispers Nick to Chris. Chris just chuckles and agrees.

I start to get giddy as we walk inside because I smell the familiar scent of chlorine. I ran into the changing rooms, Chris running behind me as Matt and Nick slowly walked behind us. As me and Chris were fighting over who should get the family sized stall, Nick started to talk to Matt.

"So when are you two gonna get together?" Asked Nick. "What are you talking about?" Says Matt his gazed still fixed on me as I tried to push myself into the stall that Chris wouldn't let me have. "C'mon you know exactly what I'm taking about. Don't think we don't see the way you too look at each other. AND don't think we didn't see you putting your hand on her thigh or when you did all that weird shit in the car park coming in."

"Okay okay geez, I would love to talk to her about a relationship but I'm not sure she likes me back." Nick looks at him with an expression mixed of disgust, shame and shock. "Are you fucking stupid?" Matt laughs and walks away to get changed. All he could think about was y/n. Her beautiful voice, her soft hair, her flawless skin, her eyes, her curves, her lips. Oh god he loves her lips, they are so plump and naturally pink that he just wondered what they taste like.

Matt was quickly shook out of his dirty thoughts when y/n called his name "Matt! Hurry up we're all waiting for you!" Matt quickly shoves his clothes in his bag as he stepped out. He was wearing blue trunks. He scanned the floor and looked up when his eyes met y/n's but not for long as he traveled his gaze down to her bikini. A white fabric with little cherries on it. It looked so good on her. "You okay?" Y/n said giggling. He snapped up out of his trance. "Yeah I'm good." He said as he walked past her, grabbing her hand as he did.

30mins into filming we ended up doing races.

I always remember being really good at breaststroke. It was an easy swim for me as I didn't have to suffocate myself for that long. "Hey Matt!" I yelled " I bet you can't beat me in a breaststroke race!" ( A/N: help why does that sound so weird.)

"I bet I could." Matt says as he runs up to me grabbing my waist and jumping into the water. Nick laughs as he points the camera to us and zooms in. When I pop up from under the water, we both get ready to start the race. "GO!" screams Chris. I take off, my hands and legs moving rapidly, I got a pretty good headstart so I was ahead of Matt but still in arms reach. We were close to the end of the pool when I felt Matt's hand wrap around my ankle as he pulled me back into his chest. Kissing my head subconsciously and whispering in my ear "slow down sweetheart." Oh. My. Word. My somache filled with butterflies as I smiled shamlessly. "Or what?" I whisper back. In that moment I could feel him getting hard against my ass. He pulled away and continued swimming the rest of the pool as I stood there in shock.

Later when we were home, I was lying in my bed, hair washed and feeling squeaky clean, I was scrolling through my Instagram feed when I heard a knock at my door. "Come in." Slowly, my door opens to reveal Matt. I put my phone down and stand up, slightly flusterd as I remember our last interaction. I patted the spot next to me inviting him over. He slowly walked and sat down on my bed, I felt the space sink down and I struggled to stay balanced. "Hey." He said

"Hey." I repeated. He looks me dead in the eye his gaze burning imaginary holes into my soul. I opened my mouth to talk but he got there before me. "You know, I never did answer the question earlier." He said. I nodded, waiting for him to continue...

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A/N: Hey guys! This was my first imagine and I just wanted to leave it on a cliffhanger for you guys. English is not my first language so if i spelt anything wrong or something just doesn't make sense, please let me know thanks xx ALSO DOES ANYONE KNOW HOW TO SAVE DRAFTS ON HERE?

ALSO HOW DO YOU TAG PEOPLE?

#matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo smut #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo triplets

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writingroom21 · 11 months ago

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The Nanny

Pairing: rafe x nanny reader

Summary: Being Wheezie's nanny was great. The only downside is dealing with the oldest Cameron, Rafe. What happens when his fascination with the nanny becomes a reality?

Warnings: 18+, p in v, unprotected sex (Practice safe sex), cream pie, mention of drugs, nipple play (If missing any please let me know)

Wc:4.6K

Chapter 4: Backseat Driving

The rest of the night was spent just chatting to the other, filling each other in on stupid things that happened in your life. You had forced him to help you clean up the kitchen after a while of laying on the couch, cheeks turning beet red once you saw the mess that was left. “Such a messy girl.” he taunts, sucking his teeth with the statement. This only made your cheeks flush redder, but he left the teasing at that. You teased him back for not knowing how to clean, embarrassment leaving you as he huffs out retorts.

Getting to know one another wasn’t as bad as it seemed before, conversation flowing as if you have known each other your whole lives. Well you did, both running into the other at parties or around the island, but this wasn’t simple courtesy. You actually wanted to get to know him, the thought frightening because only yesterday you were upset with him and he was ignoring you. But he keeps reeling you in with every question, “what's your favorite color?”, “Favorite song?”, “Favorite season?”, and so on. Each question met with your replies, “Yellow”, “Edge of Seventeen”, “Fall”, asking the same question till he told you his answers.

“Blue”, “Don’t have one”, “Summer because I get to watch you flaunt in those tiny skirts and bathing suits.” He’s half joking about the last one, his favorite season is definitely summer, getting to look at your little outfits are just a plus. That’s how the night ends, questions being shot at the other, until you both fall asleep.

In the morning you wake up facing the wall, the walls of Rafe’s room alerting you to the fact you are in the same bed that started it all. You just lay there for a moment, thoughts swirling in your brain, only snapping out of it due to the feeling of an arm on your waist. Glancing down you see the Cameron family ring on his pointer finger, you graze it lightly, pulling your hand back when his twitches.

Rafe is half asleep when he feels your fingers on him, enjoying the moment of you thinking he is still asleep. Watching you squirm, he tightens his hold on you, the hand you were playing with lightly making its way up before flattening on your chest. Your back is to his chest, sift breathing making the hairs on your neck tickle you. “Five more minutes.” He mumbles, lips pressing to your hair line. You chuckle, turning to face him.

“We should get up. What if it’s past twelve and we are just here sleeping the day away.” You reason, mostly wanting to escape the feeling in your chest. Rafe looks so pretty, his eyes closed making his eyelashes fan his face, pouty lips slightly plump from sleeping. He peaks an eye open, smirking at you before pecking your lips. “Maybe you're right. Wouldn’t hurt to brush that morning breath away.”

You push his shoulder embarrassed he called you out, a recurring theme it seems. “Asshole.” The words muffled with your hand covering your mouth. “Kidding, just wanted to tease you.” He brushes the hair that fell from your ponytail out of your eyes. “Come on, let's get in the shower. Got a long day ahead of us.” You miss the feeling of his body close to you as he pulls away to get up, the loss of body heat making you feel cold.

“What do you mean?” You ask resting on your elbow, watching as he walks around the room, opening drawers to take clothes out. “I gotta go see Barry, you know the guy over the other day. Just have to talk about some business but I wanted you to come with me. Maybe we could go do something after.” He’s saying it like it’s so easy, like wanting to be around you was natural for him.

“You want to hangout with me?” Your voice is low, maybe it was the shock of him suggesting a hangout without sex or it was because you're nervous. What if being with each other besides sex is awful? You could probably hate who he is as a person or worse he can realize you’re boring just to run off with the next girl. “What to good to hangout with me when I’m not fucking you?” He’s looking at you now, eyes shining as he teases you.

“Well If the shoe fits.” You can hear him scoff, your eyes trained at the bedsheets you pick at, hiding your smile from him. “Stop being a brat and get in the shower.” “alright, alright I’m going.”

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The gravel crackles under the truck tires as Rafe pulls down the driveway to get to Barry’s house. It’s a little rundown house, a trailer sitting off to the back by the firepit. His house isn’t too far from your childhood home, yet it feels like it’s in a different part of the island. You’ve heard stories about Barry, none of them good, the house seems to reflect its owner. Another hurricane and you swear it will blow away never to be seen again.

“You okay?” Rafe’s voice draws you out of your thoughts. “Yeah of course I am.” You look out the window as the truck comes to a stop. Truth be told you aren’t okay. Drugs have never been a good thing in your books, you’ve seen how it’s destroyed the lives of family members. How it slowly tears away at Rafe, destroying the relationships around him. You don’t like it but you don’t like the thought of him alone here. From what you’ve witnessed Rafe doesn’t know when to quit, taking one bump of coke after the other, wasting the day away so high that he can’t recognize the people around him. It’s always scared you, not wanting him to end like the horror stories told, but what else is there to do?

Rafe get’s out, going over to your side to let you out, wrapping his arm on your shoulder once you're out. “Country club!” The voice inside the house calls out, screen door opening displaying the man it belongs to. “Ooooo, you brought me a little treat. You really shouldn’t have.” Rafe’s arm tightens around you, shielding your body from Barry’s wandering eyes. In hindsight, wearing the yellow summer dress that comes down to midthigh was not the best decision. You feel exposed.

“Watch it.” Rafe bits out. “She’s off limits, understand?” Barry just scoffs walking back into the house. “White boy comes into my home and tells me what to do. Get your ass inside before I change my mind.” You are left outside, blue eyes blocking your view as Rafe gets in front of you. “You don’t have to go in. You can stay in the car if you aren’t comfortable, I won’t take it personally.” It’s sweet that he cares, maybe it’s because you are sleeping together, but it’s still sweet.

You grab his hand, intertwining your fingers and walking to the door. “It’s okay. I want to be here.” He can’t help but smile, yanking you for a kiss. “What was that for?” Your smile is so bright, the sun illuminating the freckles in your eyes. “Nothing.” He shakes his head, pulling the two of you to get inside. If the outside was run down, the inside is just as bad. There’s a mess everywhere you look, bags of various drug liter the table in the living room, bongs on almost every surface in the room

“Want some?” The silence made you aware of the eyes on you. “Me?” you question pointing to yourself. “Yeah you. It’s a good thing she’s pretty.” Barry chuckles, plopping himself on the couch, hoping to get a glance of what’s under that dress. “My eyes are up here asshole.” You shift, pulling the skirt down to cover up, only to expose more cleavage. Sitting on the opposite couch with Rafe, you glare at the man across from you. “And she’s feisty. I like her. Do you want anything?”

“No. I’ve never done drugs and I sure as hell am not doing them with you.” You retort, their eyes staring at you like you have two heads. Fuck! Anxiety fills you, thinking you fucked up by offending him. “You’ve never done drugs?” Rafe asks, eyes scanning your face waiting for it to show your joking. “Nope. Never done them.” You shrug. It’s not like the opportunity hasn’t occurred. Mostly every party in Obx has some sort of drug, in highschool your boyfriend even smoked weed, it just never was your thing. But mainly you never felt comfortable enough with a person to let you inhibition lower, too scared of what you will say or do.

“Well I’ll be damned. Got yourself a good girl huh, country club?” Rafe tenses up besides you, ready to push himself up off this couch and bash his face in. The nickname he gave you now leaving a bad taste in his mouth, hating the fact that someone else called you it. You hand finds his thigh, halting his actions, he takes a deep breath. “Can we get this over with? Got shit to do.” Rafe tried real hard to keep his tone cool, the words still coming out bitter. “Yeah I bet you do.” Barry’s looking at you again, practically undressing you with his eyes. Rafe’s eyes narrow, his fist balling up so close to teaching Barry not even address your existence.

“Alright, alright let’s go. Why don’t you just wait here? Wouldn’t want to taint you.” He gets up, walking off to the back of the house, a door closing separating you and Rafe from him. “Why don’t you go to the truck? I can meet you there once I'm done.” Rafes already up before finishing his sentence about to walk off, you stopping him so he can’t get too far. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay?” “Promise.”

With that you leave, standing outside to enjoy the weather, it was perfect. A gnawing feeling is somewhere deep down, worried of what could be happening in there. Was he getting high? No, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t put you in that danger. He was driving for god sakes, he wouldn't, right? The voices in your head are going a thousand miles per hour, throwing scenario after scenario.

You don’t know how long you were out there, it wasn’t a long time but your mind made it feel like hours. “You alright?” Rafe’s voice is right behind you, startling you in the process. “Oh god don’t do that.” You shriek, your right hand swatting him as your left clutches your chest. “Did you get everything?” He opens the door for you, the action making you blush, he smirks when he notices.

“Yeah, just some coke and weed to sell tomorrow night.” He gets in throwing the bags of drugs in the glove compartment. You can smell his cologne, it’s the one you got him for his birthday. “I like your cologne.” The words escape before you can stop them, shutting your eyes waiting for the teasing that's about to happen. “Thanks. Some pretty girl gave it to me, good to know it works.” He’s starting the truck and out the driveway as you think of what he just said.

