#ricochet fanfic

[cherie-doll]

ughhh, tell me why i can't get könig being at his peak dilf era out of my head

like that man sometimes wakes up feeling tired even after he gets a full eight hours of sleep and will look in the mirror thinking he's let himself go from all the years of drinking alcohol giving him a dad bod but you love it??? like he doesn't understand why someone as attractive as you is going after him, seriously what's wrong with people nowadays he thinks?

but those muscles haven't gone away and they still are very much noticeable under those formal suits he wears to reunions ;D you're clinging to his arm, feeling him under the layers of clothes while he's sweating like crazy under it

he'll look around at your grand selection of younger candidates but you're stubborn on wanting this rugged bull

eventually his flaws would surely bore you, right? wrong, even in all those years of "experience" he doesn't realize that only makes you seek to grow closer not further apart

and he accidentally enables this, he'll be mindlessly trying to get a twig or something out of your hair and your mind is static just enjoying the feeling of those big, veiny hands running through your hair and that deep voice that is now slow and deliberate because he thinks before talking now, you saw that man washing the dishes and you just stand there leaning against the doorframe imagining him with an apron not caring if he's not washing the dishes right or he's letting the water drip everywhere

him snoring softly on the couch with a drink in his hand and you're practically frothing at the mouth with how good he looks in those sweatpants, or his appetite still being big and you don't care that he eats like two or three big plates in one sitting you're just glad he prefers home cooked meals to dining out

oh and he was prescribed glasses by the doctor so anytime he's reading or watching tv in the evenings you're blocking his view by sitting on his lap and pushing the glasses up or down his nose

and what about all the medicine he takes? twins! you too! him for physical health and you for mental-

doesn't matter if he's greying, feeling more tired, aching and feeling sore, takes things slower you want that man and it's making you feral.

[potatoplace]

my tears ricochet

Azriel x Reader, Azriel x Elain

loml (part one)

Story Summary: Azriel meeting you, his mate, throws a wrench in all of his plans, nearly a decade in the making with Elain. He begins his mateship with you, still with Elain all the while telling you that you are the love of his life. But, not every good thing can last.

Warnings: Suicide (more graphic than first chapter imo), heavy angst, alcoholism, infidelity, sex

Words: ~6.2k

Author's Note: and here's the second part, now I have to warn you, the first one didn't make me cry at all. But this one? I was sobbing like Feyre and Az, typing through my tears. Thank you for all of the love you guys showed to loml, it means so much to me to see every comment and note. I hope you all enjoy the final part!

p.s. I almost named it Last Kiss. Taylor is just perfect for angst, I tell ya

18+ only pls

💙🤍💙🩷💙

The wind was rushing through his hair, cooling his body, slightly calming him. But his heart was still racing, his mind panicked.

His mate. He had finally met his mate.

But Elain… they had just started discussing the possibility of having children. And nearly ten years together, ten years of love and comfort.

He’d known this was a possibility, he had just thought it would never happen. That the Mother had made a mistake in not mating him to Elain. But now, that wasn’t true. It wasn’t the love of his life, his sweet, perfect Elain, it was some random woman in the streets of Velaris. Beautiful, yes, but she didn’t hold a flame to Elain’s beauty. Her scent however… a refreshing blend of apples and autumn rain, so overpowering he could hardly smell the air rushing past him, even this far away from her.

He needed to tell Elain. He had to tell her, before he did anything stupid, like turning around and finding the female he had just abandoned in the streets.

They’d discussed what might happen if he ever found his mate, and the possibility of it was why Elain has yet to fully reject the bond with Lucien, though as far as Azriel was aware, the two only saw each other at holiday parties and the occasional family dinner that Lucien attended. They’d decided that if he did find his mate, he would come immediately to Elain and they would talk it through.

So, he flew straight to the townhouse, landing next to Elain where she was kneeling on the grass, tending to her flower garden. “‘Lain,” he started, the tension in his voice causing her to stand up and look at him instantly. “I… I found my mate,” he said, regretting that he even had to say the words.

Tears filled her eyes, and he put his hands on her shoulders reassuringly. “All I did was see her in the street, baby. I left right after and I’m here now.”

Still, she shook her head. “I cannot believe this Azriel. Now?! Now that we’ve decided to try for a family, that’s when you find your mate? This is ridiculous!” Elain vented, and it was truly one of the first times Azriel had seen her angry.

“I know, and I’m so sorry. I wish I would never have seen her, I only love you.”

“You don’t know that you wouldn’t love her,” Elain scoffed. “But you have a decision to make. Are you going to reject the bond.”

Azriel opened his mouth, not quite believing how bold Elain was being. “I don’t know. That’s not exactly a decision to make lightly, Elain. You know that.”

“Oh, really? This again? Just because I haven’t rejected Lucien doesn’t mean that you don’t have to make a decision, Azriel.”

Azriel raised an eyebrow at her, shocked by her hypocrisy. “Then you have one to make as well, Elain. Lucien or I? Which will it be?” Elain opened her mouth for a moment, then closed it. “Exactly. It’s not as easy as you thought, is it?”

Elain sighed, her shoulders slumping forward. “Fine. You can get to know her, if you’d like. But the moment you want it to turn to something more, come find me again. Until then… let’s just continue as normal,” she suggested, pushing up on her tip-toes to give Azriel a kiss on the lips before scrunching her nose. “Ugh, I can smell her on you. Let’s go take a bath, hmm?” She led Azriel by the hand to her room, undressing him as she pushed him towards the bathroom.

💙🤍💙🩷💙

It was two weeks later, and Azriel had prepared himself enough mentally to seek out his mate. It didn’t take long, seeing as two of his shadows had followed her back to her home, reporting to him that she had spent the past fortnight crying herself to sleep and barely leaving the house except for her work.

He flew over to her house, an adorable one bedroom that had a nice porch on the front, and a stained glass door depicting the season of autumn, leaves changing color as they fall from a tree and landing in a pile at the bottom. The pale orange paint on the exterior was faded slightly, chipping away in places, but besides that the home looked well cared for.

He steeled himself, then walked towards that beautiful door, knocking carefully on its surface. It was time to get to know his mate.

💙🤍💙🩷💙

3 Months Later

Elain stared at him, obviously not believing what Azriel just told her as they stood in their shared bedroom.

“You want to be with her?”

Azriel sighed. Truly, he wanted both females to stay in his life, but that was impossibility. “Yes, Elain. I’ve… I’ve fallen for her, over the past few months.”

Elain hissed, her outrage making itself known. “A few months?!” She screeched at him. “You’re going to throw away a decade over a few months?!”

“I’m not… I’m not throwing it away, Elain, this is something I have to do. She’s my mate,” he sighed. He didn’t want to argue with her. “I don’t want you to leave my life, either. But the connection between us… it’s always there. I can feel her all the time, Elain, and I don’t want to do you a disservice by being unfaithful to you in my heart.”

Elain, who up until this point had been glaring at him, looked off into the distance, contemplating.

“So, don’t leave my life,” she stated plainly.

“I… what?” Azriel asked in disbelief.

“Stay in my life, stay with me, and you can have your little mate. Just as long as you know that you come home to me after missions, after anything important. I take precedence over her. And she won’t be welcome at any family gatherings. If they ask about her, say that she’s better suited as a friend.”

She said it all as if it was simple, as if it made sense. So Azriel believed her.

Because that way, he could have the female he’d loved for so long, and he could also have his mate.

It was truly the best of both worlds.

“Alright, Elain. That’s a fair enough deal. Are you sure you’ll be able to handle it?” He asked, prowling towards her and grabbing her by the waist.

“Oh, Azzie, I promise I’ll be fine with it. Do I love that you might fuck another female? No, but as long as I can send you to her covered in my scent, I’ll be fine,” Elain purred, running a hand up his chest.

“Oh?” Azriel smirked down at her, taking her face in his hand. “And how will you do that?” He breathed in her ear, kissing her neck gently.

“I have a few ways. Come to the bed and I’ll show you, Azzie.”

Matching grins covered their faces as Azriel picked her up and tossed her gently on the bed.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would tell Y/N that he wanted to be serious.

Tonight, however… tonight he would spend worshipping Elain’s body like the goddess she is deserves.

💙🤍💙🩷💙

5 Years Later

Shit, Azriel thought to himself. Shit shit shit.

He was late. So, very late.

Elain had wanted him to spend the night together, but it was his and Y/N’s fifth anniversary the next morning.

So, he’d left in the middle of the night after his mate’s breathing had evened out, flying off in the direction of the town house. He landed in front of a simpering Elain, obviously pleased with how the night was playing out.

