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u6is · 3 days ago

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part 2!

warning: cheating

—kylian mbappé x reader: angst

In the thriving heart of Madrid, the cobblestone streets shimmered under the warm glow of the streetlights, and the vibrant colors of the buildings seemed to dance as shadows played along their facades. It was a typical evening in the city, one that promised adventure and romance to those who sought it.

Unfortunately, you are not in the mood for either. You had been looking forward to this vacation with your fiance, Ben, for months. But the trip had taken a sharp turn when you found out it was a work trip for you, and you had been swamped with meetings and deadlines ever since you both had arrived.

The one night you had hoped to carve out for a romantic dinner together had turned into a battle against your inbox.

Now, standing in the doorway of the quaint Spanish restaurant you had planned to visit, your eyes searched the dimly lit room for Ben. Your heart sank when you spotted him at the counter bar, surrounded by a group of giggling women, a cocktail in hand and a twinkle in his eye that was not reserved for you. The scene unfolded before you like a movie you hadn't paid to see. You had been running late from your last meeting, your heels clicking against the pavement as you rushed to make it in time. But it appeared you wasn't the only one Ben had been waiting for.

The host, a charming Spaniard with a thick accent, looked up from his podium with a smile that quickly faded when he noticed the tension in your posture.

"Table for two," you murmured, trying to keep the disappointment from your voice.

He led you to a small, intimate table in the corner, and as you sat down, you couldn't help but feel like the walls were closing in. The candlelight flickered, casting eerie shadows across your face as you stared at the empty chair across from you, willing it to be filled with someone other than the man you had caught red-handed.

Ben looked up, his eyes briefly locking with yours before he feigned surprise. He excused himself from his newfound companions and sauntered over, planting a kiss on your cheek that felt as forced as the smile you returned.

"You made it," he said, sliding into his seat with the ease of someone who had not just been caught.

You picked up the menu, trying to focus on the words printed on the page instead of the storm brewing in your chest.

"I did," you replied curtly, "but I see you've already started without me."

He chuckled, a sound that usually melted your heart but now just made your blood boil.

"Just passing the time, babe. You know how it is when you're stuck waiting." His casual attitude grated on you like sandpaper on skin.

Ignoring the simmering anger, you focused on the menu, pretending to scrutinize the options as if you hadn't already decided on the seafood paella hours ago. The waiter arrived, a concerned look on his face as he sensed the tension. Ben ordered for both of you, choosing the most expensive bottle of wine without asking for your input. You nodded stiffly, not trusting yourself to speak.

As the waiter left to fetch the wine, Ben reached for your hand across the table. His touch was cold and clammy, a stark contrast to the warmth of the room.

"I'm sorry you had to work so much, baby," he said, his voice a blend of insincerity and rehearsed charm. "I've just been trying to make the best of the situation, you know?"

You pulled your hand away, your eyes never leaving the menu.

"I see that," you said, your voice flat. The air between you felt thick and oppressive, the laughter of the other diners seemingly amplified in the quiet space you had created.

"So, how's your vacation been?" you asked, the sarcasm dripping from each word like honey from a spoon.

Ben's smile faltered for a moment before he regained his composure.

"It's been great," he said, his eyes darting to the group of women at the bar. "Met some interesting people around town."

The waiter returned with the wine, pouring a glass for each of you with a flourish. Ben took a sip, his eyes never leaving yours as he swirled the liquid in the glass. You took a deep breath, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach.

"I'm sure you have," you said, your voice as cool as the evening air outside.

As the conversation stalled, the background music grew louder, filling the void with a Spanish melody that seemed to mock the tension at your table. You couldn't bring yourself to look at Ben, instead focusing on the flickering candle in the center, watching the shadows play across the crumpled napkin. The smell of garlic and olive oil wafted from the kitchen, taunting you with the promise of a meal that was now ruined.

The first course arrived, a platter of tapas that you had been looking forward to sharing. But the sight of the food only served as a reminder of the distance that had grown between you. Ben made an effort to engage you in conversation, telling a story about a hilarious misunderstanding he'd had with a taxi driver earlier that day. But his words fell flat, each syllable bouncing off the walls of your disillusionment.

You picked at the food, your appetite nowhere to be found. The tangy flavors of the olives and the crunch of the croquetas were lost on you as you dissected every moment of your relationship, trying to pinpoint where things had gone so wrong. Was it the long hours at work that had driven you apart? Or was it something deeper, a fundamental lack of respect that you had been ignoring?