There’s him calling you pretty again so effortlessly like he didn’t even need to think. “Works?” You question. “Been wearing it since I got it. Glad you finally noticed.” His eyes darted to you before going back to the road. You don’t know what to say, he’s been wearing it for months. When you first gave it to him you were nervous, you never had to give a present to someone who practically has everything.

It was one of the only things you could afford at the time, knowing he wears it seems weird to you. Why would he wear it just so you could notice? He has to be teasing you, yeah that’s it. There’s no way that everyday for almost a year he’s worn it. His birthday is in September and it's already June. He couldn’t have possibly worn it this whole time.

Rafe turns on the radio before your thoughts make you crazy, the song silencing them. The older song fills the car, filling the gaps in conversation. You roll the window down, sticking your arm out the window to feel the wind as you pass the trees lining the road. Whatever is happening between you is confusing. There are moments when you feel like there is something more, that there's this thin layer separating you from falling. Every stolen kiss, touch, words, chipping away from the layer ready to pull you under. Rafe keeps glancing at you, wanting to say something but nothing comes to mind

“Try to stop my hands from shakin’. ‘Cause somethin’ in my mind’s not making sense.”

Rafe listens to the song, lyrics infiltrating his mind.

“It’s been awhile since we were all alone. I can’t hide the way I’m feelin’. As you’re leaving, please, would you close the door? And don’t forget what I told ya.”

He’s staring now, barely looking at the road, just enough to make sure he doesn’t crash the truck. You are humming along to the song, lost in your own thoughts, trying to enjoy this moment worried it would be ripped away. He can’t stop himself from placing his hand on your thigh, right below the hem of the sundress. His fingers digging into your skin to give you a little squeeze, getting you to look at him.

“Just ‘cause you’re right, that doesn't mean I’m wrong. Another shoulder to cry upon.”

Rafe can’t take it anymore, the sun lighting your hair is giving you a halo. It makes you look like an angel. You were an angel, his angel. He’s not in control anymore, his emotions are running high and he doesn’t know how to handle it. This whole thing is new to him. Rafe has never had someone in his life to feel this strongly about. His grip on the steering wheel tightens as he goes to pull over to the side of the road. “Rafe, what are you doing?” A laugh follows your question. “You just look so fucking beautiful right now. I need to kiss you.”

“I just wanna use your love tonight, yeah. I don’t wanna lose your love tonight. Yeah, I just wanna use your love tonight.”

Putting the car in park, his seatbelt flies off of him as he leans over the center console. The radio fading into the background. His left hand grabs your face to pull you into a kiss, his right hand unbuckling you from your seat. You didn’t even need to think about it, you kissed him back deeper, throwing your arms around his neck. The two of you sit there for a few minutes, just kissing each other breaking apart only to get a quick breath of air before diving back in. Neither of you really want to stop, too caught up in the feeling of each other. Ever since you both opened up to each other, even just a smidge, it brought you closer together. Tying a piece of you to the other. Pulling away you open your eyes to notice he still had his closed and a goofy lopsided smile. It was small but you still saw it. “Let’s get in the backseat.”

“Oh yeah? What’re you going to do?” Rafe questions, his right eyebrow raising. “Hurry up before I change my mind.” You challenge. “Yes ma’am.” He retorts, a quick kiss being shared before you climb into the backseat. Rafe gets out of the car, opening the backdoor to join you. “Really out in the open? Should have known you liked having people watch you considering you like watching.” As he tries to get settled in the back, the memory of what started this floods you. Not trying to overthink it, you throw your leg over his lap, your hands resting on the backseats. “Maybe I just don’t mind it when it’s you I’m doing with.” You shrug it off by kissing him.

It took his brain a minute to catch up before he deepened the kiss, focusing on the little confession for a second too long. Rafe’s hands are rubbing up your thigh, pinching the skin just to smooth it over once again. His right hand creeps higher up your thigh as you grind down on him, going underneath the dress and stopping. Rafe breaks the kiss pulling his head back, his fingers twitching. “Are you not wearing any underwear?” You blush at being called out, but you're too turned on to even feel embarrassed so you grind down harder.

“Thought they would just get in the way.” You go to lean in again but his other hand stops you. “You’re telling me that you were sitting at Barry’s with no panties on? God what did I do to deserve such a dirty girl.” This time it’s him going in for a kiss, cupping your neck and hip as your hips pick up their movement. You can feel him through his jeans, his hard dick rubbing against your clit perfectly, but you felt empty. You wanted to feel him stretch you to your limits again, addicted to the pain of having him open you up.

Your hands skim down his chest, landing on his toned stomach as you tease the button of his jeans. “How much do you want me?” You ask, your lips leaving a trail of kisses from his mouth to his neck, sucking on it till you leave a little bruise and lick it. “So fucking much Sunny. You have no idea.” He moans out, the hand under your dress finds your clit, rubbing small tight circles. It’s not long before you are ripping his jeans off him, he lifts his hips allowing you to pull them down, the boxers he wears go along with them.

“Why don’t you be a good girl and ride me. Huh baby? Show me who makes you feel good.” Oh god, if he kept talking like that you could probably cum just from his voice. The raspy low voice was like music to your ears, you could listen to it for hours on end. Your soft hand wraps around him, giving a little tug, lifting you up and lining him up to your entrance. Rafe closes his eyes ready to feel your tight walls squeeze him to an inch of death but nothing happens.

He peeps an eye to look at you and you're just there looking down at him with a light smile. “Come o-oh fuck.” His sentence interrupted by you sinking down on him, you moan at the stretch. When you bottom out he grips your hips keeping you in place, giving you time to adjust to his size. Considering he did prep you with his fingers, he doesn’t want to hurt you. Your soft whimpers fill the car as you move slightly, the motion causing him to brush against your g-spot and you clit against the patch of his hair.

“You feel so good baby. So fucking big.” You whine into his ear, burying your head in his neck, the feeling of him too much. The words rush straight to his dick making it twitch, his hips rutting,arms going around your body to hold you. You moan at the feeling, your hips start to move on their own accord, grinding until you gain the confidence to raise your hips.

You lean back making eye contact as you raise your hips before slamming them back down on him. His eyes roll to the back of his head, his mouth dropping into an “O” shape. You keep bouncing, your nails scratching his chest to ground you to something. In this position he feels deeper, it’s a little bit painful but it felt like heaven. Rafe’s hands dig into your hips helping to lift you up and bring you down.

The two of you stay like that, you bouncing on him, his dick rubbing your g-spot in the greatest way. One of the hands on your hips slowly travels to your clit adding to the stimulation you were already feeling. “Oh fuck baby. So perfect, my perfect little girl.” You just moan at him, leaning back between the front seats. Your hands find the middle counsel to keep you upright, giving you extra leverage to keep bouncing.

His other hand glides up your stomach, giving your left tit a squeeze before pinching your nipple. “That feel good?” He comments after hearing your moan increase in pitch. “Yes.” you breath out, you're so close to cumming, tingles spreading from you abdomen throughout your body. Rafe leans closer to you, his mouth wrapping around the nipple he isn’t playing with. The suction of his mouth felt amazing, his teeth grazing your pebbled nipple. The fluttering of your walls alert Rafe that you are about to cum.

“Cum for me Sunny.” Just like that you were cumming, your hand grasping his shoulder due to the intensity. Your nails leave red marks all over his shoulder and collar as you claw at him, getting over stimulated as he keeps you bouncing. He wraps an arm around you to stabilize you out, the orgasim taking the energy out of you. Your limb in his arms, barely noticing him moving you both back so he’s resting on the seat and you're on his chest.

“It’s okay baby, I got you.” Rafe whispers in your ear. He’s thrusting up into you now, chasing his own pleasure. “Harder.” You moan out wanting him to ruin you. He picks up his pace, pulling you down as he thrusts up, filling you up deliciously. You can feel him throbbing, his hips starting to lose their rhythm. You lift your arm resting it on the seat behind his head, your hand scratching the back of his head.

His hand finds you clit again, wanting to feel you cum around his dick one more time. “You got one more in you right? I know you can give me one more.” You nod, your senses coming back to you, your hips meeting his to give him what he wants. It wasn’t long before you were cumming again, shaking in his arms feeling his cum fill you up as your orgasim triggers his. You just rock back and forth trying to get the feeling to last longer. After a few rocks, Rafe stopped you, hissing at the stimulation.

Pulling you off of him, he places you in the seat next to him to get some extra napkins to clean you up. “Why don’t we go get some food and then go home.” He suggested throwing the napkins on the floor of the truck. Home. Hearing him call Tannyhill home as if you belong there, not just as a nanny, but actually belong there makes you happy. It’s probably foolish to get happy or excited knowing this will fade soon. But you can’t help but want that.

You want Tanny to be your home, the thought scares you but it’s the truth. Being there has made you the happiest you’ve been in a really long time. “Yeah. Think we can get burgers? Been craving them for the last week.” He fixes your dress pulling you both out the car and into the front. “We can get whatever you want.”

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“Hey you go in and get our order. I need to run to the store real quick.” Rafe is parked outside the restaurant. You had placed the order on the way over but there was still at least ten minutes before it would be ready. “Yeah I can. Grab me some chocolate.” You tell him as you get out. Walking into the restaurant you can tell how busy they are, the tables are full and there's a line of people waiting for a table. “How can I help you?” The hostess asked. “I have an order.” You tell her your name, waiting to the side as she said it would still be a while.

You pull out your phone and answer some texts from your friends. You notice the message chain with your mom. You wanted to reach out to them, say you are sorry and give them the money, but rafe words creep into your brain. You are finally living your life the way that you want to live it, not how they want you to live. Finally breaking the tension with Rafe seemed to be a blessing in disguise.

The hostess calling your name snaps you out of the thought of your parents. You grab the order walking out the building ready to call Rafe when you see the truck pulling up. The window is rolled down and you can see him leaning on the counsel to look at you standing there. “Got an uber for Sunny, have you seen her? She’s pretty short, beautiful, sassy beyond belief.” You roll our eyes while opening the door and getting in.

You place the food down between your feet and buckle up. “Haha, so funny. Everyone looks short when they are standing next to you, giraffe.” The name made him chuckle, his hand pushing your hair back and playing with the strands. “As long as you like giraffe’s I’m okay with being yours.” You stare at him, bewildered at what he just said.

He’s okay with being yours? After the past few days your feelings have been confusing. You have always found him attractive but didn’t want to risk your job or Wheezie. It’s been harder to not let those feelings come out when you are around him. You grab his hand and bring it to your lips, giving it a light kiss. You intertwine your hands and bring them to your lap, brushing your thumb along his hands. “I love them.” You smile.

The words have a deeper meaning than what you both want to admit. Your smiling contagious as one starts to form on his face. “Good.” His eyes are intense, willing you to confess something more, just a little more to give him the courage to do the same. No words are said, Rafe diverts his eyes from you, swallowing the lump in his throat. The words that threatened to spill, dying and being locked away once again.

He doesn’t know when the crushing weight in his chest began to form. The uncomfortable feeling in his throat caused him to clear it. Rafe shouldn’t think too much about it, he knows this is just for fun. But when he looks at you he knows that he’s lying to himself, he doesn’t even want to think about stopping what you have. It doesn’t matter what he wants, he will never be good enough for you, he’ll just have to settle for what you will give him. “Let’s get home. We can eat and watch that movie you were talking about the other week.”

He remembered the movie, you thought. He also has been wearing the birthday cologne you got him. He couldn’t be more perfect, you wish these were different circumstances. That you weren’t just some girl that worked for his family and he was just the son of your boss. You wish that at this moment you were more, someone who was worth more, someone who could actually be his. Maybe for just a moment you can actually believe that you deserve him. “Yeah that sounds good. Let’s go home.”

#rafe x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #rafe obx #outer banks smut #drew starkey smut #rafe cameron fanfiction

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maxknightley · 1 year ago

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Which Touhou Girls Can You Plausibly Read As Butch? A Comprehensive Overview

Earlier on Tumblr I saw a post complaining that someone called Hecatia Lapislazuli from Touhou Project butch. This is Hecatia Lapislazuli:

Obviously, like most Touhou characters, she is in fact quite feminine - she just shops at Hell Hot Topic. But it got me thinking: In a series like Touhou, with a cast overwhelmingly defined by feminine (if rowdy) ladies, how many characters could you say are 'butch' without sounding like a complete doofus or significantly redesigning them to fit your headcanon?