They had spent the night wrapped in each other, falling asleep under the sheets together as the new day dawned upon them.

Azriel had, of course, planned ahead for the possibility of sleeping in a bit too long to return home before his mate awoken, a bouquet of roses, sapphire blue for him and a pale yellow for his sweet, sunshiney mate, and love note on the nightstand. He’d also left out a coffee and book he’d spent an agonizing amount of time convincing his mate’s favorite author to give him in advance of the commercial release on the kitchen counter. He hadn’t thought that he’d be so late though, the sun having risen nearly to the halfway point in the sky.

He only hoped his mate wouldn’t scent Elain’s arousal, still mixed heavily with his scent. She had never said anything in the past, and he believed she wouldn’t now.

With the speed he was flying towards her house, most of it should be whisked off of him by the time he reached her.

Once he landed, he made sure to take a moment to collect himself, taking a deep breath before pushing the door open, greeted by his mate’s lovely scent, coming from the window seat to the right of the door.

You ran to him, and he greeted you with his arms first, the weight of you so perfect in his arms, as though the two of you were carved out of the same flesh, finally put back together for the moment.

The day was perfect, ending with the two of you snuggled together in bed.

The dagger you had gifted him was perfect, ornate enough to be worn on his belt during ceremonies, and the curved blade had fascinated him at first. He realized that you had meant it more as a way to keep you with him on his missions, rather than to do much killing. Though, it would make some wicked stab wounds, possibly helpful in interrogations. However, he didn’t think he could bear using something so precious as a gift from you during the… messier parts of his occupation.

Nonetheless, it was a perfect, thoughtful gift, and he loved it, loved you so deeply.

He sighed.

It was nights like these when his conscious kicked in, reminding him of the traitorous double life he was living. Sure, Elain was well aware of the situation, maybe not of the depth of his emotions towards you, but that wasn’t something she needed to know.

You, however… you were completely in the dark, unaware that the best friend he went on about is really his life partner of a decade and a half.

He felt so guilty, but he didn’t know how to stop, with either one of you. Elain, they had so much history and you, well, you are his mate, the person the Mother had made just for him.

He breathed in your scent, his mind relaxing as he did so. Azriel reminded himself that he still had six years left before he needed to make a true decision between the two perfect females.

Six years didn’t feel like near enough time, it felt almost cruel that he had to limit himself to a decade until he made a decision about the mating bond. He supposed Elain didn’t know that detail, either.

And now that you wanted to meet his family… well. That decision may end up coming sooner rather than later.

It all depended on how he swung it.

He knew that Elain would be difficult to convince, but he believed he would be able to. His plan was to inform the family to not make any comments about his and Elain’s relationship, and tell them that you knew about them but are still very sensitive to the subject, preferring to avoid it overall. They already knew that the you and Azriel are “friends,” Azriel having been unable to keep you a complete secret from his nosy family.

Azriel had to make it happen, or you would know something is off.

He was lucky, all things considered, that you had waited five years to ask to meet his family.

The next morning after a nice lie-in with you, he took off for the townhouse, ready to rip the gauze off. He approached Elain, in the gardens as she normally was this time of day, working on the garden before the heat climbed up too high.

“Elain, can we talk in our room?” He asked her, relieved when she followed him without question.

“What is it?” She questioned, knowing he was here with a purpose.

“Y/N wants to meet the family.”

Elain immediately started to shake her head, infuriated by the idea. “No. No, Azriel! We agreed that she would not enter our lives before you started this, that won’t change now.”

“Baby, it would just be one dinner, I will tell her not to show any affection towards me, and her curiosity will be satisfied, I promise.”

Elain thought about it for a moment, her face still pinched in anger, before it relaxed in resignation. “If this dinner is to happen, you will fuck me in this very room while she sits in the living room. If not, my answer is no, Azriel.”

Azriel considered it, the nodded, knowing it was his only way forward. And, he couldn’t deny that the thought of fucking Elain with you in the next room excited him, the riskiness of it so tempting.

“Then, inform the rest of the family. Tell them whatever you need to to keep your silly little relationship with your mate a secret. I will not be embarrassed by this, Azriel,” Elain warned, a danger in her eyes.

“Thank you, Elain.” He moved in towards her, and whispered lowly in her ear, “The sex we will have in here on that night will rival every other time we’ve been together, baby.” A shiver ran down Elain’s spine, and she wrapped her arms around him.

“It better, Azzie. Otherwise I just might crush her heart myself,” She said in a sweet tone, but Azriel took it as the threat it was.

Still, as long as everything went to plan, he will keep his two females as his, for years to come.

💙🤍💙🩷💙

The dinner went perfectly, Y/N feeling insecure, while it pained him, truly worked out for the better. The less comfortable that first meeting had felt, the less likely she was to insist on attending another family dinner.

Over the next few months, he could tell you were preparing something, most likely some kind of surprise for his birthday. Every year, you outdid yourself. When he was in town- or rather, not with Elain- you would wake him up with his favorite pastries from his favorite café, or his favorite dish from Kalia’s, a wonderful little breakfast restaurant located along the Sidra. And every year, you gave him a different custom made item, from the spider silk gloves that were fire and tear proof to the fortified, comfortable boots that he wore to this day.

During that time as well, Elain was becoming bolder with her requests of his time, drawing him away most nights after you fell asleep, only to return a few hours later, slipping back into your bed with jasmine and honey coating his senses.

That didn’t matter though, not when he was more enamored with you than ever. You were so kind, so focused on his happiness, he hardly deserved the honor of being your mate. The guilt of the situation had been weighing on him heavily, especially when he had felt you measuring his ring finger while you believed him to be dead asleep.

He was nearly ready to cut things off with Elain, her attitude as of late was bitter and angry, and while he avoided bringing you up around her, every time he did she said something condescending about you. The only problem was their history with each other, so many years that they had been together, and realized that he would be throwing it away, there was no way that Elain would ever be fine only being his friend, and seeing you near her family. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if Elain attempted to take your life, her hatred of you ran that deeply.

He’d realized things were getting to dangerous territory when you had come back to your house, gushing to Azriel about how you and Elain might be becoming friends, and how you could see why Azriel liked her so much, she’s just so nice.

It was the day before his birthday now, and he had just returned to your home when you burst through the doors, bags filling your arms.

“Azriel!” You exclaimed, quickly walking over to the counter to deposit the bags, then made your way to your mate. You leaned up, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. “Listen, I know this will sound a little weird, but I’d like you to stay at your spare room in the townhouse tonight, if you’re willing. I want to set up a little surprise for you here,” you tell him, a smile gracing your face, and a matching expression lit up his face. “I’ll come get you in the morning, around 9 if that sounds reasonable to you?”

“Of course, babydoll,” he replied, claiming your mouth again in kiss more heated than the last. “Do I have to leave at this very moment?”

You hummed, your body relaxing against him as he kissed down your neck. “No, not yet, mate. You can stick around for a while.”

“Hmm, so I can take my sweet, thoughtful mate into our bedroom and devour her like the goddess she is?” He asked, already lifting you by your ass, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his hips.

“I’d love that, Az,” you say, peppering kisses along his jawline as he carried you to the bed.

He left a few hours later, walking back to the townhouse at a slow pace, reminiscing on the feeling of your skin and soft sighs, how much he was looking forward to whatever you’re planning for tomorrow.

He entered the townhouse a few minutes later, breezing into his room that he shares with Elain. She was inside, already naked on the bed and touching herself.

“Oh, Azzie, I’m so glad you could make it,” she said, pouncing towards him the moment the door snicked shut behind him. Once she reached him, though, she wrinkled her nose. “Let’s go get you in the bath, Azzie, I don’t want to kiss you while you smell so gross.” Elain pushed him towards the bath, where they spent a good hour basking in each other’s presence before making their way to the bed. They remained there until dinner, getting a quick meal from the kitchen before returning to the haven.

The night passed quickly, and Elain woke him by sucking his cock to life, the climbing on top of him. She rode him at a slow, torturous pace for a few minutes, before he tired her teasing and flipped her onto her back, continuing their activities, even as the door to their room opened wide, a gasp sounding from the doorway, and Elain’s arms wrapped tighter around his neck, legs wrapping around his hips, pressing his lower half tighter against her.

The scent hit him- autumnal rain and sweet apples- and his blood ran cold. He wanted to run, wanted to explain to you, but the grip of Elain’s heavenly cunt was too much, and he finished inside of her, pulling out as soon as he was able to.