As the minutes dragged on, you felt your anger coalesce into something colder, something harder to ignore. You set your fork down with a clink and met Ben's gaze. "You know, I've been thinking," you began, your voice measured and calm.

He leaned in, a hint of hope in his eyes that you might have forgiven him. "Yeah?"

You took a deep breath, the scent of his cologne, once comforting, now suffocating. "Maybe we need a little break," you suggested, your tone even. "Just to cool things off a bit."

Ben's face fell, the color draining from his cheeks. "What are you saying?" His voice was a mix of shock and desperation.

You took a sip of water, buying yourself a moment to gather your thoughts. "Just that maybe we need some space," you replied, your gaze unwavering. "A chance to figure out if this is really what we both want."

Ben's handsome features contorted into a frown. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes searching yours for a hint of a bluff. "Are you serious, what about the wedding?"

You nodded, keeping the smile on your face, though it felt like it might crack any moment. "I am," you said, your voice steady.

"The wedding is a big deal, and if you can't even manage to keep your eyes on me during a simple dinner, then maybe we need to reevaluate."

Flashbacks to your carefree days in Germany flooded your mind. You remembered the time you had caught Ben with another woman at a street fair, their heads close together as they laughed at some shared joke. You had felt a pang of jealousy, but he had quickly introduced her as "just a friend" and you had chosen to believe him, to dismiss it as an innocent encounter.

You had been so in love, so willing to overlook his flaws, so eager to build a life together that you had convinced yourself it was nothing. The memory was a stark contrast to the man sitting across from you now, his eyes still lingering on the group of women at the bar.

When the bill arrived, Ben reached for his wallet, but you were quicker, slapping your credit card down before he could react. "This one's on me," you said, your voice filled with an icy finality. He didn't argue, just nodded as you signed the receipt, the pen feeling like it was made of lead in your hand.

The argument that had simmered under the surface of your dinner grew more heated as you stepped out into the night. The laughter of the other diners followed you out the door, a cruel soundtrack to your unraveling relationship. You both walked in silence, the cobblestone streets echoing with the sound of your footsteps. Madrid's vibrancy seemed to mock the darkness that had settled in your heart.

When you reached the hotel, Ben's hand found yours, but you pulled away. "I think it's best if we just go to our room and talk," he said, his voice strained. You looked at him, his eyes pleading, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of doubt. But then you remembered the way he had looked at those other women, the way he had made you feel like you weren't enough.

"Actually, I've decided to book another room," you said, your voice firm. "I need some space to think."

The shock on Ben's face was palpable, his grip on your hand loosening as the reality of your words sunk in. "What? You can't be serious."

You nodded, your eyes reflecting the glow of the streetlights. "I've never been more serious, Ben." With that, you turned away from him and flagged down a taxi, the vibrant lights of Madrid blurring into a colorful haze as the car pulled up. The driver, an older man with a kind smile, opened the door for you and you slid in, the leather interior cool against your heated skin.

You checked in with a curt nod to the night clerk, who seemed to sense the tension coiled around you. He handed over the key with a knowing look, and you took the stairs to your room, eager for the solitude it promised.

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, you let out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world. You tossed your bag on the bed, kicked off your heels, and headed straight for the shower.

The cool water washed away the grime of the day, along with the last traces of your shattered illusions. As you stood there, letting the droplets cascade down your back, you felt a strange sense of relief. It was as if a weight had been lifted, revealing a truth that had been hidden beneath layers of hope and denial. When you emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a plush robe, the room was quiet, the only sound the faint murmur of the television.

You padded over to the bed and sat down, opening your laptop with a sense of purpose. The screen flickered to life, revealing a slew of unread emails and documents that needed your attention.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to get lost in work, the familiar tasks a soothing balm for your bruised ego. But as you scrolled through the endless sea of virtual paperwork, your thoughts kept drifting back to Ben.

The TV in the background was tuned to a local channel, and the sound of a football match grew louder as the commentators' excitement reached a crescendo.

You had never been much of a sports fan, but in Madrid, it was hard to escape the fervor of football. You glanced up, noticing the score on the screen. The match was between Real Madrid and some other team, but what really caught your eye was the name of the player who had just scored an impressive goal: Kylian Mbappé. The crowd erupted into cheers, and even though you were alone in the hotel room, you couldn't help but feel a spark of sadness.