CRITERIA

I'll be using four main criteria to judge characters' butchness. In real life, of course, butchness is a multivalent and extremely personal thing, but I'm talking about funny cartoon women from a video game here, so I'm willing to be a little reductive.

These criteria, in order of descending importance, are:

FASHION. In a series where goddamn near everyone is in either a dress or a skirt, the mere act of Wearing A Dress Shirt can be enough to make a powerful statement. Hats may also play a role here, given how many Touhou characters have gay little hats.

HAIRSTYLE. Short hair is not the be-all and end-all of butchness. I, myself, am Decidedly Butch even though I've been growing out my hair since college. But the length and styling of the hair are still a valuable indicator of how someone thinks of themself and wants to be seen.

'TUDE. Could this character be accurately described as "kind of a frat boy?" How do they speak to others? Do they just kind of seem like a character who ought to be butch, regardless of their looks? Do they even lift?

COMEDY FACTOR. Self-explanatory. This will probably only come into play if I run into a weird edge case.

I'll also emphasize that we're grading on a curve here - butchness is being assessed relative to the characters who do not appear on this list. Nobody in this series has a buzzcut, you know what I mean?

THE TIER LIST

AS CLOSE TO CANON AS WE'LL GET

Fujiwara no Mokou. The girl wears a dress shirt, fucking suspenders, and trousers. Not shorts, actual full-length pants. She's also in a perpetual love-hate mutual-murder situationship with Princess Kaguya, who is femme as all fuck. Obviously you don't have to be butch to date a femme - I'm just saying it feels Fitting given their whole deal.

Yuugi Hoshiguma. Most of the time, her fashion sense is actually quite feminine - but her look in the most recent chapter of Cheating Detective Satori, with the one exposed shoulder and the sarashi and all that, significantly alters the balance. Her hair actually reads as more masc to me when she keeps it long and unruly - when she puts it up in a ponytail, she ends up looking very kempt, even elegant. The deciding factor here is 'Tude: Her sheer levels of butch swag are off the fucking charts. (Still, I wouldn't blame someone for arguing she should be knocked down a tier - especially since I'd argue the Comedy Factor works in reverse here. She's way funnier if she doesn't think of herself as butch in the slightest.)

Minamitsu Murasa. In his original appearance I'd argue that Murasa is in "Reasonable" tier - maybe even as low as "Kind of a Stretch." But her big gay Jotaro jacket in Sunken Fossil World, combined with the emphasis on the weightiness and solidity of his trademark anchor, put her over the top. One of the only Touhou girls I consider worthy of being He/Himmed.

Shinmyoumaru Sukuna. The other He/Him-worthy Touhou girl. Very short, slightly messy hair; wears a kimono, not a dress; inheritor of Issun-Boshi's legacy; wears fucking dinnerware as a hat. Why do you want to be Big so badly, huh? So you can pick up women more easily? So you can carry your awful wife through the upside-down threshold of your upside-down bedroom?

Raiko Horikawa. For the longest time I thought her skirt was a pair of shorts because I straight up could not parse it as anything else. Even now I'm like "that can't possibly be a skirt, ZUN just drew it weird. She has to be wearing a full two-piece suit." Skirt aside, her jacket/dress shirt/necktie are still undeniable, as is her short hair. Also, she is a taiko drum given life, and I feel like taiko and timpanis are naturally butch. Maybe if she was a tambourine or a set of bongos I'd rank her lower?

Momoyo Himemushi. Rough-talking miner. Wears a dress shirt, leaves the top button(?) undone. Tromps around a big weird cave with no shoes or socks on. Wears bows and bangles basically everywhere but in her messy, tangled hair. Also, maybe I'm stereotyping here, but I just can't picture a centipede as being femme.

REASONABLE

Wriggle Nightbug. The dress shirt, cape, and puffy shorts all paint a vivid picture, but I just feel like I don't have a strong enough opinion on Wriggle as a character to put her in the top tier. In other words, she's got plenty of points for Fashion and quite a few for Hairstyle, but I just don't think the 'Tude is sufficient for me.

Reisen Udongein Inaba. The skirts are a strike against her, but her whole "dress shirt + necktie + sometimes suit jacket" thing makes a big difference, especially given that we're grading on a curve. Her rumpled ears and (particularly in Inaba of the Moon, Inaba of the Earth) pathetic demeanor go a long way towards giving her a vibe somewhere between "overworked salaryman" and "Detective Columbo."

Aya Shameimaru. All you need to know about Aya is that her "human reporter" disguise looks like This:

Mononobe no Futo. Butch, but in a really weird, circuitous way, imo. Like. She's sort of wearing a dress, but it's sort of a robe - the contrast of the hemline with her big flowy sleeves makes it hard to pin down - and her outfit quite notably has tassels rather than any kind of frills. I don't know what the hell is up with her hat but it's definitely not femme by any stretch of the imagination. Then thou hast the wayes in which she speaketh all "faux-olde-timey," even though nobody else in the setting does that... she transferred her soul into a plate, but she also throws plates around as weapons... It's like she's constantly putting on a performance that only she truly understands. It's like she reverse-engineered "masculine womanhood" by hanging out with a bunch of queens and doing kind of the same thing but kind of the inverse. The more I think about Futo the more I think she's entirely on her own wavelength, but I think "Reasonable" tier is a... uh, reasonable... approximation for the sake of this post.

Sagume Kishin. She dresses like if Bill Nye were a woman, and I think that cuts to the heart of it - she reminds me of a professor who you're not ever sure is gay, but you kind of pick up on a vibe, and near the end of the semester she offhandedly refers to "her partner" and you're like HOLY SHIT I KNEW IT. I went back and forth between putting her in "Reasonable" and "Kind of a Stretch"; ultimately, the Comedy Factor decided it because I couldn't stop thinking about a scenario where she says she's a woman, accidentally upends her whole understanding of gender in the process, and ends up taking testosterone while still ID'ing as a lesbian. I don't actually know if her powers would work that way and I don't care.

KIND OF A STRETCH

Eiki Shiki. I don't have a lot to go on, here, because she hasn't had many official appearances and seems to spend most of her time lecturing people or tormenting sinners. Her uniform(?)/apothecary outfit(??) is pretty snazzy; combined with the hat, it gives her a vaguely "military officer" look to me. We'll call her "butch pending further investigation," which I think she would agree is the correct course of action.

Sekibanki. She's here partially because of the cape, and partially because being sandwiched between Wakasagihime and Kagerou makes her look way more masc by contrast. I know what I said.

Ringo. It's pretty much just the hat and the pants, though - as a butch woman who Loves Eating - I am also inclined to project my own experiences onto her.

Aunn Komano. She reads as more "tomboyish" than outright "butch" to me, what with her whole puppy-dog vibe, but at the same time... she's very much wearing shorts and the kind of goofy-looking button-up shirt that is central to my own wardrobe and the wardrobe of other butches in my life. I'm willing to count her.

Takane Yamashiro. A living testament to the power of small character design choices. I would never in a million years call Nitori butch, even with her gay little hat and all the pouches on her outfit - she just looks like a girl scout. Takane, though? Takane, with her little hair swoopy, and the fucking suitcase slung over her back, and her camo-print dress? I mean - ultimately it is still a dress, which is why I can't justify scoring her higher, but she's definitely chewing tobacco and riding around on an ATV on weekends.

Chiyari Tenkaijin. If she's butch, it's not really because she's trying to be butch, it's just because being femme seems too expensive and time-consuming. She's got better things to do (drink blood all day). Still, I think an argument could be made.

DEFINITELY A STRETCH, BUT I RESPECT IT

Renko Usami. ZUN is kind of inconsistent with how he draws her hat - sometimes it's more of a porkpie/fedora type thing, other times it's round-topped and looks a bit like Koishi's hat. To me, this is a crucial distinction. In a more general sense, I feel like Renko's outfit gets a little less plausibly-masc with each passing album, which says a lot about our society. Or her society, anyway, since she lives in the future. Still, the capelets and bowties...

Rinnosuke Morichika. I think it would be really funny if the only significant male character in Touhou wasn't actually even a dude. I'm not aware of any real textual support for this interpretation, though.

Shou Toramaru. Pretty much only on here because of the hair and because I think there's a certain je ne sais quoi to her whole deal of "she's not a real tiger, she's the idea of a tiger that pre-Meiji Japanese people came up with from secondhand accounts."

Seija Kijin. Not even remotely butch by any stretch of the imagination... But if she did consider herself butch, isn't that exactly what she'd want you to think?

POTENTIALLY NOTEWORTHY EXCLUSIONS

Cirno. "Tomboyish" is not the same thing as "butch," to me, especially if you exclusively wear dresses. Also, I'm not sure Cirno even knows what a lesbian is.

Saki Kurokoma. Not actually butch, just a horse girl. (And a horsegirl.)

Mike Goutokuji. Can't tell if she's wearing a skirt or shorts. She's got short hair, sure, but the whole "matching bell collar and wristbands that also have bells attached" thing makes her look more like a Very Online Trans Woman who just figured herself out and hasn't started hormones or bought any new clothes yet.

#touhou #touhou project #crossposted from cohost after i spent like an hour on it.

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cha-melodius · 9 months ago

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firstprince + 💘 please and thank you kindly ☺️

💘 fake relationship / mutual pining / dared to kiss (HI ROOP. please enjoy some fake relationship silliness, inspired by the fact that it's a million degrees outside. read all the kiss ficlets)

“Hey, you wanna fuck with my homophobic soon-to-be-ex boss?”

In theory, yes, he’s always up for fucking with homophobes, but the wicked grin on Alex’s face should have told him that this would be a bad idea.

So of course, Henry agrees.

~~~

It’s a pool party. It’s a bloody pool party in the Hamptons and Henry is not going to survive Alex Claremont-Diaz in his ridiculously tiny swimming trunks. Those shorts are criminal, actually. He’s especially not going to survive Alex plopping down on the lounge chair next to him and passing a bottle of sun cream over his shoulder.

“Do my back, would you?” Henry follows Alex’s line of sight over to where his soon-to-be-former boss is frowning at them disapprovingly, and Alex tosses a cheeky grin back at him. “Baby?”

Absolutely no survivors, to be certain.

Henry dutifully takes the bottle and smooths the cream over Alex’s back, careful not to miss any spots, and if he lingers a little long in doing so, well, it’s just to sell the deception. He almost thinks he feels Alex shiver a little as Henry’s fingers brush along the waistband of his trunks, but that’s impossible—it’s ridiculously warm out. Then he allows Alex to put sun cream on his back, which is horrible, terrible, the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, in fact.

(He never, ever wants it to stop.)

~~~

Somehow, Henry lets himself be dragged into the pool and talked into a game of chicken. He’s led to understand that usually it would be a woman sitting on a man’s shoulders, but one of Alex’s coworkers is a terrifying woman with long, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, and she’s very confident she can take Alex and Henry down. Her husband—a lovely chap and fellow Brit, who Henry spent quite a bit of time talking to earlier—gives Henry an apologetic look for what is about to happen. Alex is, of course, undeterred.

The battle is hard fought and, look—Henry isn’t opposed to being strangled by Alex’s thighs, but he didn’t imagine it would be like this. Eventually Zahra is victorious, sending Alex crashing into the pool, and of course he drags Henry along with him. They come up spluttering, and Alex loops his arms around Henry’s neck, pulling him close as they bob in the water, catching their breath.

“Hey,” Alex breathes, his face way too close to Henry’s. “Kiss me?”

Henry swallows hard and glances around, but he can’t see Alex’s boss anywhere. “Because your boss is watching?” he asks.

“Because I want you to,” Alex says, as if it’s that simple.

Maybe it is. Henry doesn’t let himself overthink it, for once; he leans in, wrapping his arms around Alex’s waist, and kisses him. Slides their mouths together, sweet and slow, restrained but just heated enough to promise more.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Alex asks when they part.

“Ok.”

“I didn’t just ask you to this to fuck with my boss.”

Henry’s heart is in this throat. “No?”

“No, baby,” Alex says laughing a little. “I want this to be real.” He pauses, his eyebrows crinkling uncertainly. “If… you do, too?”

Henry kisses him again, which he figures is answer enough.

#rwrb #rwrb fic #red white and royal blue #firstprince fic #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #my fic #kiss ficlets

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moodymelanist · 5 months ago

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Since you did say get freaky... Cassian FINALLY getting to fuck nestas tits

I did say that 😏😈 I saw this prompt and I was of course immediately intrigued… hope you enjoy hehe

It had only taken about ten minutes from Cassian coming home for Nesta to end up on her knees in front of him, and God was she having the time of her life.