His eyes were wide, he could barely process the situation, he tried to sit up and look at the doorway, but Elain’s grip around his neck was tighter than he expected. She was grinning from ear to ear, looking positively pleased with herself.

“Elain, I need to go talk to her,” he stated frantically, still attempting to pull away from her gently. He could hear her yelling outside, Feyre’s soft voice following it.

“No, you don’t Azriel. She just saw you cheating on her, she’ll want nothing to do with you now,” Elain declared proudly.

Azriel furrowed his brow at her, a sinking feeling in his gut, and he looked at the clock- only 8 in the morning. “Did you know she was going to show up this early?” He questioned, hoping the answer was no. If it was yes…

“Of course, it was my idea to have you stay here last night.” Her voice held no remorse, and Azriel pried her hands from his neck and sat up, moving to the edge of the bed.

He placed his head in his hands, panic overtaking his mind.

His mate… his sweet, kind, caring, attentive mate… had just seen him fucking Elain, her supposed friend. Fuck. This is bad.

He got up, throwing on a pair of leathers as quickly as he could, before Elain’s hand caught his.

“You’re seriously going after her? What the fuck is wrong with you, Azriel?!” She yelled at him, before Feyre’s voice cut through.

“What in the hells is wrong with you, Azriel?! You’re not only cheating on Elain, but Y/N didn’t even know the two of you were together?! How could you do that to your mate?!”

Elain’s anger was one thing, more unsettling than anything else, but Feyre’s? Feyre’s rage was terrifying, and Azriel had the common sense to cower as night coalesced around her.

It was then that he noticed his shadows had left him, and he could still hear them screaming about Y/N from wherever they had ran to.

“Feyre, I know how bad it seems, but I never meant for her to get hurt. And Elain knew about my relationship with her, I wouldn’t have gone ahead with it without her approval,” he said, trying to get the truth out before Feyre eviscerated him.

Elain scoffed, grabbing her nightgown from the floor next to their bed.

Azriel turned to cock a brow at her, daring her to voice whatever was rattling around in her head.

“You should have cut her sorry ass off years ago, Azzie. She’s not worthy of you, she never has been, and she never will be,” Elain spat at him, just as his gut fell through the floor and to the core of the earth.

The bond- the precious, delicate string tying you to him- severed in a single moment.

He dropped to his knees, a wail leaving his body of its own accord, the grief striking him in every nerve ending of his body as your presence left him, as he was left with a gaping hole in his soul that you used to occupy.

“Azriel?” Feyre called frantically, shaking him by the shoulders, but he could do nothing more than to loose gut wrenching cries of pain at the loss of his mate.

Rhys appeared a moment later, diving into his mind with a gentleness he did not deserve.

“Y/N…” he sighed, a tear rolling down his face. “She’s died.”

“Died?!” Feyre exclaimed. “She was just in the garden fifteen minutes ago, how could she have-?” She cut herself off, realizing exactly what happened. “Rhys, get her address from him.”

He did as she said, and she bolted away, leaving Rhys, Elain, and Azriel in the room.

💙🤍💙🩷💙

Feyre

She sprinted through the streets, making her way to the area that Rhys said your house was located in. It was orange, with a stained glass door according to Azriel’s memories.

Feyre still couldn’t believe what he had done, how he had betrayed his mate.

You was awkward at times, yes, and a little shy, but you were so sweet and it was obvious to Feyre how much you cared for Azriel- obviously not the way you cared for him, but the amount was there, always shining through your actions.

Once Feyre arrived at your house, she stopped to stare at it for a moment. The light orange and pretty stained glass window suited you, calming in nature and gave off a similar presence’s to the autumnal scent you gave off. She prepared herself as she approached the door, taking a few deep breaths before turning the knob.

Feyre still wasn’t prepared for the sight before her.

You were laying in a pool of blood- your blood- and covered in Azriel’s shadows. She rushed forward, and the shadows moved away from your neck, revealing the large gash there. A dagger was in your hands, and Feyre sobbed, pawing at your neck in an attempt to make the bleeding stop somehow, even as she could hear no heartbeat, no breathing coming from your chest.

The wound was hardly seeping anything as it was, but Feyre couldn’t believe it. You didn’t deserve this, you didn’t deserve to leave so alone, so in pain.

Her tears fell on your body, and after a few moments she pulled your head into her lap, and recited the prayer she had learned all that time ago, back in Spring.

“Mother hold you. May you pass through the gates. May you smell that immortal land of milk and honey,” she finished. She whispered a final, added phrase. “May your next life be kinder to you, Y/N.”

Feyre stood, reaching out to Rhys through her mind.

“How is Az?”

Rhys sighed. “He’s not doing well, we haven’t been able to move him or get him to do anything cry cry,” he admitted, worrying in his tone. “How’s… how is Y/N?”

“She’s gone, Rhys. She took her own life,” Feyre cried through the bond. “Can you or Cassian come and help me move her to Madja’s office? We should… we should have her prepared for a funeral as soon as we can.”

“Of course, darling, I’ll send Cassian to help you. I’d like to be with Az in case he needs to be knocked out for his own good.”

Cassian arrived a few agonizing minutes later, and after stumbling into the house, stopped and gasped in horror. “Y/N!” He cried, moving quickly towards where Feyre was stood next to your cooling body.

“I know, Cassian. It’s awful, she didn’t deserve any of this,” Feyre said sadly, wiping the tears from her eyes. “We need to move her, though.”

Cassian nodded and stooped over, collecting your limp body in his arms. The shadows were still gathered around your body, hiding as much of you from view as possible. They shifted just right, though, and Feyre caught sight of the knife belt resting upon your hips, tightened so much that she knew the belt was meant as a gift, having seen the dropped bags outside of Azriel’s door when she went to confront him.

She carefully pulled the belt of off you, noticing that the dagger you had used… matched the ones still secured in the belt.

You had used the gift you most likely intended for Azriel, to end your life. That hurt Feyre’s heart even more.

The two of them walked somberly towards Madja’s office, stares lingering on them and the body covered in shadows and held in Cassian’s arms.

They arrived in a few minutes, and Cassian gently set your body down on a stretcher Madja’s had set up in the back, the shadows still clinging relentlessly to your body, refusing to leave you even in death. Madja’s soft smile greets the both of them when they turn around.

“Rhys told me what happened, he said to prepare the body as soon as possible, is that correct?”

Feyre nodded in agreement, “Yes, just let us know when she is ready for the funeral, please, Madja.

“Of course Feyre. I’ll contact you once it’s done.”

With that, the two left the clinic, heading back toward your home to clean it up as much as they could.

💙🤍💙🩷💙

Azriel

His world was shattered. He watched as your coffin was lowered into the ground only two days after his birthday, the sky bright and sunny, just how you always loved it. But Azriel could barely stand in its rays, so overtaken with grief and rage at himself.

He had found the box among the remains of the presents you dropped at his door when you saw him fucking- he couldn’t even bear to think her name anymore.

The two rings, so perfectly Azriel that it made him sob harder than before.

You had always known exactly how to design something to scream his name, always known what he would prefer to have as a gift.

Azriel had wanted to place the ring made for your fingers on you before you were buried, but he couldn’t bear to sully your… your corpse with his hands.

He also didn’t deserve to have a ring matching one that you wear in your grave, he had betrayed you so thoroughly. So he kept the both of them.

Time passed so slowly now.

It was like the world had stopped moving once you passed, the broken tether to your soul holding him in place, not allowing him to move past the moment of your death.

He left the rings in his nightstand, pulling the box out when the pain became too much to bear. He had purchased your home, finally moving all of his things in, like he should have while you were alive.

Even though your life had ended here, he felt closest to you inside the four walls where your relationship had blossomed, bringing you out of your shy, anxious, and adorable little shell.

Azriel barely left the house anymore, only leaving when his family forced him, or the hunger in his stomach became unbearable enough that he ventured out to your favorite restaurant and ordered your favorite dish, just one more way to get any semblance of closeness to you again.

The first six months since your passing were hell. Absolute hell.

The broken string within him chafed with every breath, only subsiding when he drowned himself in vodka enough that he couldn’t see straight, passing out into an oblivion where you still existed, where his heart still beat your name happily, not in the overwhelming loss that had made it lose its rhythm.

His family had dragged him out tonight into their townhome, insisting that they hadn’t seen him in so long and they needed to get together.

He was feeling an extra pain, today. It was the anniversary of the beginning of your mateship. It would have been the sixth, if you were still here.

So, he strung the two rings on a silver chain, looping it over his head and wearing it over the top of his jacket. With them on, he felt like your presence was with him. One of the few remaining things he owned of you.