Kylian.

Once, he had been yours. His name had rolled off your tongue like a sweet melody, the very thought of him bringing warmth to your heart.

But that was before the painful argument that left both of you fractured, before his face had graced billboards across the globe. Back when you were both in the peaceful apartment you owned in Paris, dreaming of a future filled with love and simple happiness.

But those days were long gone, buried under the avalanche of his newfound fame.

You leaned back against your bed. You had read about his successes, watched from afar as he climbed the ladder of football stardom, his talent shining brighter with each passing year. But you had never imagined you would be in Madrid, in this moment, feeling the sting of his ghostly presence as you navigated the wreckage of your relationship with Ben.

The heartbreak from Kylian felt like a distant echo now, a wound that had scarred over but never fully healed. You crossed paths in the innocence of youth, a fleeting connection etched in time.

You had shared a love so pure and innocent it had seemed untouchable. But as his career took off, so did he, leaving you behind to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart.

To him, perhaps, those moments have faded, lost in the haze of forgotten rhyme.

You had moved on, or so you thought. But here you were, in Madrid, watching Kylian's name in lights, and feeling the ghosts of what could have been.

And it hit you like a soccer ball to the gut - Ben had secured tickets to the match you're currently watching on television.

He had talked about it for weeks, his excitement palpable every time he mentioned about the match.

You had never told Ben about your history with Kylian. It was a part of your past that you had kept hidden, a secret that would never resurface. But as you watched the game on the television, the players' movements a blur of color and light, you couldn't help but think of the countless times Ben had talked about his admiration for Mbappé, oblivious to the fact that you had once shared a life with the man.

Ben had been so excited about that match, his eyes lighting up when he had presented you with the tickets.

"It's going to be amazing, babe," he had said, his voice filled with the kind of enthusiasm that could make even the most mundane tasks seem like an adventure.

"You'll love it, I promise."

Ben had always talked about football and Mbappé with such admiration, his eyes lighting up when he spoke of his skill on the field. And you had listened, nodded, and even pretended to share in his excitement, all the while keeping your true feelings tucked away. It had become a game of sorts, a dance of omission that you had perfected over the years.

But as you watched Kylian score another goal, the cheers of the crowd echoing through the TV, you couldn't ignore the hollowness in your chest.

The first half of the football match had just ended, leaving the second half still to be watched.

Those tickets to the match, and maybe watching the game with Ben, might be just what you need to mend the rift between you two.

Fueled by a sudden burst of determination, you chose to surprise him. Rather than sending a text, you sprang up from the bed and quickly changed into something casual—a pair of jeans and a simple blouse. Your pulse quickened as you slid into your flats, grabbed your purse, and headed out, anticipation buzzing through you.

The taxi ride to Ben's hotel was a blur of flashing streetlights and the murmur of the city. As the car pulled up to the grand entrance, you took a deep breath and stepped out, the cool Madrid air a stark contrast to the heated tension of the evening.

You walked into the lobby, the plush carpets muffling your footsteps as you approached the reception desk. The clerk looked up with a practiced smile that faltered slightly when he saw the determination etched on your face. "May I help you?"

You gave a firm nod. "Yes, I had a reservation for two with Ben Stevenson," you said, your tone steady yet resolute. "I need to see him in person. It's urgent."

The clerk hesitated for a moment before handing over the keycard with a look that was both sympathetic and cautious. "Room 312," he murmured.

You took the keycard, your hand trembling slightly. The elevator ride up to the third floor felt like an eternity, each floor that passed a reminder of the decisions that had brought you here. When the doors finally slid open, you stepped out into the quiet hallway, the plush carpeting muffling the sound of your racing heart.

Room 312 was at the end of the corridor. You paused outside the door, listening for any signs of life within. The sound of the TV was faint, the murmur of a football match just audible. You took a deep breath and slid the card into the lock.

The click echoed in the emptiness, and you pushed the door open, your heart racing with anticipation to surprise him.

The scene before you was like a punch to the gut. Ben was sprawled across the bed, the crumpled sheets a testament to his infidelity. A girl from the restaurant lay beside him, her laughter from earlier now replaced with the soft rhythm of sleep. The sight of her bare shoulder, the way her hair fell across the pillow, the smell of her perfume mingling with Ben's cologne, it all hit you like a ton of bricks. Your hand tightened around the keycard until your knuckles turned white.