“Fuck, look at you,” Cassian groaned, his head falling back against the couch. He gathered more of her hair into a ponytail and swore lowly as she continued bobbing her head. “God, you look so good on your knees.”

Nesta looked up at Cassian through her lashes as she took more of him down her throat, thoroughly enjoying the way he was starting to buck his hips into her mouth. He’d just looked so good in his white button-up and dark slacks that she’d practically pounced on him when he’d walked through their front door, and it certainly hadn’t taken long for his cock to end up halfway down her throat.

“Oh, fuck, Nes,” Cassian gasped as his cock bumped the back of her throat. He shallowly thrusted a few times, not quite fucking her throat, but enough to show her he was certainly thinking about it. “That’s it, such a good girl, sucking me so well…”

Nesta moaned around his cock at his words, letting him use her throat for another few moments before she came up for air. Cassian let go of her hair so he could lean forward and fondle her breasts instead, easily slipping his hands inside her flimsy tank top to grab a handful. His callouses felt amazing against her hard nipples, and she couldn’t help herself from moaning again at how good he made her feel.

“So fucking perfect,” he murmured. He briefly took his hands off her so he could yank her tank top down and properly reveal her breasts, and then he went right back to fondling and pushing them together. “My cock would look so good right here.”

“It would,” she agreed, her voice wrecked. He’d talked about fucking her tits before, but usually they got sidetracked putting his cock in other places. “You should do it.”

Cassian’s eyes went a little wide, flitting rapidly from Nesta’s face to her chest. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Nesta told him, already shifting closer to the couch. She raised herself up on her knees for a better angle and put her hands over his, pushing her breasts up and together the way she knew drove him a little insane. “Fuck them.”

Cassian didn’t hesitate. He dug around the couch cushions for the flavored lube they’d forgotten to put away and made a victorious sound when he found it, squeezing out a large amount onto his hands for them to use. He hissed as he stroked himself a few times, but he managed to hold it together long enough to spread the lube. “Ready?”

“Yes,” Nesta said. He shifted forward so he was on the edge of the couch, his cock easily sliding between her cleavage. He was big enough that if she angled her head down, she could touch this tip of his cock with her tongue. “Mhmm. Strawberry.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Cassian said back. He shifted his hands to her shoulders for proper leverage, groaning as he pumped his hips. “God, sweetheart, look at you.”

“Harder, come on,” she replied, thoroughly enjoying how he was using her body to get off. “I can take it.”

“Yeah?” he answered. He gripped her even tighter as he sped up, his balls slapping against her skin. “Oh, fuck, take it, take my cock, that’s it…”

“You close?” At his frantic nod, she moaned, “I want you to come on my tits, I need it, want you to mark me up—”

“Fuck, fuck, I’m coming,” Cassian gasped, his hands digging into Nesta’s shoulders hard as his orgasm hit. She kept her mouth open and caught a little bit of his come, most of it hitting her chest and a little bit of her neck. She automatically swallowed what landed on her tongue, moaning at the taste of him.

“God, I love you,” Cassian said dreamily, once he’d caught his breath. “Now come up here and sit on my face. I’m making you come at least twice.”

#acotar #acosf #Nessian #nesta archeron #Cassian #pro nessian #pro nesta archeron #pro cassian #moodymelanistwrites #acotar kinktober #Nessian prompts #acomaf #acowar #acofas

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mandobatemans · 2 years ago

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nsfw miguel o'hara (spider-man 2099) headcanons pt. ii (f!reader)

MINORS DNI!!!!

part i

warnings: rough sex, oral (m! & f!receiving), thigh riding, jealousy, bath/shower sex, if i missed anything let me know

word count: 737

also posted to ao3

•welcome back

• he can be rough, pressing your cheek into the pillow with one hand while he holds your hips against his own with the other, supporting all the weight of your bottom half because you’re so fucked out that you’re putty in his hands

• he can be gentle, too, though, slowly and languidly thrusting into you in the mornings, when you've woken up naked and entwined, and there's nowhere you need to be

• you like to give him massages, help him let out the stress of the day (his life) and sometimes that’ll turn into a full body massage…

• the grunts and growls miguel makes under your touch…priceless

• when you suck his dick, he holds your hair in a ponytail with his fist, sometimes yanking on it to make you bob your head faster

• he’ll take your mouth any way, but he loves to see you on your knees for him

• of course, he wants you to be comfortable, but there’s something about the rug burn or red marks on your knees that makes him go feral

• as soon as you stand up, he has you against the wall, nipping at your neck while pulling your underwear down

• probably would never say this out loud but a fantasy of his is recording a tape of you two and then watching it back together while you cockwarm him

• elaborating more on this he’s the KING of eating pussy ok

• he has a good rhythm figured out. it took some trial and error to work around the fangs, but now he knows how to bite your inner thighs just right, then retract near more sensitive areas

• speaking of thighs

• THIGH RIDING!!!!!!

• he can spend hours looking at his monitors at HQ, especially when you’re waiting for him to take you home and fuck you

• he’ll tap his thigh while looking over his monitors, telling you to “come take care of yourself, baby.”

• you’ll ride his thigh, him flexing the thick muscles every once in a while to help you along, smirking as you whimper into his shoulder where you’ve buried your head

• “that’s my girl,” he’ll praise as you cum, looking between you and his now wet thigh. “now, let's get you home.”

• he’ll be sure to coax a few more orgasms out of you once you’re home

• he has an image to uphold in the Spider-Society, but that doesn't mean he hasn't fucked you in a supply closet before

• he’s much too tense at work and if you can help him release some of that tension, then why wouldn't you?

• easily jealous

• some part of him thinks he doesn't deserve you, so he probably gets more jealous than he should

• if another spider-person stares at you too long, he gives them a look that sends them scurrying the other way

• those red eyes can scare off some people, but you find them hot

• plus, they're part of miguel, so of course you love them

• but after that, he’ll be a little more possessive, keeping an arm around you as you walk or making a big show of kissing you when you come to visit him at HQ

• he also has to show you who you belong to

• before long, he’ll have you bouncing on his cock, asking you who you belong to, grinning so wide you can see his fangs as you cry, “you, miguel!”

• when you tell him you love him, though, he melts

• though he loves to see you messy, whining, and begging for him, he loves to see you in love and comfortable just as much

• you’re the only one who could possibly get him to sit still long enough to take a bath instead of a shower

• he’s into both shower and bath sex, but showers are more common, and you’re less concerned about slipping due to his powers

• when you take a bath together, it could go one of two ways

• one. you on his lap, fucking slowly and intimately, his hands gently cupping your breasts

• two. him pounding you, your back against the lip of the tub, water sloshing onto the tile floor around the tub from the force of his thrusts

• you like both

#my fic #headcanons #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o hara #across the spiderverse

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wooahaeruby · 8 months ago

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Chapter 1: Under Dimmed Street Lights

Chapter Word Count: 3,262

Talking about drugging someone, implied torture, implied murder

Master List | Next

Night had fallen over the sullen city. It was the third day in a row where rain beat down, washing away any and all life when the streets rested. Tonight should have been no different in the late spring rain. The streets were nearly empty, the only ones that wandered the shadows crept in the night.

The edge of the metropolis was littered with industry and warehouses that boarded the waterways to international waters, some decrepit and run down while others held storage. A few warehouses rested in the borders of both old and new, camouflage well behind signage of a known shipping and packaging company worldwide.

The lights barely seen from the windows weren’t bright, wishing to not draw unwanted attention to any outsiders that wished to travel the area so late. Doors on the outside were well guarded, each man armed with heavy artillery, concealed the best they could, and walkie-talkies, dressed well to hide exactly who they were. The overhangs protected them from any direct rain yet they would be soaked and freezing by morning fall.

Inside was bustling, men and women moving wooden crates and metal locked boxes either into vans or into vault storage further in. Nothing was labeled, it was easier that way, but all personnel knew what each container vaguely held. It wasn’t a secret that it was sketchy, it wasn’t their place to judge based on their line of work, but it was demanding and little mistakes could unravel the very foundation of the business.

Above the busy bodies that littered the main floor, guards on catwalks watched closely for any cracks in productivity. One move in the wrong was a broken hand, one step in opposition was a bullet through the head. In the far back of the building held a second floor and large windows that watched over each and every process that passed through the doors.

“Jihoon has a lot cut out for himself tonight.” A voice snickered out the words, the person’s eyes scanning over the vans that were coming and going through the building. “Not like he planned to sleep much tonight anyways.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that, Soonyoung, he’ll lace your drink again.” Someone from a lone couch spoke up.

A scoff left the man, rolling his eyes and turning back towards the rest in the room. Some lazed idly on couches while others sat back at the conference table, a few pairs of feet propped up on said table.

“All I told him then was that he looked about as attractive as a zombie and suddenly he took all the offense in the world like he hasn’t said worse to me.”

“And yet you still opened your mouth to say it to him. You’d think for the ‘great judge of character’ you are, you’d be better at reading your best friend's body language.”

A huff came from the man at the back of the room, sitting hunched over a sleek ebony desk, a stack of papers held in his hands. Jet black hair fell over his eyes as he peered past his bangs, looking over the small congregation before him. “If you are willing to run your mouths, why don’t you go down and help him if you are so concerned.”

One laughed from his lounged spot on the couch, not bothering to lift his head. “I think I’d rather bite the bullet than annoy Jihoon and have a gun to my head, Seungcheol.”

“Another word, Seungkwan, and I will order you to join him.”

Dark eyes watched as Seungkwan mimicked zipping his lips and throwing away the key, settling back into the cushions and tapping away on his phone.

“Now if any of you can track down Joshua and Jeo-” Seungcheol’s words were cut off by the door to the room slamming open.

Strolling through the entrance, two tall, black clad figures stepped through, one wearing a long trench coat, his shoulder length hair half tied up in a ponytail. His companion wore a sleek leather jacket, chocolate brown, medium length hair down and pushed back from his face to see. They spoke loudly, everyone else’s attention being drawn to them. As the one wearing the leather jacket closed the door firmly, laughing at something the other said, Seungcheol cleared his throat, sitting back in his chair, sending a glare towards the two.

“Speaking of the literal devils, you’re late.”

“Ah, Cheol,” Trench coat spoke up, striding over to the man’s desk and leaning himself against it, back facing Seungcheol. “We aren’t late, you are just early as per usual.”

With a click of his tongue, Seungcheol rolled his eyes and stood, rounding the desk and making his way to the head of the table. “Sit, Jeonghan, We have a lot to discuss tonight and the tardiness is already eating into my time.”

From an unspoken order, each of the other twelve men in the room gathered around the table, taking their seats in relative silence. Seungcheol waited patiently as Jeonghan took a seat to his left while the new leather clad figure took a seat to his right. He picked the walkie-talkie off his belt and called for Jihoon who appeared not a few moments after everyone else was settled, locking the door before taking his seat.

While Seungcheol’s shoulders relaxed, his face held a stern expression, looking about his team.

“Wonwoo, report.”

The man pushed his glasses up his nose further, scrolling through something on his phone. “They aren’t any closer to finding us, Seokmin’s interference and my entrance to the mainframe is still strong. I don’t see any problem going forward with slipping more false information to them. As for the mayor, Vernon and I have delivered the papers regarding his affair and are awaiting a response.” The second aforementioned man nodded with Wonwoo’s words, speaking up himself.

“I also slid some of his daughter’s partying to him so he was more inclined to agree.”

Seungcheol nodded, turning his gaze to another. “Seokmin, anything to add?”

Though the room was dim, his bright eyes lit up and a cocky smile spread on his face. “I have the department heads looking somewhere in the next city for a new lead on us but I doubt they won’t find more than a body thanks to Chan.”

“Jihoon, how are the shipments coming?”

A hum left the man, pulling a pile of folded papers from his back pocket and flipping through them. “Everything has been accounted for so far regarding pills and such. I had them weigh everything and it’s correct. Weapons are clean at first glance, no serial numbers. All that will be needed is disassembly and reassembly to make sure each one is undamaged then we can ship out.”

“Let me know if there are any issues with the next shipment, we’ve been experiencing issues with the supplier recently.” With a nod from Jihoon, Seungcheol continues on. “Soonyoung?”

“Oh- ah!” Soonyoung smiled, sharp eyes gleaming with something…dark. “The trader we grabbed wasn’t giving up any information so I kicked it up a notch but…” He waved his hand in the air, trying to find the words but his hand fell flat on the table and a pout formed on his lips. “He had a mental break and we just ended it, we found some info on his phone and took some names down.”