Feyre had given him the knife belt a month after your funeral, and he had promptly shoved it into the lowest drawer of the dresser. He knew, he just knew that one of those knives had been the end of you-

But that wasn’t true.

He was the end of you.

Azriel sighed. That train of thought wouldn’t make getting through this night easier. One thing might, however.

He stood up from the couch he was seated on and made his way over to the drink cart, pouring a generous amount of vodka into a crystal glass.

You had commented on the glasses your second dinner here, admiring the way they caught the light.

Tears burned at his eyes, and he downed half of the glass in one gulp, the burn distracting him enough that he didn’t jump when Cassian clapped a hand on Azriel’s shoulder.

“It’s good to see you, brother. Will you be coming to the training ring again soon?” He asked, his tone gentle.

“We’ll see, Cassian,” Azriel answered, the one that he had given Cassian the past four times he had dared to ask the Shadowsinger.

“Okay, hopefully sometime soon. Or we could go out for a meal, just the two of us, hm? Just like the old days when we were stuck here, it could be fun,” Cassian suggested, and Azriel nodded in agreement just to get him to stop asking.

Cassian walked away, and Azriel could see him making a pointed expression at Feyre, probably urging her to come talk to him. He downed the rest of his drink, and poured another of the same amount.

By the time he had sat back down on the couch, Feyre was joining him.

She didn’t say anything, just sat with him as he sipped on his drink, relishing in the burn it carved through him.

They sat like that for a few minutes before Azriel’s left hand crept out, grasping Feyre’s right. The tears that had burned his eyes for six months, six long months of drinking himself to sleep as the tear in his soul grew, consuming him whole, had begun to fall, carving lines into his skin. Feyre’s hand squeezed his, and when he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, she thankfully had her eyes turned away from him, giving him the privacy he needed.

A minute or an hour could have passed before Azriel stood abruptly, making for the front door. He burst through it, tears still streaming down his face as he walked home as quickly as he could, the alcohol doing more to him now that he had lost weight from so many skipped meals. He could hear footsteps behind him, and if he dared enough it bet on anything anymore, he would say it’s Feyre.

She had told him at the funeral how guilty she felt for not realizing that Y/N was a danger to herself, but Azriel had brushed her off, telling her it was no one’s fault but his own.

Azriel knew she still carried it, though.

“I don’t need a minder, Feyre,” he drawled, slowing his pace so she could catch up from where she had been following him at a distance.

“From my eyes, you do Az.”

Her concerned tone made him sigh, the tears flowing even more freely now. He didn’t want to worry anyone, he simply wanted to waste away into nothing.

“I will be fine, Feyre, I promise,” he reassured her once she was at his side, though he didn’t fully believe it himself. “Just go home, go enjoy the dinner everyone has been slaving over for hours, Feyre.”

It was Feyre’s turn to sigh. “Do you promise you’ll eat something tonight?”

Azriel nodded his head.

Another sigh. “I suppose I’ll head back, then. Be safe please, Azriel. We love you. I love you. Remember that, okay?”

Azriel nodding again, swallowing a sob until he couldn’t hear her footsteps anymore. He finally reached your house, opening the beautiful door that you loved so much.

He loved that you’d had it custom made, wanting something to honor your Autumn heritage, so far from home. He closed it, running a hand along its surface.

You had loved everything fiercely, him included, even if he didn’t deserve it in any way.

You had loved your mystery books, your coffee, trying out new blends of tea you had made from herbs you’d grown in your small garden.

Then there were the things about him that you loved. His eyes, his hair. You always loved both of those. His hands… you had never shied away from them, in fact you had pulled them towards you, nuzzling your face into them whenever he was feeling insecure about them. You kissed every inch of them so often, Azriel had begun to love the scars, love the way you were able to make them beautiful.

Now though… he couldn’t think of them as anything but the hands that had sullied you, touching you after touching that other female.

Azriel made his way to the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of vodka and your favorite, sapphire blue mug. He poured the liquid until the mug was nearly overflowing, and knocked back as much of it as he could managed in one go, a few drops trailing down his chin.

He regretted so many things in his life, but the way he had hurt you was the one he wished he could take back, at least trade his life for yours. You deserved to live, with your soft heart and open mind. Not him, with his unfaithfulness and betrayal of the worst degree.

His mate.

His mate!!!

He could hardly believe that six months had passed already, six months since that dreadful day.

Six months since your last kiss.

He could almost picture you now, as he walked into your bedroom. It had been on your bed, you were still naked from the earlier activities the two of you had indulged in. Azriel had just gotten his shirt on, and you made an adorable kissy noise, puckering your lips dramatically to draw him back to you. He hadn’t been able to resist, leaning back down and capturing your lips softly with his, tilting your chin up towards him gently with two fingers. It had been soft, sweet, all that he ever needed for the rest of his life.

But it was the last one. The last one, and he hadn’t even known it at the time.

And it was all. His. Fault.

Azriel sank down onto the bed, taking another large gulp of his drink. It was really kicking in now, he felt almost like he could sleep. Draining the rest of the cup, he placed it on the nightstand and laid down on his side of the bed. If he closed his eyes, he could almost trick himself into thinking you were there, sleeping beside him, almost hear your breathing and heart’s rhythm next to him.

He drifted off while clutching the pair of rings still around his neck, his heart still beating that broken, dying music that still sang your name.

Taglist: @j-pendragonx

[ruija]

Pssst, did you know that @plothooksinc is writing a sequel to No Rest For The Weary?

Infinite Ricochet has two chapters out! I love the 1st one especially, it's very cool and intriguingly creepy. Made me want to sketch out something like a poster for it. Go give it a read o/

[daisydoesfanfics]

|You know I didn't want to have to haunt you|

blade hears you speak, whispering in his ears, calling out to him. he looks around, not a sight of you anywhere. he follows the sound of your voice, slow and hesitant steps turn into a determined sprint. he dashes through the woods, your cries growing louder and louder, like a sob for help. he sees you, he finally sees you. but before he could reach out to you, a sword makes contact with your heart, piercing through your chest in one swift motion. "why didn't you save me?" you asked him with a shaky breath as you fall to the ground, blooding spilling everywhere. he feels dizzy, as if the world started spinning around him. and suddenly he wakes up, lying in cold sweat as you haunt him in his nightmares.

|'Cause when I'd fight you used to tell me I was brave|

he would bury himself in your arms, tears quietly streaming down his face as the pain of the mara washed over him. your fingers ran through his hair, your other hand on his face as your thumb wiped away his tears. "you'll be fine, i promise." you pressed a kiss to his cheek, feeling his breath starting to go slow and steady. "you're so brave, you know. not everyone can suppress such a disease." your praise was like music to his ears, it made him feel stronger during times where he felt so weak. his arms tightened around you, wanting to protect you and keep you with him forever. but not even the tightest embrace can stop the cruelty of this world. now he sits alone, with no one to wipe his tears anymore.

|And I still talk to you (when I'm screaming at the sky|

he finds himself in a field of dandelions, your favorite flowers. he never understood your adoration for them, "they would die eventually." he argued. but truth is, you were just like those flowers. the tip of his fingers caressed the seeds of the flower, but no matter how gentle he was, they all flew away from him. he clenched his fists, looking up into the sky as he cursed the aeons. he cursed all of them, asking why they took the one thing that he loved, the one person who supported him. and he screams out, asking you why you left him so early. but he slowly looks back down at the ground, knowing there's no one else to blame but himself. he whispers sweet apologies to the stars, hoping that there's a chance you might have heard him, and that you would forgive him for not being able to save you.

|You turned into your worst fears|

he promised to you once that he would change his ways, he would become a better person. and he feared that he may not be able to keep that promise, knowing about the things that the mara forces him to do. but knowing that you were there, he still tried his best. after he lost you however, all the warmth and hope that you gave him turned into dust, turning him into the cold and ruthless man he used to be. he kills mercilessly, without a second thought or a single bit of sympathy for his victims. yet, deep down, in the pit of his heart, a sort of guilt bubbles up. not because he regrets his actions, but because he regrets failing his promise to you.

|And I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want, just not home|

for the longest time, blade didn't have a place to call "home". he often wandered around, moving from place to place. even when he had an agreement with elio, becoming a part of the stellaron hunters, he didn't know what "home" meant. sure he lived somewhere for good, but that's all it was. it took you to make him realize that "home" wasn't a place, it was a person, at least it was to him. home was in your arms, your loving embrace, your kind words, your caring actions. your presence made any place warm and welcoming. but now, even the walls of his house, that used to be filled with your warmth and laughter, was cold and gloomy. and every night, he looks over to your side of the bed, which was now left vacant. the pillows still smelled like you, and he'd hold them close to his body, yearning for you once more.

♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫

A/N: So, here's the first piece on my new collection "Stories and Music"🩵 I quite like this actually, especially since I love Taylor! I will also post an updated masterlist with this collection, one shots, and multiple part stories soon. Hope you liked this:)

[nerdfins]

Transformers One AU Snippet

(Transformers One Starscream getting to know Transformers One Ricochet, long before the betrayal of the Primes.)

"Tell me, Starscream, what do you know about Gladiator matches?" Ricochet asked with a conspiratorial grin.

"I know they are brutal fights to the death. Highly illegal." Starscream continued playing a little dumb. "You watched them?"

"No. I participated."

Looking back at what Starscream witnessed of Ricochet's fighting style, it all made sense. She never held back when confronting an enemy, except to watch how they moved. She'd let them take a shot or strike at her to see how they worked and where their weak points were. When Ricochet struck, she struck hard and would go for the kill. A normal soldier when killing an enemy combatant would do so out of duty or self-preservation. Most were done at a distance with blasters. Starscream had seen plenty with haunted looks in the optics of soldiers when remembering the moments they snuffed the life out of another being. Quintession or not, death was not easy to mete out.

Ricochet was no ordinary soldier. When Ricochet fought, she did it up close and personal. There were rare times she'd use a rifle, and Starscream wasn't sure if she even had any internal blast weaponry. When not helping Megatronus Prime guide troops, Ricochet would be out in the skirmish. Megatronus used to be heard bellowing for her to get back to his side, but eventually that lessened to a shake of his head as the Captain would take off again. When Ricochet fought, it was a sight to see.

Starscream had seen her rip apart Quintession troops with her bare hands. Seen her covered in their blood, the green against the grey and purple of her paint. Heard her roar as she slashed with her dual-ended sword or the blades hidden in her arms. And, most chillingly, witnessed her grinning as she looked down at her kill. Ricochet would sometimes be laughing in an adrenaline-fueled rush before turning and going after the next opponent.

He never saw the hollow-eyed stare from her.

Ricochet was a killing machine.

"You're judging me, I can tell," Ricochet said.

"Does it bother you?"

Ricochet responded with a shrug. "Meh, not really. I've always been judged in some way for being a Gladiator. Sometimes with awe, sometimes with disgust. Which one are you?"

[iheartgod175]

WIP

Finally got around to drawing Punkin's maw 😀

[vqltairstears]

my tears ricochet - chapter 18

[that-glitter-chick]

Autobot Jazz Week 2024! Woohoo!

Day one prompts are Mirrors/Forgotten. The song I chose is ‘Objects in the Rearview Mirror May Appear Closer Than They Are’ by Meatloaf. The scene is set in the G1 continuity, just after the events of the movie but before season three starts. Link to the fanfiction I wrote to go with this is below. I hope you enjoy it🩷

Side note, I know Ricochet’s visor is normally gold colored, but I purposely made it blue to fit in G1 space. 👍🏼💙

[oh-my-wolfstar]

Taylor swift Wolfstar songs day 5

who is ready to cry? Since no one responded and told me if they wanted happy or sad it’s gonna be sad. today’s song is my tears ricochet. It’s POV Sirius after he’s been arrested and taken to Azkaban and Remus has done nothing to stop it, and worse believed that he actually did it. But it’s more how Remus imagines Sirius is thinking and feeling than how he actually does.

Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe All the hell you gave me? 'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you 'Til my dying day

Even in his darkest moments Sirius didn’t deserve to have the one person he trusted and loved most think that he would turn out like the one thing he hated most: his family.

And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet

Remus acts like Sirius is nothing to him now, a traitor from the past. But he can never stop thinking about him, remembering him, loving him.

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace 'Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave

Sirius didn’t have it in him to forgive Remus and make up with him because Remus always swore he trusted Sirius and the believed he betrayed James and Lily.

And I can go anywhere I want Anywhere I want, just not home

Sirius can’t go home because the only home he has is with Remus, even in his mind and memory Home is always where Remus is

And you can aim for my heart, go for blood But you would still miss me in your bones

Remus can swear he hates Sirius and get rid of all his things but he can never stop wanting him And I still talk to you (when I'm screaming at the sky) And when you can't sleep at night (you hear my stolen lullabies)

Sirius can never stop wanting Remus either, he still talks to him on full moons, even though Remus is not there. And Remus can’t stop hearing Sirius at night, even though he’s alone

You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same Cursing my name, wishing I stayed You turned into your worst fears

Remus had to act like Sirius was dead to him but it broke his heart and broke him. Remus hates Sirius and needs Sirius. He became what he never wanted to be, alone and afraid without anyone to love him. To remember him.

[mmemirrorball]

I love being a swiftie because it provides perfect fodder to feed my other hyperfixations

[ipsomaniac]

why hasn't Nicholas Hoult become tumblr's baby boy yet. he's inherited Hugh Grant's old innocent-blue-eyed-socially-strange-Englishman shtick but marries this with extreme feyness and an intriguingly blithe, oblivious manner of delivering absurdities, making him the ideal lead for the oddball surreal/black comedies he seems to have made his niche. The other thing he's inherited from Hugh Grant is the Englishman's power of self-deprecation but in him this force is so powerful that every single role he's in turns into a mind-bending self-parody. has no one on here seen The Great or Renfield (the latter was designed for tumblr)? Or The Menu which was silly but he was the best thing in it.

[pale-fairytales]

Rust Sticks — Chapter 7 Preview

Deadlock is still dead asleep when Barricade is scrolling through his comms, a look on his face like the world is rumbling and creaking, threatening to burst open—like danger is near, but intangible. The coffee on the table is still steaming, the vapors billowing visibly in the dim, darkness enfolding morning. The newscast is soft in the background, bluelight painting the dark room in cool hues. It’s quiet. He stares at Prowl’s name.

It can't be, he decides to himself, happy to play the denial game. It’s too coincidental, reason whispers in the back of his mind—he looks too much like her, logic rasps practically right into his audio sensor.

He checks the time. It’s 4:45 in the morning, and Barricade is blankly staring at the newscast playing quietly in front of him, his thumb digit hovering over the text option next to Prowl’s designation. It’s 4:45 in the morning and he's awake, while Deadlock is finally sleeping okay, and Deadlock’s carrier is Primus Knows Where, probably never to be seen again. It’s 4:45 in the morning and Barricade is sure that all of his old friends are dead. Not that it really matters—friends come and go and with the lifestyle he used to live, the lifestyle they all had been caught up in, it makes sense. No use being all that sad or mopey over it when it was their own choice.

“She can't be,” he mumbles to himself. “She didn’t even tell me she had a kid, there's no way.” 

His optics flick up, across the screen. Some desperate journalist reporting an uptick in crime in Kaon, as if it makes a difference, is standing there, straight-faced, that forced bit of showmanship clear in his voice. 

He clicks on the text option next to Prowl’s designation, tapping out a brief message—’i think i kn’

He backspaces, retyping—’I don't know for sure’

He backspaces again. Retypes. Backspaces. Retypes. ‘I think she's off’ or ‘Her name is f’ appear then disappear several times, before Barricade exhales a sharp sigh, an irritated look on his face, before he finally taps out the reply he sends, timestamped 5:13 AM.  ‘Can I comm you?’

HI HERE YOU HAVE IT AS PROMISED <3 <3 <3 Chapter 7 is underway—I may even make good progress over the next few days and (hopefully) get it posted before March. Hopefully I can segway into an actual posting schedule (though that's doubtful) If you want to read the rest of the fic, the link is here

[justwannabearock]

And I still talk to you (when I'm screaming at the sky) -starchaser Art heist baby! by otrtbs

Art: theinvisiblemuseum

[ruija]

You might have seen the cover art I sketched for @plothooksinc's fic Infinite Ricochet a couple days ago. I wanted to clean it up a bit, so here's a more refined version 😄

There was actually one more draft I did between the first and this final one, in which I tried a tighter composition and pushed the perspective more. It lost some of the eerie atmosphere though, so I wasn't as happy with it. You can check it out under read more, if you're curious!

[txemrn]

Ricochet

Part IV: "... This Isn't What I Wanted (or Is It Everything?)"

Need to Catch up?

A New Boss (a prequel of sorts)

Part I: “Like Moths to the Flame”

Part II: “So Far Away, but Still So Near”

Part IIIa: “And I Know It Gets Dark…”

Part IIIb: "...But I Know the Way."