You felt your breath catch in your throat, a mix of anger, pain, and disbelief coursing through your veins like molten lava. For a moment, you were frozen, unable to move or speak.

Your foolish hope that he might still be thinking about you gnawed at your mind. Guilt crept in as you replayed the moment you left him alone in the bedroom you were supposed to share, the tickets he bought for both of you lingering in your thoughts. It was all because you couldn’t help being a fool.

Then, something inside you snapped. You marched over to the bed, your heels clicking against the tiles with each step. Ben stirred, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours, filled with shock and guilt.

The girl beside him gasped, her eyes going wide as she scrambled to cover herself. But you couldn't even look at her, your gaze was locked onto Ben's, the man who had promised to love and cherish you until the end of time. The man who was now betraying you in the most intimate of ways.

Ben sat up, his eyes darting between you and the girl. "Babe, it's not what it looks like," he stammered, but the words sounded hollow, a pathetic attempt to salvage what was clearly beyond repair.

Ben, now fully awake, was desperately trying to explain, his voice a jumble of words that made no sense. "It just happened, I didn't mean for it to... I don't know what came over me." His eyes searched your face for some sign of understanding, but you had none to give. You had seen this play out before. The same lies, the same empty promises. But this time was different. You had enough.

"The wedding," you said, your voice shaking with emotion, "is off." The words hung in the air like a shattered chandelier, glittering with the shards of your broken dreams. You pulled the ring from your finger, the diamond catching the light from the bedside lamp. "Here," you said, thrusting it towards him. "You can have it back."

Ben's face was a picture of shock and desperation. "Babe, no," he pleaded, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist. But you were already turning away, the cold metal of the ring feeling like a weight lifted from your soul. "This isn't what you want," he said, his voice hoarse with sleep and fear.

With a shake of your head, you pulled away from his grasp, the tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. "You don't get to decide what I want," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

"This is who you are, Ben. And I can't marry someone like you."

You turned and strode out of the room, the door slamming behind you with a finality that echoed through the hallway. The tears fell like rain now, each one a painful reminder of the love you had lost. You didn't bother to wipe them away, letting them mix with the anger and disappointment that painted your face.

When Ben had proposed, you had been swept off your feet by the grandeur of it all. The ring, the candles, the whispered promises of forever. You had looked into his eyes and seen a future that seemed so bright, it had temporarily blinded you to his flaws.

After Kylian, you had been desperate for something stable, something real. And Ben had offered you that.

But now, as you stepped into the elevator, the walls closing in on you like a tomb, you couldn't help but question everything. Ben was the safe choice, the reliable one.

As the elevator descended slowly, each floor a reminder of the life you had thought you were building together. As the doors opened to the lobby, you stepped out, the weight of your decision dragging at your heels like a heavy burden. You walked out into the night, the cool air a slap in the face after the stuffiness of the hotel room. The city was alive around you, a stark contrast to the deadness that had settled in your chest.

You had done it. You had ended it with Ben. But as you stood there, the reality of your decision hit you like a ton of bricks.

You had been so focused on the betrayal, on the anger and pain, that you hadn't allowed yourself to consider what came next. The future you had so carefully constructed with him had crumbled to dust, leaving you alone in a foreign city with nothing but the echoes of your shattered heart.

And now, you couldn't help but think of Kylian. You had buried that heartbreak deep, promising yourself that you would never let it resurface.

But now, in this moment of betrayal, it bubbled to the top, a bittersweet reminder of a time when love had seemed so much simpler. When you had thought you knew what you were getting into.

—

Real Madrid claimed victory, their triumph echoing through the night. After the match, Kylian and Brahim sought solace in an exclusive restaurant, a haven of calm amidst the chaotic streets. The air inside was serene, a stark contrast to the tumult beyond the glass doors.

Seated together, their conversation flowed like a gentle stream—talk of the match interwoven with shared laughter and fleeting jokes. Amid their meal, Kylian’s gaze wandered, drawn to a solitary figure at the bar.

The woman sat quietly, her silhouette etched against the dim glow of the bottles. He couldn’t see her clearly, yet something stirred within him. She felt familiar, a memory he couldn’t place, a face he couldn’t forget.