Raising a brow, Seungcheol crossed his arms, tilting his head in curiosity. “Define…mental break.”

“Oh! The usual, screaming, crying, begging for mercy, then something about the devil and he went cynical before he started mumbling to himself and wasn’t responsive. I barely even touched the guy, just a few threats about his wife and it just threw him over the edge I guess. She is clean by the way, Wonu checked. She is just a housewife who thought her husband was a delivery man. We set a guy out to let her know he died on the job and had to quell her questions.” Soonyoung sent a wink to Seungcheol who barely blinked, unamused. He’d take it at that.

“Joshua, have you moved the money offshore like I asked?”

“Yeah, boss,” He spoke up, taking a phone from his jacket pocket, unlocked it, and slid it to the other. “6.3 million. Mingyu and Seungkwan are handling the rest towards the shipping company, putting it into supplies and international business as you requested.”

Nodding, Seungcheol eyed the others he hasn’t called out for or those unmentioned, “Junhui, Minghao, Chan, how is preparing for the next sent out?”

Minghao cleared his throat, resting his elbows on the table. “We drive out tomorrow night. If all goes well, we should be back by the following morning after disposal. If a problem arises, one of us will reach out and figure out a solution. I didn’t see any issues as of now.”

Chan and Junhui both nodded in agreement and Junhui spoke up. “The cars are almost packed and new plates were grabbed.”

From his left, a small snicker was heard. “Aren’t you going to ask me, Cheol?”

Staring blankly down the table, Seungcheol looked at nothing of interest, not bothering to look at the nuisance to his side. “You are going to talk anyways, start before I kick you out.”

Another snicker, this one louder and full of mischief. “We have two cargos coming in within the month from overseas, some new artillery are coming and a few different crates of drugs,” Jeonghan rested his elbow on the chairs armrest and curled a clump of hair around his finger, “I have a very lovely painting coming in that is worth a pretty penny and will be displaying it in the house.”

He turned a bit, gauging the reaction of the others; a few eyerolls and quiet sighs at his antics.

“A few exotic animals, a tiger,” He winked to Soonyoung who lit up. “Some katanas were liberated from a museum, heard something about a Japanese general but I didn’t listen much after that one. Fancy cigars, cigarettes.” Jeonghan listed them off nonchalantly, humming quietly as he thought. “Original paintings I had some people take after replacing them for fun. As for the fight-”

“That’s enough.” Seungcheol’s stern voice rang through the room laced with annoyance. He pinched the bridge of his nose, frowning as he felt the sinister grin staring at the side of his face. “Wipe that stupid look off your face.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, you aren’t even looking at me.” Jeonghan teased.

“Lock up everything in the vaults. If you have nothing to do, get back to the house and rest. Jihoon, have the men start on everything tomorrow, we are ahead of schedule and have no need to rush. We can pick up everything tomorrow evening.” The leader stood, motioning to Joshua and Jeonghan to not move. “Everyone dismissed.”

One by one they filed out of the room, bidding goodnights or figuring out who was leaving with who. Jeonghan and Joshua made no motion to move, both sending waves to their younger ones, saying they’d see them at home. When the door closed behind the last of their group, Seungcheol fell back into his chair, grumbling out a few intelligent words.

“Hmm… my dear King,” Jeonghan hummed, using the leader’s call name. “Maybe a night's rest will do you some good as well, don’t you think?”

“And don’t go making excuses for needing to stay up and finish reports when no one is going to care about them until tomorrow when you can get them done.” Joshua added, resting his chin in his hand, elbow resting on the table.

“Why are you grilling me when I should be grilling you for being late again? ” Seungcheol questioned, scoffing loudly and rolled his eyes. “Just because you both are heads of shit, doesn’t mean you can blatantly disregard orders from me , do you understand that?”

Any hint of mischief that lingered beneath Jeonghan’s face was gone and he averted his gaze. Joshua was in a similar position, folding his hands now on the table.

“Mind telling me why you were nearly half an hour late?”

“We were getting things ready for fight night.” Jeonghan answered obediently, letting a held breath out of his nose. “One of the vendors was causing…problems so Shua and I had to handle the situation before getting back here for the meeting.”

“Did you-”

“He’s dead. He was trying to steal.” Jeonghan cut through the question with a sharp tongue, irritation written across his face. “And we had to dispose of the evidence.”

Seungcheol looked to Joshua for confirmation, watching him nod and reach a hand into his jacket. It took no time for a simple handgun to be placed on the table before the three of them. Joshua took the magazine out and showed the counter, a singular bullet missing from the cartridge as final proof.

“We already secured a new vendor.” The youngest of the three deadpanned, sharing a dull look between them.

They sat in relative silence, letting the weight of any stress settle in the pits of their stomachs before Jeonghan shook his head and stood, motioning his head towards the door.

“Come on. Let’s get home before someone outside of Mingyu and Seokmin tries to cook.”

The ride out the city was usually quiet at this time of night. Taking the back roads was a constant for protection and invisible movement, Seungcheol insisted on it since the beginnings of their operations. He wasn’t one to carelessly dangle the lives of his chosen family and didn’t plan on losing any of them any time soon. Jeonghan gazed aimlessly out the window, watching the trees that encompassed their home pass by.

Seungcheol came to a near stop, hitting a button on his phone for the gates to slide open when within range and easily driving down the path. Another expanse of trees surrounded the now dirty road, hiding their home from any peering eyes that were dumb enough to get close.

As the treeline broke, their home’s main building came into view. The structure itself was a bit much, but when their first large distribution was a success through their underground business and the cover shipping company was easily growing, Seungcheol decided to scrape the home he held in inheritance from his long forgotten grandfather and built one for his new, found family.

It was more of a mid-century modern mansion. Seungcheol wanted something basic but the influence of everyone had provided the consensus of wanting it to feel like a proper, warmth filled home. Seokmin had made a joke when they first entered the house that it was warm and homey, a perfect place for the cold blooded mafia. His comment only fueled the fire to make it feel like a normal home. Despite the field of work, their home was just that: a home. They cleaned up after themselves, cooked for one another – or well, some of them cooked for one another – and were able to properly relax.

Pulling up in front of the house and hitting another button for the large garage to open, Joshua snorted from the backseat at the hoard of mostly cars and a lone bike taking up nearly every spot. “At least they still know to leave your spot open.”

Near the back of the garage, closest to the door, Seungcheol parked the car, eyes resting on the crudely taped up sign that was put there a year or two back; Reserved for old person #1. Chan had found it hilarious when he and Seungkwan had it made, even getting one for Jeonghan and Joshua with #2 and #3. Jeonghan had found it funny, seeing as he joked he was indeed getting too old for this shit . Joshua humored his younger members and even customized a sign with his name to place under it when he could find the damn screw gun that someone took and never returned to the workshop.

Jeonghan was first to step out of the car, stretching his long limbs and starting to take off his long coat as he stepped up the three steps to the door, easily pushing it open.

“You finally got back!” Mingyu called out, Jeonghan taking note that the taller man was standing at the stove, stirring something that smells absolutely divine . He had dressed down from his usual black trousers and button-up in exchange for plaid pajama pants and a loose t-shirt. “I’m making spicy chicken stew at Junhui’s request, and I have a less spicy one depending on what everyone wants.”

Jeonghan sent him a small ‘ thanks’ , saying he is going to his room to change since he still had time before everything was ready. Mingyu nodded and greeted the other two who entered from the garage.

As he walked through the kitchen into the living room, Seungkwan and Vernon were lounging on the couch together, both on their phones with some drama playing on the obnoxiously large TV hanging on the wall. Where these two were, their youngest was close by even if he wasn’t directly interacting with them. Chan, as expected, wasn’t too far, laying back on one of the other couches, a blanket pulled over a majority of him as he held a book over his glasses-clad face.

Making his way through the halls, Jeonghan found his room off the main living areas, pushing the door open and flicking on the lights. He tossed his coat onto the bed, the mostly brown and rustic colored scheme welcoming compared to the lodgings they had in the city. Rolling his shoulders, he strided into his closet and tugged out a pair of sweatpants and an old, worn out t-shirt before making his way into the bathroom to shower.

Stepping out into the living room after freshening up, Jeonghan shuffled his way towards the table, seeing Minghao and Junhui settling the long table for thirteen. They didn’t eat together often but when they could, it typically became a large affair.

He rounded into the kitchen to start grabbing cups down from the cupboard, easily maneuvering around Mingyu as he finished the last of the food preparations. Jeonghan slid the cups across the middle island to Minghao who grabbed a few in each hand and set them on the table. A comfortable silence settled over them as they worked, gathering any side dishes and placing them across the middle of the table. Jihoon had stumbled out of his room, showered and half asleep to dish out bowls of rice for each person.

“Time to eat!” Seungcheol yelled down the hall behind him, bare feet padding against the floor with each step.

In no time, the table was packed and bowls were being filled. Seungcheol had a rule of no major business conversations at the table, but that wasn’t always followed depending on the day. Jeonghan and Joshua, as per usual, took a seat on either side of their leader who sat at the head of the table.

Aside from the clacking of utensils against the dishes, laughter and conversation flowed between them, brightening up the room with more than just light. It was nice to have normality in the face of chaos that their lives were. Two facades they had to put up most days was exhausting but none of them wished to truly leave.

A family was founded the day they made a pack and that family will last until the end of time.

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sumeriandeathsquad · 17 days ago

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"Kiss out of habit" but it's platonic bucks. Matty comforting nicky after a nightmare (nightmares are bullshit, can you tell me had one?) [Mouse]

Osaka.

Matt wakes up and it’s almost dark. All the lights in their room had been off when they went to sleep, the only light filtering through the window from the outside. The room is nice - much nicer than anything they were able to afford years ago - but it’s two queen beds in a suite instead of two suites, the kind of hotel mishap that they would’ve done an ungracious funny Instagram skit about a year ago, when they were in the real throes of doing something different and worse so that Matt stopped nearly hating the thing they both love so much.

He won’t post about this today though. It meant more to them both than he realised, coming back to Japan, until they were here and the sights and sounds and spending time with Masa of it all hit them like a truck. So the hotel messed up and they’ll take it quietly because it’s kind of fun, kind of nostalgic, calls back to so many years ago when they couldn’t even afford two single beds and instead crammed into a tiny double together - all over the world, not just Japan.

In the gloom, though, the almost dark, he wakes up with the sense of something wrong. He rubs his eyes and he can see Nick’s back on the far edge of the other bed, his finer details swallowed up by the lamp light that halos him. He’s sat on the edge, hunched, hands on his face. His hair’s come out of the looped ponytail he usually sleeps in, the hairtie stuck halfway down instead.

“Sweetheart?” Matt’s too nearly forty to bolt upright; the scratchy sleepy concern will have to do. Nick’s Nicky and sweetie and honey when Matt remembers that he’s an, the older, oldest brother. The first thing he thinks is: “You sick?”

Nick’s quiet, so something’s really wrong. Matt’s back complains about the mattress but he ignores it, pulling himself up and out of bed, pushing his hair (the bun’s kind of loose, it’s a pain in the ass) out of his face, pacing in his boxers around to Nick’s side of the bed and sitting down next to him. Nick looks at him, eyes hazy and face all uncertain, and under the beard he looks so little for a second, the same little guy who used to have nightmares back in Rancho Cucamonga because they thought the house was haunted. The familiarity is how Matt knows what’s wrong, too, and leans in, loops his arm around Nick’s shoulder. Nick leans into him with a frustrated groan.

“I didn’t think you still got nightmares.”

“I don’t,” Nick says, voice thick but petulant, a little muffled with his face smushed on Matt’s shoulder. He’s his little brother; he’s never gonna be too big to hold. “Not often.”

Matt pets his crummy ponytail gently. “You wanna talk about it?” Before Nick can say much, he adds, “I think you should talk about it,” because sometimes Nick doesn’t recognise instructions (or at least strong suggestions) if they’re couched in a question.

“I don’t remember much. It was just, you know. Coming back here has been pretty overwhelming. I had bad dreams before Tokyo, too. Nothin new.”

“Oh.” Matt frowns. He didn’t know. He wonders when Nick grew out of coming to tell him he had a nightmare, and realises they’re for real adults and kind of old. Things change sometimes, he guesses, but not without a little ache in his chest.

“Nostalgia’s one hell of a, uh… whatever.”