Pairings: Ethan Ramsey x F!OC (Tatum Erikson); Tobias Carrick x F!OC (Tatum)

Series Music Inspo: Ricochet by Starset (more of an acoustic fan? Check it here.)

Chapter Music Inspo: "Shapeshifting" by Taylor Acorn

Series Summary: Almost two decades ago, he gave love a chance–and she betrayed him. Now after all of this time, Dr. Ethan Ramsey and Dr. Tatum Erikson realize that their past feelings might not exactly be ancient history–especially now that they are forced to work together.

Chapter Summary: Tatum has called for assistance from the main OR, but will they be any help when several emergencies emerge at the same time? Tatum takes courage and finds her voice when she remembers an awful experience; she meets a new, young surgical resident

Warning: 🔞mature audiences only 🔞 TW: dub-con/non-con 🍋; strong depiction of a medical procedure; strong depiction of a medical emergency involving newborn infant and mother; language (including a slur against woman); angst; discussion of infidelity

Word Count: 4300 (+/-)

A/N: Characters and some plot belong to Pixelberry! Not beta'd, so please excuse my errors. Fair warning: this is not my strongest chapter (I mean, it took my FOREVER to actually finish it and post), but I hope you enjoy the journey regardless.

A/N 2: It really has been forever and day, so here's a recap: *clear throat* Previously in Ricochet... Unable to sleep after his encounter with Casey at Raf and Sienna's wedding, Ethan's heads in to the hospital despite it being his day off; after a challenging talk with Tobias about unspoken intentions with Tatum, the chief heads over to the L&D ORs, where he finds a terrified Tatum in the midst of a rare, very lethal surgery, and her hesitation doesn't go unnoticed by the staff in the observation deck as they ridicule the new chief of OB, Tobias being the ringleader of the hate; Ethan sternly bans them from witnessing the once-in-a-lifetime surgery before turning to encourage Tatum in the most Ethan-way possible: with just a look...

~🖤~

Remaining in her sterile surgical gear, Tatum carefully takes a seat on a metal stool, saving her back for the arduous surgery staring at her on the operating table. She anxiously chews on her lip, her eyes darting across her patient's open abdomen before fixating on her fresh set of steel tools. 

The procedure she knows like the back of her hand: clamp, cut, control bleeding. But, with the placenta growing outside of the uterus and into other organs, into the delicate vasculature of the pelvis, it's like going into this surgery blindfolded.

The uterus has to come out–and the patient is well aware of this and prepared. But, this isn't like any other hysterectomy. Will it cost the patient her ovaries? Her bowels and bladder? Her life?

Tatum urgently stands back up, staring at the clock on the wall.  It had been over twenty minutes, and her STAT page was yet to be answered by surgery. Too slow for L&D standards; way too slow for her own standards. And at this rate, the patient’s spinal anesthesia is going to dissipate before they even start. 

Damnit… think, Tatum, think…

She could always page Ramsey.

No.

Tatum refuses to resort to that. Well, not that calling on him for assistance would be the worst thing in the world.  

She had a brief moment of weakness–more like a moment of uncertainty, actually–when she discovered her patient’s unknown lethal condition, and Ethan clearly recognized the fear etched on her face from the gallery; truth be told, the accreta scared him, too.

However, Tatum is a highly skilled physician; her reputation for excellence precedes her. If she needs help, she will ask for it–and she has. 

She's embarrassed that she even needed Ethan's reassurance earlier, even if it was just for that moment, that simple nod of 'I believe in you.'  Sure, it was supportive, and it gave her that extra push she needed to power forward. 

But that look, that damn crystal gaze…

Damnit, why did she have to freeze? It was only for an instant, a very brief second.  Tatum Erikson doesn't need a vote of confidence. Not from anyone, not even from the famous Dr. Ethan Ramsey. She is independently strong, independently capable.

But now, Tatum feels as if she's accidentally exposed a secret side to herself, like her own Achilles' heel; it's quite possible now he knows he still has an effect on her.

Worse, now she knows he still has an effect on her.

She turns to Wanda the charge nurse, who shrugs her shoulders to the physician's unspoken question. 

Tatum takes a deep cleansing breath, trying her best to stay calm.  "Can someone please tell me where the hell is my backup ?"

"Right here, Doctor…"

Hearing the monotoned boredom of an unfamiliar male voice, Tatum spins around to find two gentlemen moseying into her operating room, drying off their hands with blue sterile towels. The tension raking her nerves is instantly relieved, seeing her help arrive.

The older of the men continues. "I'm Dr. Aaron Tanaka, chief of surgery," he nods his head towards the taller gentleman. "And this is one of my fourth-years–"

"Sup?" The young surgical resident smoothly winks at Tatum, popping gum under his mask.

Oh great, a kindergartner… Tatum rolls her eyes as the healthcare team assists the men into their protective gowns. As the physicians roll their gloves over the cuffs of their sleeves, Tatum escorts them over to her patient, catching them up to speed on what has happened so far. Together, Dr. Tanaka and Dr. Erikson develop several plans of how to overcome the patient's lethal risk of hemorrhaging.

"Whoa…" the younger surgeon exclaims, "I have never seen anything like that–"

Tatum clears her throat, glaring at the amateur physician.

"Should I start charging admission?" The patient jokes on the other side of the blue drape, causing the room to snicker loudly. 

Tatum leans toward the young doctor, her tone low and syrupy. And quite sarcastic. “Try not to say everything that pops into that feeble little brain of yours–”  He pops his chewing gum, winking with a finger gun.  Fucking residents…

As the room quiets down, the patient softly whistles to get her surgeon's attention. "Dr. Erikson?" Tatum tucks in her hands, carefully wiggling her body closer to the head of the table to hear the patient clearer. 

"Yes ma'am? You ready?"

The patient lowers her voice. "He's not, eh, doing the surgery, is he?" referring to the surgical resident who was shocked by the scene.

The blonde guffaws. "No, ma'am," she glances back to the young doctor who is now talking cooly with her staff, the nurses dow-eyed and eagerly laughing at everything he says. But suddenly, he fixes his flirty, soft copper eyes on Tatum. His intense gaze fools her into inadvertently staring too long as she begins to take note of his tall, trim physique. He begins to smolder, causing her to turn her attention back to her patient. "H–He's here for… my entertainment."  

“Is he hot? He sounds hot.”  Tatum gives a dramatic wink while her patient shoots a knowing look in return, clicking her tongue and giggling.

“Erikson?” The anesthesthetist breaks her from her reverie, confirming the case status. “We’re ready.”

"Perfect.” Tatum takes her place on a metal step stool, matching her height with her assists. She’s above average height for a woman at five-foot-nine-inches, but still, the men tower over her. She looks around the room with a commanding stance. “Are we set then?" 

"Ready when you are, Doc," Dr. Tanaka affirms, others nodding in agreement.

Tatum cracks her neck, taking a big deep breath. "Okay, then," she exhales, surveying her staff, "now who's ready to have a birthday party?" 

After a few shared chuckles, the patient was safely intubated and given the proper amount of anesthesia. Seeing that she was safely asleep under the appropriate gasses, Dr. Erikson quickly proceeds with her cesarean surgery, and in record time, she delivers a beautiful six-pound, thirteen-ounce baby girl. 

The OB takes the tiny infant in her arms, making cooing noises to welcome the tiny one into the world as she suctions out the mouth and nose with a green bulb syringe.  

But as the birthday cheers begin to quiet down around the room, the situation abruptly becomes dire: the baby is limp, her skin becoming dusky gray at the cut of her cord. Tatum continues to stimulate the baby to breathe with no avail.

"C'mon, baby girl," Tatum's words become gruffly matter-of-fact. She wrestles with her legs, flicking her feet  vigorously with her fingers, but her tiny frame lays flaccid in the physician's hands like a limp fish.

Lifeless.

No cry.

"Nurse?" Tatum urgently calls out, quickly handing off the stunned baby to the waiting NICU staff. "Keep me updated–" she orders as the team hooks the baby up to specialized  monitors, performing the necessary interventions to resuscitate.

Tatum briefly closes her eyes, taking a deep breath before she focuses on the surgery. Opening her eyes, she nods assuredly to Tanaka before continuing. “Pickups.” The surgical tech hands the obstetrician a pair of tissue forceps and a cauterizing tool to continue with her surgery. "I need an update, ladies," Tatum shouts. Her tone is assertive and controlled, commanding and clear. Inwardly she is panicked, but she remains calm, a testament to her leadership skills and her quick thinking.