You sit at the bar, a drink in hand, telling yourself it’ll just be a few. The weight of what happened with Ben presses heavily on your chest, its edges sharp and unyielding. The ache feels unbearable, so you seek solace in the amber glow of the glass before you. Perhaps, just for tonight, it will dull the pain, let you forget—if only for a little while.

Kylian shook the thought away, determined to let it go. Tonight was meant for celebration, not for dwelling on shadows of the past. With two goals to his name and a hard-fought victory behind him, he had every reason to revel in the moment. This was his night, a triumph to embrace, not a time to be haunted by memories of you.

After finishing that single glass, you reconsidered, you chose to stop refusing to let the alcohol take hold of you.

Quietly, you paid for the drink, pushed back your chair, and rose to leave. The night still held its weight, but the rest felt like the better escape. With a sigh, you turned toward the solace of sleep, leaving the bar behind.

It was you.

Kylian’s heart thundered, a storm unleashed within his chest.

As you stepped out of the restaurant, the faint light caught your face, and in that fleeting moment, recognition struck him like a bolt.

"You alright? Do you know her?" Brahim asked, his words cutting through the air.

He had been mid-sentence when he noticed the sudden change in Kylian’s expression.

Kylian’s reaction was swift—a quick shake of his head, an attempt to dismiss the moment. But his heart betrayed him, answering with a silent, undeniable yes. Of course, he knew you.

"Let’s go," Kylian said, forcing a casual tone.

"I’m stuffed. Great choice of restaurant, by the way."

—

Sitting in his car, Kylian’s gaze lingered on you as you stood by the curb, patiently waiting for a taxi.

Your hair was different, shorter now, but your face remained unchanged. How could he forget? Those eyes, that smile, the echo of your laugh. The memory of your scent, your touch, your taste, all rushed back, relentless and vivid.

He gripped the steering wheel, frozen in place. Should he approach you? The thought churned in his mind, but fear held him back.

He didn’t want to scare you, not again.

The argument between you still haunted him, its sharp edges cutting through the calm of the night.

The weight of it pushed him to start the car, ready to drive away.

But then, you turned. His breath caught. He knew you couldn’t see him, yet he instinctively shrank into the driver's seat, hoping to remain unseen.

And still, as he watched, one thought remained clear.

You were as beautiful as ever.

To the heavens, or to whatever force had heard his prayers, he gave thanks. For though the years had passed, you returned, haunting him still. Not as a ghost to torment him in dark, eerie ways, but as a beautiful woman, walking the earth, a presence that would never fade.

note: i want to express my apologies for including cheating as part of this story’s plot. It’s not something i condone or intend to portray in a romanticized way, and ive made the decision to steer clear of this theme in my future works. thank u for your understanding

part 3 soon !! <3

#kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe x reader

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eerna · 19 hours ago

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Ekko and Powder dancing together was so so cute !!! The song made it even more special, when I recognised it was in French sung by Stromae and Pomme (I'm a frenchie fan of those two) I was so emotional, I didn't expect it at all, and the lyrics killed me, what can I even say, I was tearing up... Such a beautiful scene, a moment full of light ! I really enjoyed the exploration of their dynamic and what could have been, even tho it was also really heartbreaking and bittersweet... Also Ekko is truly such a good character, I could talk about him for hours !

But can we talk about the fact that in the end he went and saved the world, what a King, but because of that he wasn't there with Vi, Jinx and Vander/Warwick, while he could have saved them just thank to his flying board or even his time loop watch if he still had it... BTW what did you think of Jinx's "death" ?

YEAH like that episode just established why Ekko is the greatest king and Heimerdinger sucks butt. Heimerdinger got stuck in a fairy tale universe where all is good and decided to become a bard. Ekko arrived and IMMEDIATELY decided he should return to his own horrible reality, and try to transform it into something closer to the happiness he was witnessing. He enjoyed his time with Powder, but she wasn't a replacement for the girl he knew, because that girl still needed his help. I don't speak French, but I just checked the lyrics to the song earlier, and oh wow it totally made me tear up :') It's the childhood friends to enemies to allies of it all :') I have to go rewatch that ep like right now fr. Ekko best boy

Jinx's "death" SUCKS!!!!!! I said it earlier, but I see no motivation for that. Jinx craves love and someone who will trust her and rely on her. She finally has all those things, but she decides to fake her death and run away???? And for what???? Because "no amount of good deeds can delete the bad deeds"????? It's the same thing that happened with Heimerdinger - they give them one grand gesture, and call it redemption. Bullcrap!!!!!!!