“Yeah.” Matt turns his head, finds the familiar spot: plants a kiss directly onto Nick’s forehead, in the middle of his hairline. He hasn’t given Nick the kind of actual, comforting kiss for a long time either, as habitual as it feels, and so he’s changed too, in a way. Nick’s kind of sweaty but Matt doesn’t mind. He’s never minded. His mouth muffled into Nick’s hair. “You’re okay.”

Nick hums. There’s a long silence where Matt can tell he’s thinking about something. Matt just waits. Then Nick says: “Am I too old to share with you?”

“What do you think? Come on.” Another kiss into his hairline, then, and a squeeze of his shoulder before he stands up, pulling Nick by the wrist to his bed. Nick’s sheets are going to be gross and sweaty from dreaming anyhow.

It’s old and familiar to pick a side, to get in and immediately steal one of now-Nick’s pillows, to flump down carelessly and watch Nick carefully as he lies down.

There’s a furrow that is slowly evening out in his brow. Nick looks at the ceiling, then, “Thanks.”

Matt knows Nick’s gonna get annoyed if he keeps looking. He turns over, leaves Nick with the warmth of his back. “Anytime.”

#Sorry you had a nightmare mouse 💜#fic post #i hope nice buckies help ~#constantly compelled by writing about them Now …#anonymous #questions and yappas

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onechicagolife · 1 month ago

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ABSENTIA | JAY HALSTEAD

Detective Jay Halstead is a senior member of the Intelligence Unit, where he is partnered with Detective Hailey Upton after his former partner went missing undercover. While he never wanted to give up hope, the CPD assumed her dead and he was resigned to accept it. Now, two years later, Jay gets a sudden phone call with news that changes his life forever. Avery Clarke is alive. want to be tagged? link in bio <3

Chapter 15

Jay rounds the corner to his apartment, exhaustion weighing down his movements as he drags a hand down his face. The last few nights have blurred together—hours spent in his truck with Avery, watching and waiting. They haven’t seen Nikolai again since that first night, which he’s not sure is a good or bad thing. Bad for their investigation, yes. But he couldn’t deny Avery’s reaction when she saw him for the first time. The way she completely froze, her shoulders tensing and her breaths quickening.

The cruelest part was that when Jay asked about it, she refused to tell him anything. And that every time he looks at her, he still feels everything. Being with her feels overwhelmingly familiar, too much like how it used to be. Because she sits back in the seat with her feet thrown up, she steals his coffee without thinking. She pushes his buttons, challenges him in the best and worst ways.

He knows he shouldn’t be spending so much time with her. He tells himself that he has to, even though he knows it’s not fair to Hailey. Knows it’s wrong that every night, as he sits in the freezing car with Avery, he doesn’t want to leave. That despite the anger, the confusion, the betrayal—he feels more like himself than he has in a long time.

Pulling his keys from his pocket, Jay lifts his head and his stomach drops. Hailey is leaning against the wall outside his door, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her ponytail sways slightly as she straightens at the sight of him, and the look on her face—anger barely concealing hurt—makes his breath hitch. Dinner.

He exhales sharply, quickening his steps as guilt settles heavy in his chest, “Shit, Hailey, I’m sorry.”

Her expression doesn’t change. “I called you,” Hailey says flatly.

His fingers tighten around his keys, “My phone died.” Lie. He turned it off.

She scoffs, shaking her head as she pushes off the wall. He sees the way her eyes glisten under the dim hallway light, the way her jaw tenses as she turns to leave. Panic flares in his chest. “Wait.” He reaches out, catching her wrist gently, just enough to stop her, “Just… come inside. Please.”

Hailey hesitates. For a second, he thinks she’s going to walk away. Maybe she should. Maybe he should let her.

Reluctantly, her feet stay rooted in place as he unlocks the door and opens it. He stands in the doorway, waiting for her with hopeful eyes. After a few moments, and against her better judgement, she steps inside.

Jay closes the door behind them, lingering for a second before he turns to face her. He barely gets his jacket off before she whirls on him.

“Where have you been?”

His shoulders sag. He should have known she’d cut right to it. “I’m sorry I forgot about dinner,” he says weakly, knowing full well that it isn’t good enough.

“That’s not an answer,” her voice rises slightly, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “You’ve been blowing me off all week. You disappear after work, you don’t answer my calls or texts. You come in every morning looking like you haven’t slept. What the hell is going on with you?”

Jay rubs a hand over his face, already exhausted by this conversation. “I’m—”

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” she cuts him off harshly. “And don’t say you’ve been with Voight.” Hailey takes a deep breath, her anger cracking just slightly under something more vulnerable. Her voice is quieter as she forces out the next words, “Just tell me if you were with Avery.”

He hesitates. It’s only for a second, but it’s enough to make her eyes harden. “It’s not what you think,” Jay says quickly, trying to reassure her that he would never.

She crosses her arms tighter, her nails digging into her skin. She didn’t think he was cheating, not really. She knows him well enough to know that. “Then what is it?”

His jaw clenches. He doesn’t know what to say. He knows she deserves to hear the truth, but he can’t bring himself to say it. “Hailey,” he swallows, “I can’t.”

“That’s bullshit,” she snaps, her voice rising again. “You don’t get to pull the ‘I can’t talk about it’ card with me. I’m your partner, Jay. I’m your girlfriend. You’re shutting me out, and I deserve to know why.”

His mind races, eyes desperately searching her face for some—any—hint of understanding. “I can’t tell you,” Jay settles on with a helpless half-shrug. “You just have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” Hailey laughs—a bitter, broken sound—and narrows her eyes. “Do you even hear yourself?” When he doesn’t say anything, it only takes a few moments before realization washes over her. She lets out a disbelieving breath, “You’ve been helping her investigate Volkov.”

The way Jay tightens his jaw and clenches his hands into fists at his sides is confirmation enough.

“Jesus, Jay,” she shakes her head with a scoff. Hailey starts pacing, running both hands over her hair. “Do you even realize what you’re doing? You’re putting your career—your life—on the line.”

“I’m not putting my life on the line,” he says defensively.

“You’re lying to me,” she yells at him. “You’re lying to Voight. You’re impeding a federal investigation. All for her.”

Jay flinches at her words, guilt and anger swirling in his chest. “It’s not that simple. She’s my—” he cuts himself off, the words dying in his throat. He swallows hard as the air between them thickens. They both know what he was about to say. She’s my partner.

Hailey stares at him, something breaking in her expression. She squares her shoulders, trying to hold herself together even as her voice wavers. “You know, I’ve tried to be supportive. I’ve tried to be understanding. But I’m not going to sit here while you lie to my face. I’m not going to sit here and pretend.”

He blinks, knowing that this conversation is going somewhere he doesn’t want, but he can’t stop it. “Pretend?”

She exhales shakily, bringing up a hand to quickly swipe away the tears she is so stubbornly trying to keep at bay. “You were shot,” her voice trembles slightly, but she forces it to steady. “You were laying there, and I was holding your hand. You said her name.” She closes her eyes as the memories wash over her. “I tried to convince myself that I heard it wrong. But I didn’t. And I know that you know I heard it. And you still haven’t explained why.”

The air seems to leave the room, and for a moment, Jay can’t bring himself to look at her. His mind flashes back to that moment. His throat tightens as he finally meets her gaze. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about her,” he admits even as it kills him, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

The words hang heavy between them, and Hailey’s breath hitches. She blinks rapidly, trying to process what he just said. “So, what? You’re still in love with her?”

Jay inhales sharply at the question. He wants to tell her no. He wants to tell her he loves her, that she’s the one he wants. But he can’t. “I don’t know,” he says finally, his voice breaking. “But I know she needs me right now and I can’t…” I can’t leave her. I can’t say no to her. I can’t let her be alone again. “I have to help her.”

Hailey nods slowly, like she expected that answer but hoped she was wrong. “I love you, Jay,” she whispers, her face crumbling as fresh tears well in her eyes. “And I thought—” she stops herself, shaking her head as a tear slips down her cheek. She doesn’t bother wiping it away.

His chest tightens, heartbeat pounding loudly in his head, “Hailey, I care about y—”

“Don’t,” she cuts him off, stepping back. “You can’t have both.”

The words cut deep. Jay opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t want to hurt her. He never wanted to hurt her. But he can’t lie anymore. To himself, maybe. But not to her.

Her lips tighten into a thin line as she tilts her head, nodding slowly. “I’m done.”

He doesn’t stop her as she turns and walks toward the door, her footsteps echoing in the quiet apartment. He can’t bring himself to, no matter how much he wishes he could. When the door clicks shut behind her, the sound feels final as it echoes throughout the apartment.

Jay sinks onto the couch, elbows braced on his knees as his head falling into his hands. He knows Hailey had every right to walk away. He can’t even blame her. And he’s left wondering how the hell he got here.

After hesitating for just a moment, Jay walked towards Voight’s office. He stopped in the open doorway, eyes bouncing between his sergeant and the other man in the room. His hands clenched so tightly where they hung at his sides that his knuckles ached. He had been called in without much explanation—just a simple order to come in from Voight. The urgency in his voice made his stomach churn with unease. And now, seeing Chief Lugo standing beside the desk Voight sat behind made his pulse quicken unnaturally.

“Jay,” Voight started gruffly. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something dark, something resigned. “Take a seat.”

“I’m good.” His bosses exchanged a wary glance. Jay narrowed his eyes, “What’s going on?”

Voight didn’t speak at first, just cast another look towards the chief before sighing heavily. He opened a manila folder in front of him and pushed it forward on the desk.

Jay took a step and a half forward. Inside was a single, grainy photograph that made his stomach twist violently. It was a surveillance shot—a woman being dragged into a warehouse by two armed men. The image was blurry, the lighting terrible, but the height, the build, the hair—it was all too familiar. “Where did this come from?” he demanded.

Lugo spoke this time, his voice even, measured. “The FBI received this from one of their sources inside the Volkov organization. The timestamp places it three months ago.”

His breath stilled. Three months ago. Avery had already been missing for six. That meant she wasn’t killed on the spot like everyone else feared—she was taken alive. She was out there. Jay forced himself to focus, pulling himself away from the memories of that day. That day when he was too late. “So, what the hell are we doing sitting here? We finally have a lead, we go after it—”

Lugo held up a hand, stopping him cold. “The intel didn’t stop there.”

His heart pounded as Lugo flipped to the next page in the folder.

Unidentified female remains recovered from a Volkov warehouse overseas. Burned beyond recognition. No DNA match found.

Jay shook his head, immediately rejecting it. “No. No, that’s not proof. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Jay—” Voight started, his voice low.

“No.” He pushed the folder roughly across the desk, breathing hard as his chest tightened. “We’ve been through this before, and every single time, it’s led nowhere. You don’t have a body, you don’t have DNA, you don’t have—”

“The FBI is taking over the investigation into Volkov from Major Crimes. The brass agrees that the evidence is conclusive,” Lugo interrupted, his voice final. “Detective Clarke was likely killed while undercover. The case is being closed.”

The word rang in his ear, and his entire world stopped spinning. Closed. No. No.

He turned to Voight, his eyes pleading. “We don’t… we can’t just stop,” his voice cracked, barely managing to get the words out.

Voight held his gaze for a long moment, and that was when Jay knew. The fight had already been lost. The lines on Voight’s face looked deeper, heavier, and for the first time since Avery disappeared, there was defeat in his eyes. Even after Justin, he still hung onto the hope that his other child was still alive. But that hope was gone.

“It’s over,” Voight said quietly.

No. His breath came in short, shallow bursts, his hands trembling at his sides. Jay shook his head, refusing to accept it. “No. No, you don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to just—just declare her dead without proof.” His voice broke, rage bleeding through the cracks.

“Detective—” Lugo started.

“No, fuck that!” Jay slammed his hands onto the desk, the sound echoing through the office. His entire body was shaking. “You don’t get to make this call! She’s out there, she’s waiting for us to find her, and we’re just—we’re just giving up?” His voice bordered on hysteria as he looked towards Voight in disbelief, “You’re just gonna let this happen? After everything—after Justin? You’re just going to let them give up on her?”

Voight’s breath hitched in his throat as he blinked, barely managing to hold himself together. He never allowed himself to break before, and he won’t do it now. He can’t. Chief Lugo’s jaw tightened as he cut in, “This isn’t giving up, Halstead. This is the reality.”

Jay let out a sharp, bitter laugh, taking a half-step back in a desperate need to distance himself before he lost control. Reality. The word felt like poison in his mouth. Nothing about this felt real. “You don’t know her,” he spat. “You don’t know Avery. She’s a fighter. She wouldn’t just let them—” he stopped himself, unable to say the words. Wouldn’t just let them kill her.