"We're just past a minute of life. Pulse is 52. Starting compressions… draw up epi… let's get an umbilical line…"

Fuck. Tatum's nerves tangle as she listens to the baby's team of professionals administer medications and physical maneuvers to make her spontaneously breathe on her own. Still, the OB continues steadily and carefully with her surgery, glancing over at the baby every few seconds.

C'mon, baby girl. Cmon. Mama needs you–

Suddenly, a trill of alarms begin to blare rapidly, stealing everyone's attention. Before realizing what had happened, warm, crimson fluid spatters across the surgical field, saturating Tatum's arms, gloves and gown; her mask and shield are covered with blood.

"Erikson!" Shouts the anesthetist, "BP 67/23… heart rate now in the 150s…"

"That vessel on the lateral portion of the accreta blew.  She's bleeding out, Erikson–" Tanaka quickly suctions the field of the pooling blood. "She's getting shocky… and fast. How should we proceed?"

Fuck. Tatum grabs a stack of lap pads and tosses them to the young resident. "We need to find the source of this bleeding." He nods and instantly begins soaking up the copious amounts of fluid with the large, thick pieces of gauze as Tatum explores the body cavity with Tanaka.

"BPs dropping," anesthesia hollers.

"Give me a second–"

"Erikson! She doesn't have a second–"

"Bolus her and mass transfuse four units–" Feeling their stares, Tatum looks up at her concerned anesthesia team. "Now!" She growls, her eyebrows furrowing as she returns to the carnage. "Then cross and match four more units… and buy me a goddamn second!"

Taking a deep breath, Tatum flickers her attention to her assistants, both of them giving her an approving nod.

"Damnit! Dr. Erikson! I can't get this intubation on the baby. We need you–"

"Dr. Erikson! Vitals not improving–"

“Dr. Erikson–!”

“Dr. Erikson–!”

Tatum glances around the room, her paralyzing fear slowing down time. All she can hear is the thunder of her own heart racing, the rasp of her breathing echoing in her head. She sees the concerned faces; she hears the whispers of doubt and concern from her colleagues

She’s losing them. The possibility of losing either of them never crossed her mind, but both? A mother and child? This wasn’t the plan; this was never part of the fucking plan.

The sting of tears pricks at Tatum’s reddening eyes. 

What do I do?... what have I done?

------

The torrential downpour hushes to a dull tapping of raindrops as hollow roars of thunder rumble in the distance; but, the storm was just beginning for Tatum as she lays frozen in her bed, her sanctuary that she shared only with the love of her life.

And now, his best friend.

The room suddenly feels so different, so strange and unknown. It seems so ordinary, no longer special. The warmth of home has melted away, leaving a peculiar chill of unfamiliarity. 

There's a handsome smell, a spicy musk that hangs in the air. But, it’s not Ethan.

There’s a pair of distressed jeans tossed carelessly on the carpet, but the body heat that lingers isn’t from him either.

There’s a set of arms possessively wrapped around her naked body. The skin feels … different. The hair? Different. The actual grip and weight on top of her: it’s different.

It’s not Ethan. 

What have I done? Tatum’s eyes pain with the threat of tears, her chest beginning to rise and fall in search of fresh air, in search of clarity. But with each gasp of a new breath, she quietly whimpers in agony for the ache in her heart. 

She had broken the most precious thing she owned.  That she will ever own.

"You awake?" Tobias croons in her ear as his large hand massages the soft, flat planes of her belly. He tenderly works his way down, his fingers intimately petting her sore, swollen lips between her thighs.

She winces, her toes curling as her body grows rigid from his unwanted touch. She consciously holds her breath, hoping he won't notice her terrified nerves.

"What’s wrong, baby girl?" he whispers, pressing his full lips against her neck, biting at the sensitive area. “Are you needing more already?”

Tatum can feel his heavy erection against her hip, his intentions painfully aware. He slowly rocks himself against her body as if to charm her like a serpent, hypnotizing her to give him exactly what he wants. Another rendezvous; another fuck; another sin.

Desperate for a gentle hand, she foolishly lost herself in Tobias’s caress earlier that evening.  She was vulnerable, inebriated, and lonely.  In her altered mind, even for just a small moment, being in his arms made sense–well, being in someone's arms made sense. She needed Ethan. She was broken and hurt, and she despairingly needed her boyfriend’s love and comfort. 

But, Tobias was there. His words, the look on his face, the heat in his touch: it was exactly what she needed to sooth her wounds. For the moment.

And now, he wants to claim her once more.

Shit, can a woman deny a man if she’s already given in once? Does he have a claim over her, a right, an expectation? The conversation played out in her head: 'You said, ‘yes’ earlier, you tease. You whore…'

Oh God,  would he turn on her? Shame her publicly? Worse, would he tell Ethan before she could… that is if she decided to actually tell her boyfriend–no, she had to, right?  But if Tobias told Ethan before her, would he be honest about what happened? Or would she become another victim of slut-shaming? 'She couldn't be faithful; what else is she lying about?' 

It was one time; it was one mistake. Does that unravel three years of trust? Three years of commitment? Three years of love?

Tatum already knew the answer, and the taste of bile grazes the back of her throat.

She needed to stop this from happening again. But how can she while still protecting herself?

This was a grave mistake…

Tobias gently rolls her over, kissing hungrily against her pout. His tongue swipes across her plump lips, his large hand roaming down the outside of her thigh. But then he stops, sensing her awkwardness. “You okay?” His voice is haunting, dark, his gray eyes piercing her vacant stare.

No. “Uh-huh,” she lies with a nod. The corners of her mouth begin to curl as his hand grips behind her knee, hitching her leg around his waist.  Goosebumps ignite across her skin in betrayal as he pushes himself against her throbbing clit.

Stop, her brain screams.

“Relax, Tate,” he growls before reclaiming her lips, nipping and bruising them. "Let me make you feel good."

Tell him to stop.

“Is this okay?”

No. She reluctantly shakes her head 'yes' in agreement.

He aligns his girth with her entrance, fisting the sheets next to her head as he hovers above her docile form.

Say something! Do anything! she screams to herself, but she is paralyzed by fear. It's more than just the fear of the consequences of what's happening. Tatum is terrified of herself.

Then again, maybe she believes she deserves this. It wasn't going to be pleasurable for her, rather an act of attrition. Maybe that's why her body allowed his advances. Maybe she needed to feel the discomfort as a form of punishment for what she had done against Ethan. Maybe this was a last ditch effort to settle the score, to make things even.

Feeling Tobias's weight begin to push into her, she turns her head to her phone laying on the bedside table, praying for Ethan to call her, text her, anything to interrupt this.

But nothing comes through.

And suddenly, she sobs out a painful moan.

------

“Dr. Erikson—!”  

Say something… Do anything…

Tatum subtly shakes her head, the horrid memory fleeing her thoughts.  The frantic voices of the NICU team pull her attention to the struggling infant. 

“Please, doc, we need this intubation. We don’t have time to wait for our back-up–”

Tatum watches the mother’s abdomen pool with blood before turning a pleading stare to her colleague. “Tanaka–?”

“I’m on it.” He elbows his wide-eyed resident, “Suction.” 

Say something… Do anything…

Seeing the men take over, Tatum instantly rips off her dirty gown and gloves and positions herself at the head of the baby’s bed.  

“Would you like for us to call our back-up?”  The neonatal practitioner urgently interrupts.

Tatum remains silent, seemingly ignoring her. She slides a metal apparatus into the infant’s mouth before guiding a clear plastic tube inside the throat and past the vocal cords. Attaching an ambu bag to the special tube to assist with the baby’s breathing, she watches the tiny chest rise and fall in coordination with the squeezing of the ventilation. Tatum steals a stethoscope from a nearby nurse’s neck and listens closely to the lungs.

“Breath sounds…” she moves the flat, round bell to the other side of the tiny torso, “equal and bilateral.”  Tatum smirks as on-lookers silently praise her with sighs of relief. “Now,” she continues, “get this kid some epi. Oh! And ma’am?” She turns to the practitioner while handing the stethoscope back to the nurse. “I don’t need back-up.”

Slipping back into her sterile apparel, Tatum rejoins Tanaka and his resident, but quickly notices that he still hasn’t been able to find the source of the bleeding. She looks to anesthesia, “Where are we on our blood?”

“The first unit is pouring into her, but–”

“--she’s bleeding it back out–shit!”  Tatum stares at the flood of viscous crimson.

“How would you like to proceed?” Dr. Tanaka questions. “Maybe order some more blood?” 

Tatum thinks in silence, racking her brain for a solution.