#eernask #eernanon #eernask talk arcane #arcane spoilers

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sufferu · 1 day ago

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I was asked for a snippet from the Dogshow series. I have delivered. As the exact scene was not specified, I decided for myself.

Dogshow: No Way Home

____

[“But no matter how pathetic I was, you and Mom still treated me the same as always,” Subaru said. “That’s what scared me most of all…”]

“They…” Emilia choked out. “They really did…They really did love him, didn’t they…?”

Otto thought of his own parents, and how patient they had been with him for all those years. He swallowed, fighting back tears.

“Those bushes there really are fascinating!” Anastasia was saying loudly. “They look just like some of the foliage we have back here, don’t they?! I wonder if maybe there’s been some cross-barrier transport of — of seeds or something! Or perhaps it’s just the convergent evolution Hoshin once described at work—”

[“I wanted you to say, ‘I don’t love you.’ ‘I despise you.’ ‘You’re not my son.’”]

“…What?” Ram croaked. Rem watched silently from beside her, carefully stone-faced as she watched this tragedy unfold. “Subaru, you wanted…what?”

Subaru didn’t answer. He had stopped moving a while ago. He was staring at the metia, unable to look away from his father’s face.

“I mean, really!” Anastasia continued loudly, a frantic edge to her voice. Mimi was nodding along theatrically from beside her. “I wonder if we could cross-breed exact replicas of those — what did you call them, Subaru?! Sakura trees?! If those bushes’ similarities really are just the result of convergent evolution, then—! I mean, I know for a fact we have trees very similar to those sakuras in Kararagi, so it’s not all that far off to conclude that we might be able to—!”

[“I wanted you to tell me that and throw me out. I wanted you to make me give up.”]

“…Oh, fuck,” Anastasia managed, finally unable to avoid listening to the conversation.

Next to her, Julius made a horrible, horrible noise.

Onscreen, Subaru continued to speak about how he had grown past these feelings. How he had found a way to live for himself, to start striving to better himself — and how the people he had met since had allowed him to do so. But Ricardo couldn’t focus on any of that, because all he could think was that THIS was the version of Subaru that his parents remembered.

A young boy, on the cusp of their culture’s idea of adulthood, who had suddenly retreated into his shell amidst disapproval from his peers. Who’s difficulties in interacting with others HADN’T been due to a difference in culture after all, with him struggling so much to make and keep his friends even back home that eventually he had felt that he had no choice but to give up in that pursuit entirely. Who had fled from his duties as a scholar and holed himself up in his room, refusing to leave for any reason except to eat. Who was constantly waiting for his two parents who loved him very much to revoke that affection out of frustration and throw him out.

Who was just waiting for an excuse to go and end himself, giving up for good.

Ricardo suddenly thought about Ana-bo. He wasn’t her biological father, but he had — he had bathed her, and fed her, and secured her work, and fought to protect her from unsavory types, and watched her grow up from a little orphan brat into a strong, capable woman. He had known her, and he had loved her, and she had become — family, to him, most definitely. In a sense, perhaps she could be considered his daughter after all.

What would he have done, if Ana-bo had — sometime on the cusp of adulthood — had withdrawn into herself so completely and utterly that she refused to socialize with anyone unless she were forced to do so? That she no longer tried to work, or learn new things, or improve her skills, but instead escaped into storybook after storybook about being whisked away to a place where she could be someone, anyone other than who she had been before? That she curled up in the corner of her room and waited for Ricardo to throw her out on the street, because then she would finally have an excuse to — to finally go and fucking kill herself?

Stop it, Ricardo hissed at himself. But he couldn’t stop.

He wouldn’t have let it get that first in the first place, first of all: he would have dragged Anastasia out of her room by force and force-fed her a decent lifestyle, if need be. In fact, part of him thought that Subaru’s father had been somewhat useless in that regard: had there really been nothing his old man could do to stop him from crawling into his shell and refusing to come out for several months on end? But even if there wasn’t anything he could do about it, he wouldn’t have abandoned her. Even if he were going by Kararagi’s age of adulthood being 15 where — Japan, it was called — their age appeared to be 18, he still would have known her for four, five full years, and that had been more than enough for him to start caring about her more deeply than he had ever expected being able to care about anyone. What would he have done instead? Well, the answer had to be “whatever he could.”