Chief Lugo sighed, straightening, “I understand the nature of your relationship to her. I know this is difficult to hear, but the department is making it official. Detective Clarke is being ruled as killed in the line of duty.”

His breath hitched and he swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. This was it. This was the end. The fight left him all at once. His shoulders sagged, his knees suddenly weak, and for a moment, he thought he might actually collapse. He turned to Voight, his last hope. His voice was wrecked, desperate, “Hank.”

Voight’s face was etched with something almost like guilt. When he finally spoke, it was low and final. “It’s time to let her go.”

Something inside Jay broke. A sound tore from his throat—a ragged, guttural noise of sheer devastation—and he turned sharply, storming out of the office. He didn’t see where he was going. Didn’t feel the burn in his throat, the pressure behind his eyes, the way his chest was imploding in on itself.

All he knew was that he had to get out. Had to breathe. Had to escape the words still ringing in his head, threatening to tear down his entire world.

How the hell is he supposed to let her go? The woman he loved. The only woman he ever loved. She was gone. She couldn’t be gone. Jay picked up speed before bursting through one of the stalls just in time to hunch over the toilet, knees hitting the tile with a painful, sickening crack. His body convulsed as he gripped the porcelain with white-knuckled hands, waves of nausea wracking through him. His stomach clenched painfully, but there was nothing left to bring up. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one sharper than the last. His head was spinning, his vision blurring, the fluorescent lights overhead too bright, too harsh.

He felt like he was suffocating. Drowning.

The stall walls felt like they were closing in, pressing down on him and squeezing the air from his lungs. His entire body trembled as he sat back on his heels, his arms bracing against the sides of the stall. The cold tile bit into his knees, grounding him in a reality he desperately wanted to reject.

Avery was dead.

Voight believed it.

Chief Lugo signed off on it.

Major Crimes, the FBI—they all believed it.

The weight of it crashed down on him again, harder, heavier. A low, guttural sound ripped from his chest, something between a sob and a scream, raw and uncontained.

Six months of searching. Of fighting. Of holding onto hope—thin, fragile, fleeting hope—only for it to be ripped away in an instant.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. He couldn’t breathe. Every inhale was a battle, every exhale a painful reminder that he was still here—and she wasn’t.

He could still hear her voice, so clear that it was as if she was sitting right beside him.

Well, it really is your lucky day, Halstead. Avery Clarke. Your new partner.

His throat closed up, another sob tearing through him. A thousand moments, a thousand memories flooded his mind, each one sharper, more painful than the last. He saw her everywhere. Heard her everywhere.

But she was gone.

A sudden burst of anger surged through him, cutting through the grief like a blade. His hands shook as he pushed himself up from the floor, his vision darkening at the edges from the force of his rage.

His fist flew before he could stop it. The bathroom mirror shattered on impact. Glass shards scattered across the counter, some embedding in his knuckles, but he barely felt the sting. His reflection was fractured, fragmented—just like him. He stared at it, his chest heaving, his pulse hammering in his ears as the blood dripped down his fingers, warm and sticky.

This wasn’t real.

This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be real.

The sky is still gray, the Chicago winter settling in thick and heavy as Jay pulls into the district parking lot. His truck rumbles to a stop, the engine ticking in protest as he cuts the ignition. He stays there for a moment, gripping the wheel with both hands, staring blankly at the brick wall in front of him.

He’s running on fumes. The sleepless nights, the weight of Hailey walking out, the relentless gnawing in his chest whenever he thinks about Avery—it’s all catching up to him. His body is sore, barely recovered, and his mind is wrecked. He doesn’t even want to think about what he is going to face when he walks in that building. And yet, somehow, the idea of stopping isn’t even an option.

Not when she still needs him.

With a heavy sigh, he grabs his gym bag from the passenger seat, shoving open the door and stepping into the biting cold. His breath clouds in front of him, but the crisp air does nothing to clear his head. He’s barely made it a few steps when he hears the familiar rumble of another engine pulling in. Jay glances up just as Voight’s black SUV rolls into a nearby spot. The older man climbs out, pulling his coat tighter against the wind, his sharp gaze landing on Jay instantly.

They both hesitate for a beat. A silent acknowledgment.

Jay sighs, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. He knows what’s coming.

“You look like hell,” Voight remarks, shutting his door with a solid thud.

He huffs out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well… it’s been a rough few weeks.”

Voight studies him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, instead of making his way to the door, he jerks his chin toward the entrance on the other side of the lot. “Walk with me.”

He exhales through his nose, knowing there’s no getting out of this. Jay falls into step beside the older man, their boots crunching lightly against the frost-dusted pavement. The silence stretches, bordering on uncomfortable as the cold air wraps around them.

Jay knows Voight isn’t the kind of guy to push, but when he speaks, his voice is steady, carrying that same unshakable authority he always has. “She told me.”

He doesn’t react right away, treading carefully. He keeps his gaze forward, hands still shoved into his pockets, “About what?”

“About you helping her,” Voight nods slightly. “About the deposit box.”

His jaw tightens. He shouldn’t be surprised but knowing what that secret cost him, that he lied to Hailey, makes his stomach twist in anger. “She wasn’t supposed to—”

“Relax,” Voight cuts him off, his voice calm but firm. “I’m not going to stop you.”

Jay frowns, glancing over at him. “You’re not?”

Voight gives a small shrug, “If I wanted to stop you, I would’ve done it already.”

He scoffs, shaking his head, “Then what? You’re just gonna let me keep breaking all the rules for her?” Maybe he wants Voight to stop them. To force him to walk away. Because he knows he’ll never do it on his own.

Voight stops walking, turning to face him fully and stopping him with a hand on his chest. “I’m here to make sure you don’t lose yourself in this.” His gaze is steady, unwavering. “You’ve been through a lot lately.”

Jay swallows hard, looking away. He exhales sharply, his breaths visible in the cold air. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore, Voight.”

Voight nods, like he’s been expecting that, “I know.”

He lets out a bitter chuckle, running a hand over his face. “I mean, jesus. I thought she was dead. And it took a while, but I made peace with that. And now she’s back, and it’s like—” he stops himself, shaking his head as frustration boils over. “Like I don’t even know her anymore.”

“She’s been through hell, Jay,” the older man says after a beat of silence, “You know that.”

“What about what I’ve been through? What she put me through?” Jay lets out a sharp exhale, staring at the pavement, trying to keep his emotions under control because it is too damn early for this. “I’m trying to be there for her,” he mutters. “But it’s not that simple.”

“No, it’s not,” he agrees. “But nothing worth a damn ever is.”

Jay stares at him, his eyes dark with something unreadable. “She lied to me.”

“I know.”

“She let me believe she was gone. She didn’t give me a choice. Didn’t give us a choice.”

“I know,” Voight repeats, his voice steady.

Jay shakes his head, “And now she’s asking me to risk everything to help her with this.”

But Voight doesn’t flinch, “She’s not asking you to do anything she wouldn’t do for you.”

“That’s not the point,” he snaps, his frustration finally breaking through. Even though he knows it’s true, knows they’ve already been here before. Derek Keyes, Lonnie Rodiger, Terry, Ellie… She backed his play without question, without a second thought, whenever he needed it. She jumped in feet first, and he didn’t even have to ask. He takes a step back, raking a hand through his hair. “I can’t forgive her for what she did, Voight.”

Voight studies him carefully, his next words measured. “You’re angry. And you should be. But that anger isn’t just about what she did.” He pauses, letting it sink in, “It’s about how much you still care about her in spite of it.”

The heavy truth in the statement is too much and Jay has to look away, clenching his jaw.

“I know what you went through when we lost her,” Voight takes a step towards him. “I saw what it did to you. And I know you’re still carrying that with you. If anyone understands, you know I do.” A haunted look flickers in his eyes, memories of Justin and Alvin threatening to swallow him whole.

Jay swallows hard—two years of emptiness, of staring at an empty grave that shouldn’t exist, of drinking himself into numbness just to get through the night. “She’s not the same,” he murmurs. His voice is quieter now, tinged with something almost vulnerable. “She’s… harder. Colder. She refuses to let me in. And I don’t know how to reach her.”

Voight exhales, nodding slowly. “I know she’s different. And so are you.” He holds his gaze, “But if anyone can get through to her, it’s you.”

Jay lets out a sharp breath, shaking his head, “Why?” Why does it have to be me?

Voight’s voice is unwavering, “Because she trusts you. Because you know her better than anyone.”

Jay stiffens. His throat tightens, his stomach twisting in protest. He wants to argue, wants to deny it. The words are on the tip of his tongue. Not anymore… But they don’t come out. Because maybe, just maybe, Voight isn’t wrong.

He looks down, his hands curling into fists in his pockets, “I don’t know if I can do this, Hank.”

“You can.” His voice is gentler, in that gruff, Voight way as he claps a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring, “And you will. Because she needs you. And whether you want to admit it or not… you need her too.”

He stands there, frozen, as the words sink in. Jay doesn’t know where he and Avery stand. Doesn’t know if there’s a way forward. But as he watches Voight walk inside the garage, his words echo in his head.

Because she needs you. And you need her too.

Jay exhales, his breath shaky. Then, finally, he heads inside.

The locker room is quiet, a stark contrast to the usual chaos of the district. Jay leans against the metal bench, head tilted back against the cool lockers as he lets out a slow, controlled breath. He should be at his desk. He should be doing something productive, catching up on paperwork. Instead, he’s here, hiding.

Avoiding.

It’s been like this for days. Ever since Hailey left his apartment, ever since their relationship officially crashed and burned. Every second between them is tense and awkward, leaving him wishing he was anywhere else. And when they aren’t forced to be interacting for work, he can feel her gaze watching him. Studying his every move, every interaction. And Avery? That’s been worse.

She hasn’t done anything wrong. No probing questions, no comments, no knowing looks. Nothing. She’s just there, in his space, existing like things are supposed to be normal when nothing is. And even though it shouldn’t, even though he should be more affected by the dooming of his relationship, that kills him more than anything.

Because of that, he’s been keeping his distance at work, making sure their conversations stay short. Professional. But it doesn’t matter. He can feel his partner’s eyes on him whenever Avery’s near, can see the tension ripple through her every time he and Avery so much as breathe in the same direction.

And now? The guilt is suffocating.

So he’s here, in the goddamn locker room, hiding like a coward.

The door creaks open, and he immediately straightens. He’s not sure who he expects, fearing it’ll be Hailey with another conversation he’s not ready for, fearing she’ll tell him that their partnership is over too. But instead, Adam strolls in, his expression casual but his movements deliberate.

“Got a minute?” Adam asks lightly, but there’s an edge behind it.

Jay narrows his eyes, already bracing himself for whatever’s coming. “Yeah.”

Adam doesn’t sit. He stands across from him, arms crossed, lips pressing into a thin line before cutting straight to it. “What’s going on with you and Avery?”

Shaking his head with an eye roll and a scoff, he stands and moves to root around inside his locker. “What are you talking about, man?”

“You drove her to work this morning,” the younger man says with an unimpressed eyebrow raised.

“She had a migraine last night and didn’t want to drive, so I gave her a ride home,” he lies without skipping a beat. The reality is that they left straight from work to spend the night in his truck, watching the warehouse for any sign of Nikolai Volkov, both of them pretending the distance between them wasn’t getting growing with every second of silence.

Adam eyes him, his protective side outweighing anything else. He can’t stand to see his best friend get hurt when she is just barely finding her footing. But he can see how much it’s killing her. He lets out a long sigh, “Look, I get it. I know it must’ve hurt when she wanted me to be her partner and asked for some space. I know you want to be friends. But if this is going to mess with her head—”

“Mess with her head?” Jay cuts him off, his voice rising slightly as he turns to face him. “I don’t need a lecture from you of all people.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, annoyed at whatever implication lingers in the air.

Jay tilts his head, gritting his teeth painfully. He wonders just how much he can push this, how far he can stretch the lie in order to get the truth. “She told me what happened between you two,” he says carefully, baiting.

Stiffening, his eyes flicker with surprise for a brief moment before he schools his expression. She said she wasn’t going to, but maybe she changed her mind once he decided to tell Kim, wanting a clean slate as they try to make their relationship work. Adam narrows his eyes, “She told you?”

“Yeah.” His jaw clenches, knowing by the reaction that he was right to suspect something happened between them. “So don’t sit here and act like you’re just her protective big brother.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Adam shakes his head defensively, his frustration mounting.