“Should we call someone? Maybe someone who knows?” Anesthesia sardonically suggests, earning him a hateful side-eye.

“Maybe you should just plug the hole up with your finger,” the resident chuckles, his attending suddenly glaring in disapproval.  Tatum glances at him, her eyes squinting into a glower as her eyebrows furrow. 

These idiots–

But then she stops. She slowly cocks her head with curiosity as she suddenly considers his words.

Actually… 

"My apologies, Dr. Erikson,” Tanaka interjects. “Perhaps we should–"

“--plug the hole up,” Tatum interrupts the seasoned surgeon, echoing the resident's poor joke, only this time, there is a certainty in her voice. "I’m going in." She instantly sticks her gloved hand into the open abdominal cavity, gently feeling her way around the thick, warm fluid.  

“Dr. Erikson,” Dr. Tanaka chides, “this… is… highly unusual–”

“Just keep suctioning,” she orders, her hands tenderly brushing against the fragile uterus and the delicate vessels.  

Tanaka scoffs, giving a knowing look to a worried anesthesia provider. The tall, young resident looks to his mentor, unsure of what to do… or if there was anything to do.  He nervously looks back to Dr. Erikson, but suddenly his jaw falls open. 

Her eyes are closed.

"Erikson–?" the anesthesiologist attempts to get her attention.

"Give me a sec," she carefully feels her way through the body.

His voice grows frantic. "Her vitals are–"

"Got it!" She instantly peers up at her staff with relief before turning to her tech. Her hand remains deep inside the patient, her arm twisted at an odd angle. "Get me a 3-O vicryl suture on an SH. Now please." 

Tatum works quickly in silence as she temporarily fixes the weak, broken vessel. It wasn't a long-term answer, but this would buy them time to thoroughly clear the area of the accreta while cauterizing the necessary vessels before they performed the hysterectomy.  

"Okay, so–"  She flashes an innocent gaze to anesthesia, batting her eyelashes. "What were you saying about those vitals, doctor?" She's grateful she's wearing a mask to hide her smirk, but she knows her eyes are giving her away.

"Stabilizing, ma'am, uh. Doctor."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Dr. Tanaka suctions to clear the field–and it stays that way.

"How did you know that would work?" The resident questions, his warm gaze fixating on the blonde OB.

Tatum stops, thoughts racing through her mind as she considers her words. She then subtly shakes her head, returning to the operation. "I didn't… but sometimes even when you don't know what the answer is, you just have to do something. It’s way better than nothing."

------

Impressive. That's the word men use when a lady doctor kicks ass. The anesthesia team along with Dr. Tanaka couldn't stop talking about Tatum's heroic move of plugging up the ruptured vessel with her finger–and doing so only by her sense of touch, completely blind. If she were a man, they would've given her a cigar; but to be described as impressive? She knows her battles; she'll take it.

As they transfer the patient to recovery, Tatum takes a moment to herself to bask in the relief of saving a life. Of saving two. She slips back into the sink area to be alone in silence. 

Taking in a deep cleansing breath, she allows her nerves to relax for the first time in several hours. She tightly clenches her watering eyes shut, taking pleasure in the subtle sting of warmth after being in the frigid sterile air.

She grips firmly to the edge of the sink as she wiggles and contorts her body, feeling the sudden release of tension as her joints crack and pop.

She's grateful; she knows the success of the surgery was not by her doing alone. She would never be foolish enough to be that cocky, to truly think that something like this was completely in her control. There's only so much in her power, so much that science and her skills can fix.  But when lives are left to chance, she’s grateful that the gamble fell into her favor.

"Am I interrupting anything?" 

Instantly recognizing the familiar lax vocal timbre, Tatum looks up from the large steel sinks to find the tall, surgical resident, leaning against the doorway outside the operating room.  She smiles appreciatively at him as he takes off his blue mask.

He's young– maybe in his late twenties–and handsome with a natural caramel glow to his skin. The lines of his face are cut sharp, chiseled into perfect angles. He’s slender, but well-toned; his green scrub top pulls snug around the musculature of his biceps. Although his hibiscus-laden scrub cap covers his head, his sun-kissed brunette tresses are pulled back into a tiny ponytail. Most of the hairs, however, have already worked their way out of the elastic, resting on the nape of his neck.

"No," Tatum shakes her head, "not at all."

He steps into the room, casually sliding his hands into his pockets. “Can I just say… that was incredible.”

Tatum stifles a bright smile, feigning nonchalance as she picks at her nails. "I mean–" She glances back up at him, but seeing the glint of excitement reciprocated, she instantly forgets whatever smart-ass comment she was about to make and squeals. “God, that was fucking cool, wasn’t it?”

"The fucking coolest!  One of the most interesting cases I've seen in a while," he sucks in his bottom lip, his dimpled grin plastered wide across his face. "You just…” he snickers under his breath, “wow, I don't see myself forgetting this anytime soon."

Their playfulness quickly vanishes as Tatum catches a hint of something in his tone. Is he flirting? Becoming hyper-aware of his proximity, an err of awkwardness falls between them.  Feeling heat bloom on her cheeks, Tatum quickly attempts to rectify the situation by clearing her throat, rolling back her shoulders to straighten out her back. “By the way, thank you," she starts, "for your help in there with the, uh… with the, um–" Unable to find the right words, she begins holding up her pointer finger, spinning it around in the air. "Um… You know? The whole fingering thing–I mean–"

He chuckles, coyly looking down at the ground before meeting her gaze again, flashing his pearly whites. "Dr. Erikson, are you accusing me of 'fingering' in your OR?"

Tatum's eyes widen. She purses her lips together to stifle her laughter. Oh, so you're a bad kindergartner… "That… that's not what I meant, uh… doctor… um–"

"Bryce," he holds out his hand to take hers. "Bryce Lahela."

Speechless, Tatum mindlessly places her hand in his palm. She clears her throat again as she shakes his hand sternly in a poor attempt of being professional. "Nice to officially meet you--" she states matter-of-factly, "--Bryce. I'm–"

"--going to Donahue's," he interrupts.

 "What?"

He snickers. "You're going to Donahue's for a drink."

"Oh, am I now?"

"You are," he takes a step closer, the front of his Crocs kissing the toes of her tennis shoes. "With me. Those are the rules."

"Rules?"

"Mhmm," he hums as he lifts up her hand. Tatum didn't realize that he was still holding on even after their professional handshake. He points to the small tattoo on her wrist that she normally covers with her watch. "See this right here?"

"My tattoo?" She giggles sardonically to herself, curious as to what line he's about to feed her.

"You're a Virgo," he flashes a smirk, "which means we need to satisfy that impulsive side of yours by grabbing drinks together. In celebration of your badassery today, of course."

"Oh, of course," Tatum jests, pulling her hand away from him. "Too bad I'm not a Virgo," she turns to walk away, but stops herself, glancing back to him. "Also… you suck at astrology," she giggles before walking away from the sink area.

Bryce chuckles under his breath before jogging to catch up with her. "What’s with the Virgo ink then?"

Tatum rolls her eyes, glancing briefly at the collection of connected stars. "Long story–"

"--which… you can tell me… over drinks at Donahue's!" They both fall into laughter as Tatum comes to a stop in the hallway.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Hey, I wasn't lying about the rules. We have to celebrate."

Tatum looks up and down the empty corridor before crossing her arms, considering his proposition. God, is this what she is resorting to these days? Last night, Tobias and tonight, a resident? Who really is this guy anyway? 

Tatum wasn't sure if he was messy or complicated; but he was gorgeous, and he was available. Maybe. And he wasn't Ethan Ramsey. 

"One drink. As colleagues. That's it."

~🖤~

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[nerdfins]

Chapters: 5/5 Fandom: Transformers - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Breakdown & Knock Out (Transformers) & Original Character(s), Breakdown/Knock Out (Transformers), Starscream/Original Cybertronian Character(s) Characters: Knock Out (Transformers), Breakdown (Transformers), Starscream (Transformers), Original Cybertronian Character(s) Additional Tags: One Night Stands, Smut, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Seeker Trines (Transformers), Valves (Transformers), Valve Oral (Transformers), Switching, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, valveplug (Transformers), Size Difference, Pining Summary:

Starscream's infatuation with Ricochet has gotten unbearable. Now it's to the point it interrupts his daily life and he can't take it anymore! Starscream comes up with a fun solution, but it requires Ricochet's help. Will she say yes?

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This is it! This is the smut fic that I have been working on for a long time for my AU and grew antsy about posting. If you only want to read the fun, sexy stuff, skip to chapters 3 and 5.