But then, what would he have done, if — in the middle of a depressive spiral so severe — Anastasia had vanished into the night without a trace? He would look for her, obviously. He’d spare no expense, either, and — and he’d keep a tally of every cent he spent, so that when he finally found her again he could shove the receipt in her face and tell her that she was going to work to earn back every last bit in order to make up for scaring him so badly. But then — if he never found her — he’d never stop looking, would he? Or maybe he’d be forced to stop? But then he’d still be waiting, and he’d still be putting up posters and asking for leads, and as the years passed he’d be thinking of what she might look like now, how she might have aged, what sort of life she might be living far away from home, hoping against hope that she hadn’t actually gone and—

But the reality would be worse.

It would have been better if this hypothetical Ana-bo had been given the mercy of a quick death, on her own terms. It would be better if Ana-bo had died just once. It would be better if she didn’t have to experience — being slit open and bled out, being drained of all her energy bit by bit, being thrown down a hallway and crushed by a giant flail in a place where she was supposed to be safe, being tortured by someone she had thought she could trust in the woods where nobody could hear her cry, being attacked by a pack of vicious, wild animals, being publicly humiliated and beaten half to death for the crime of being a brat in the wrong place at the wrong time, being forced to witness the corpses of all of the people she had grown to care about and told that it was all her fault, being kidnapped and tortured in a cave by a madman, being turned away as she begged and pleaded and prostrated herself for help, being chased by a vicious monster intent on erasing her from existence, being frozen to death bit by bit as a vengeful spirit forced her to suffer through every second, being possessed and forced to beg for a mercy kill right when it looked like the world was about to turn out alright, being blown up, being forced to watch as her support network was shattered behind her back once again as her closest friend was erased from everyone’s mind but her own, being forced to suffer again and again and again without an end in sight—!

Was it a mercy, that Natsuki Kenichi would be forced to conclude that his only son had gone and killed himself? Was it a mercy, that he would never find out the truth of what his child was being forced to endure in his absence? Was it a mercy, was it an injustice, what the actual FUCK was this horrible, horrible—!

“Ricardo?”

With slow, jerky movements, Ricardo turned to face Ana-bo. She was watching him with large, worried eyes. She had been so upset a second ago, staring at that metia with a slack jaw as she made a miserable choking sound, and here she was pushing that aside for his sake. How could he have ever deserved—!

“Mmph!”

Ana-bo made a startled noise as Ricardo practically dove for her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling him tight to his chest so that nobody could ever take her from his side. Normally she would protest this action greatly. But now, after a moment of shocked silence, that wise, kind, clever, wonderful daughter of his hugged him back.

“Ya don’t need to cry,” Ana-bo murmured. “‘M not going anywhere.”

In truth, Ricardo hadn’t even noticed that his cheeks were wet. He didn’t have it in him to be ashamed. All he could do was clutch her close and wait for the shaking to subside, bit by bit.

…If it were Anastasia, Ricardo would have prayed for someone to be looking after her in a situation like this. Father to father, he could do the same for Subaru’s old man if need be.

—Though, from the look on Wilhelm’s face, Ricardo wondered if his own involvement would even be necessary.

Wilhelm had his hands raised to cover his mouth in a decidedly uncharacteristic display, so horrified he was by the reveal of the prior state of that young boy. Subaru had… Subaru had…

This wasn’t what he had expected. A young, dumb boy who got into mischief perhaps a little too often for his own good, sure. But a youth who had shrank away from everything so completely, so utterly, that he had really begun to think that there was no future for him at all—!

What a horrible thing for a father to hear from his son. What an awful thing for a son to voice aloud — or to feel, in the first place. Wilhelm had seen blood and carnage and despair on the battlefield, but for some reason it was now that horrified nausea twisted his insides into knots.

“I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die! No! No! Help me! No! I don’t want to die!”

Subaru hadn’t REALLY wanted to die. But — had he not fully understood that, back then? How could he not have known—!

(Wilhelm did not think of his own son, who…may have been left in a similar state. For all of his courage on the battlefield, the Sword Demon could not bring himself to think about that.)

[“FATHER HEADBUTT!!!”]

[Natsuki Kenichi slammed an axe kick down on the head of his beloved only son.]

Julius squawked loudly, abruptly snapped out of his horrified silence. Next to him, Mimi’s despaired expression shifted as she — mercifully — broke into peals of laughter.