Jay crosses his arms tightly over his chest, “Then what was it like?”

“It was,” he hesitates, “complicated.”

He throws his head back, barking out a humorless laugh. “Complicated? Kim’s having your kid, and the best you can do is complicated?”

Temper flaring, Adam grits out, “It was one time. It was right after she came back, we were drinking—”

“That makes it better?” he shoots back with a step forward.

“Look,” his patience snaps, voice rising, “she needed someone. Someone who actually gave a damn about her when she was falling apart. Where the hell were you?”

The words nearly knock him off his feet, and Jay stops breathing for a moment. His hands curl into fists, because he can’t think about that. He can barely stomach the guilt he is already feeling. So instead, he focuses on the pure anger that threatens to overtake him at the image that flashes behind his eyes. “So, you—what? Decided to help her with your dick?”

Adam’s face darkens, his fists twitching at his sides. “Oh, fuck off, Halstead. You weren’t there. You didn’t see how broken she was seeing that you moved on.” His voice lowers, but the intensity remains. “So yeah, I was there for her. Not for some hookup. Not for whatever bullshit you think this is. But because I actually care about her. And maybe if you weren’t lying to yourself, wrapped up in your own guilt, you’d see that too.”

The jealousy, the frustration, the anger—it all collides, white-hot and uncontrollable as the words are like a match to gasoline. Jay doesn’t think. His fist collides with Adam’s jaw before he even realizes it. The impact reverberates through his arm, fingers flexing at the dull ache already forming.

Adam stumbles back, his hand flying to his face. His eyes blaze with fury as he whirls back around. “Bro, what the fuck is wrong with you?” he shouts, shoving the other man’s chest roughly.

“Hey!” Avery’s voice slices through the air, her footsteps echoing as she storms into the room. “What the hell is going on in here?”

Both men freeze, their heavy breathing filling the silence as Avery moves between them without hesitation, her eyes darting between their tense, furious faces. Her gaze locks on Jay, narrowing as she takes in the flush on his face and the way his fist is still clenched. “Did you punch him?” she demands sharply.

Jay doesn’t answer, his jaw tightening as he finally breaks away from Adam’s glare. But he can’t look at her, can’t see what he knows is in her waiting eyes.

Already knowing the answer, Avery scoffs before rounding on her partner. “And you—what did you say to him?”

Adam rubs his jaw, moving it back and forth gently. “Nothing he didn’t deserve.”

She groans in frustration, running a hand through her hair, fingers getting caught in the tangles. “Unbelievable. You two are supposed to be professionals, friends, and you’re in here fighting like children. Over what? Me?”

When Adam opens his mouth, she places a strong hand against his chest with a light shove that forces him a half-step back, and Jay tries to hide the fact that he notices. “I don’t need you to defend my honor,” she chastises, only turning away when he lowers his head sheepishly. Avery narrows her eyes at Jay, “What is your problem?”

Jay’s eyes finally snap to hers, his frustration and jealousy lingering below the surface. He grits his teeth, his pulse still pounding with the low hum of adrenaline. He knows this isn’t about Adam. Not really. It’s about… everything. The distance, reminding him that he doesn’t know her anymore. The nights spent in his truck, twisting him into thinking that no time has passed. The way she keeps looking at him like they didn’t leave each other in pieces. Like she didn’t leave him in pieces, shattered like that blood-smeared glass.

Clearing his throat, Adam’s voice is quieter now, more resigned. “I’m gonna go.” He throws Avery one last glance before turning and walking out, his footsteps heavy as the door clicks shut behind him.

Avery doesn’t take her eyes off Jay, her frustration crackling in the stale air. “I told you to stop making this about Adam,” she seethes. “You don’t get to pick fights with him just because you’re pissed at me.”

“You really think this is about Adam?” he asks, voice low and rough as he takes a step toward her. She folds her arms, but there’s something else in her eyes now. Wariness. Hurt. A challenge lingers, though, and Jay huffs out a bitter laugh when she just arches a brow, shaking his head before dragging a hand over his face. “You really don’t get it, do you?

“Then enlighten me,” she bites out quickly. She thought they were over this. That they were moving forward—or at least settling into something more tenable, an understanding that they could co-exist in.

He takes another step closer, the heat between them palpable, the space between them charged with everything they still haven’t said. “You come back from the dead, and you act like I’m the one who changed,” he grits out. “Like I’m the problem. You push me away, tell me we need distance, and then what? Drag me back in like this is some kind of game?”

She flinches, just barely, but it’s enough for him to see it. “You think I planned that?” Avery snaps, stepping toe to toe, pretending like she isn’t afraid. Not of him, no. But of them—the two of them, together. “You think I wanted to wake up in a hospital bed with two years of my life missing?”

His jaw clenches impossibly tight, the pain somehow grounding him. “Then why the hell have you spent every second since you came back acting like I’m the one who left you?” Her breath hitches audibly, but Jay doesn’t stop. He can’t. He’s done holding this in. “You chose Adam as your partner. You kept your distance. It took days for you to come see me when I almost died, and then you just walked out,” he spits out, his voice breaking. “And now you want to act like I’m the bad guy? When I’m still putting everything on the line to help you?”

Deafening silence stretches between them, heavy and suffocating. Her lips press into a tight line, her hands clenching at her sides. “You think this has been easy for me?” she finally whispers, her voice shaking. “I know what I did, the choices I made. But I didn’t choose to have my entire life ripped away from me.”

His chest tightens as tears well in her eyes, “Avery…”

“No, you don’t get to be the victim here,” she says, voice raw, stepping even closer until there’s barely a breath between them. “You didn’t have to wake up in a nightmare. You didn’t have to piece together a past you don’t even remember. You didn’t have to see the man you—” she stops herself, sucking in a shaky breath before continuing. “The man you thought was still yours, standing in the hallway, holding someone else’s hand.”

His throat goes dry at the realization. She saw him. She woke up confused and hurt. And instead of opening her eyes to him at her side, she saw him with Hailey.

“I woke up like it was one day,” Avery’s voice breaks.

His hands tremble at his sides as he swallows roughly, “Ave.”

Her face twists, her walls slamming back into place. “You want to be mad at me? Fine. But don’t you dare pretend like you’re the only one who got hurt.”

Jay looks away, his jaw tight as he forces himself to breathe. She’s right. Of course she’s right. But that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.

“You should go,” she mutters, stepping back in desperate need of space. “Before we say something we can’t take back.”

But Jay doesn’t move.

He should. He knows he should.

Instead, he does something stupid.

He reaches out.

His fingers brush against her wrist, and she sucks in a sharp breath, her entire body going still. Her pulse beats wildly under his fingertips, and for a second—just a second—she lets him hold on.

Then she yanks her arm away like he’s burned her.

“This isn’t fair,” Avery whispers, voice barely audible.

Jay swallows hard, “No. It’s not.”

She takes another step back, putting real distance between them now. “We can’t keep doing this.” I can’t keep doing this.

He exhales slowly as something twists in his stomach. A heavy, overwhelming sense of dread. Finally, he nods, “I know.”

Neither of them moves. Neither of them leaves.

The locker room door creaks open again, and they both snap their heads toward it.

Kevin’s slightly wide-eyed gaze flicks between them, eyebrows raising high into his forehead. “Uh… is this a bad time?”

Blinking rapidly, Avery shakes her head before turning on her heel and forcing a smile. “No. I was just leaving.”

Jay watches her go, his stomach dropping as she pushes past Kev without another word.

The bass from the speakers pulses through Avery’s chest, the thrum of the music matching the erratic rhythm of her heartbeat. The bar is crowded, bodies pressing together on the dance floor, voices raised in laughter and conversation that blurs into a dull roar. She sits at the bar, her half-empty glass of whiskey in front of her, the amber liquid catching the flashing neon lights that paint the room in shades of red and blue.

Her head was heavy, spinning slightly as she takes another sip, the alcohol burning its way down her throat. It doesn’t taste good—not really—but it helps. Helps blur the sharp edges of her thoughts, dulls the ache that’s been clawing at her chest all week.

She hasn’t talked to Jay since their fight in the locker room. Since he grabbed her wrist. Since she yanked away. He hasn’t come to the stakeouts the last two nights, leaving her to sit in her car alone, the silence screaming at her. He hasn’t offered, and she hasn’t asked.

She should be glad. Should be relieved.

Instead, she feels like the tight coil that was barely holding her together is unraveling.

More memories have been coming back every single time she closed her eyes, jagged and painful, clawing their way to the surface no matter how much she tried to bury them. Her mind flickers to Nikolai, to the sound of her own screams echoing in that cold, damp room. To his voice, low and cruel, asking her over and over, Who are you?

Avery squeezes her eyes shut, pressing her fingers to her temples as if she could will the images away. But they are relentless, invading her thoughts like a storm she couldn’t escape. Everything feels tangled and messy, her emotions an unbearable weight she can only lessen with alcohol.

She hates herself for how much she thinks about Jay. Every moment they spend together feels like a lifeline, but it also reopens old wounds. She thought she was doing the right thing by pushing him away, by letting him move on with Hailey. But now, she isn’t sure. She misses him. But it’s clear how hurt and angry he is. She doesn’t know how much longer they can do this back and forth before one of them breaks, shatters into so many pieces that it’ll be impossible to glue back together. What they have now isn’t sustainable, not in this job. Not with both of them in this unit.

“Avery.” The voice comes from beside her, smooth, familiar. She blinks, looking up to find one of the club’s regulars Mark—or maybe Matt?—leaning against the bar next to her. His lips curl into a knowing smirk. “Didn’t expect to see you here again,” he says, tilting his head as his eyes rake over her. “You good?”

She forces a smirk, even though her stomach is twisting. “Do I not look good?”

He chuckles, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a small baggie. A few little white pills clink together inside. He holds it between two fingers, offering them to her like a gift. “Here. This’ll help.”

Her breath catches in her throat, her pulse quickening as her eyes narrow in on the bag. Her body reacts before her mind can catch up, her hand curling tightly around her glass as she fights the urge to reach for it.

It would be so easy. One pill. One small pill to take the edge off. Just enough to forget. To stop the memories, the guilt, the pain.

The man leans closer, taking out two of the pills and slipping them into her hand, “On the house. You look like you could use it.”

Avery stares at them, rolling them in her palm experimentally. The urge is a living thing, crawling up her throat, sinking its claws into her skin.

Just one.

She needs to get out of here. Slamming her palm on the table, she quickly jumps to her feet. His words of protest come, but she doesn’t hear it. She’s already backing away, shoving through the crowd of drunk people, her breaths coming painfully fast.

Her feet carry her out of the club and into the cold Chicago night, the icy air slapping her in the face. Her hands shake as she digs her phone out of her pocket. She barely registers what she’s doing, who she’s calling. Her fingers move on autopilot.

The call rings twice before Adam picks up, his voice groggy, “Hello?”

“Can I come over?” she asks, her voice hoarse, barely above the pounding of the music that can still be heard from the sidewalk.

There’s a pause on the other end, then a quiet sigh. “Yeah. Of course.”

She nods even though he can’t see it, mumbling a quick, “Be there soon,” before hanging up. She stares at the screen for a moment, her breath hitching, before she slips the phone back in her pocket. Avery’s feet start moving before her mind can catch up, the wind biting into her skin and sobering her up just slightly. With every step, she has to fight the desire to turn around. To go back inside that club, back to that guy and back to those magic little pills that can take away all the hurt and the anger and the guilt.

The streets are quiet, the snow falling softly around her as she makes her way through the city, still on edge. Her breath comes in short, visible puffs, her boots crunching against the frozen pavement. She doesn’t know what she was going to say when she gets there. She’s still pissed at him for starting a fight with Jay. How am I the bad guy when I’m the one who got sucker punched? His disbelieving voice rings in her head making a small smile tug at her lips, just enough to distract her for a moment.

When Avery reaches the apartment building, she stares up at the brick and blinks slowly, trying to make sense of her fragmented thoughts. She bites her lip, realizing that she probably shouldn’t be here. Before she can decide to cut and run, though, an older man with a dog opens the door and she slips inside with a casual smile. Her mind races as she climbs the stairs, the beat of the club’s music still thrumming under her skin. By the time she reaches the door, her breathing is shallow, her emotions a tangled mess. She raises her hand, hesitating for a split second before knocking.

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#jay halstead #jay halstead x oc #jay halstead fanfiction #chicago pd #chicago pd fanfiction #story: absentia #gifs are not mine: ask if you would like yours removed

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