[“A lot of what you just said bothers me, but you know what’s the worst?” Kenichi was scolding, suddenly rather serious. “You wanted me to hate you, so you tried to achieve that by playing hookey? Are you dumb?! And if you want to get me to throw you out, pick a more active method! Who would ditch their own kid just because he retreated into his shell?!”]

Ricardo — relaxed, just the slightest bit. At least…at least that old man had told it to him straight. Right?

[“You’re so twisted, you’re on the fast track to being an idiot!” Kenichi cracked his knuckles, grinning. “I’d be glad to set you straight by force if you want…”]

Wilhelm chuckled weakly, trying desperately to force down his turmoil and keep it cool. “Perhaps…Perhaps all fathers have that attitude, even beyond the Great Waterfall…”

Ferris said nothing. Ferris hadn’t moved an inch since the reveal that Subaru had been waiting for an excuse to go and die. Wilhelm didn’t…know what to do.

[“…But it looks like you’ve already been knocked down and stood yourself back up, so there’s no need.” Kenichi’s voice had softened, his fist relaxing into a hand he extended downwards to pull his son back up. Subaru smiled as he accepted it.]

“They really did love him,” Crusch echoed softly. “Didn’t they?”

Anastasia stared wordlessly at the interaction. A very personal sense of loss gnawed at the heart of the former hyena — and a sense of despair at the dawning realization of just how fucked up this situation really was seemed to take over her mind like an invasive species of poisonous flowers.

She reached forward and pulled all three triplets into her lap, hugging them close.

[“Remember what I said?” Subaru was saying. “I found a girl I like. Plus, there's a girl who said she loved me, despite the way I am. And neither one of them knows I'm the son of Natsuki Kenichi. In their eyes, I'm just Natsuki Subaru.” He sighed aloud. “No, in all of their eyes…I was Natsuki Subaru. I finally figured that out.”]

[“It took you long enough. You’re just now coming around to saying all this? I should whack you.”]

Emilia stared at the screen, eyes dull and faded. Rem’s were much the same. On one hand, it was wonderful to be told that Subaru had achieved something so precious due to their influence. It was perhaps the greatest compliment either of them could receive.

But, on the other hand…

[“Um,” Subaru was saying, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Sorry about putting you through—”]

[“If you feel sorry, all you gotta do is take your time making it up to us.” Kenichi grinned, giving him a thumbs-up. “Take good care of me and your mom when we’re old, my eldest son.”]

In the present moment, Subaru finally made a noise.

It was soft, and quiet, and very hoarse — but Beatrice, who had not taken her eyes off of him once, noticed all the same. “Subaru…?”

Subaru’s pupils had shrunk even past their usual states, his whole body shaking as he stared up at the metia in horror. Tears were staring to bud in the corners of his eyes. More horrible croaking noises were leaving his throat. One by one, the people of the audience turned to see what was going on.

“…Natsuki-san, please—” Otto said, the first to reach out. “It’s alright. It’ll— It’ll be alright—”

“Please don’t cry,” Emilia agreed, unusually gentle. “Please, not…” Not while we can’t hold you.

[The Subaru onscreen had already started to cry. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I— I’m sorry. I can’t— I-I'm sorry! I won't be able to make anything up to you before…” He finally, properly burst into tears. “I will never see you again!”]

As that cold reality was voiced aloud, the Subaru in the present finally sobbed — and with that first step, the entire dam seemed to shatter until there was nothing left for him to do but fall to the floor with a thump, curl into a ball, and wail in despair.

“Subaru—!” Julius cried out, trying desperately to hold back his own tears at the horrible sight.

“Subaru-dono, please!” Wilhelm tried to say, reaching forward to try and ease his cries. His hands met glass. “We’re right here, please just—!”

[“I-I’m sorry!” Subaru apologized, over and over again as his sobs grew and grew and grew. “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”]

“I-I’m sorry,” Subaru echoed weakly, tears streaming down his face to form a puddle under his cheek. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I wanna— I wanna go home—!”

Beatrice choked back a cry of despair of her own. “Subaru—!”

[“No matter how much time passes, you’re still such a handful, son.” Kenichi sighed, but he was smiling as he rubbed a bawling Subaru’s back. “Sheesh…”]

The current Subaru had no such comfort to be given to him. Nobody could reach him, no matter how badly they wanted to, no matter how hard they tried. All there was left for him to do was wail and wail and wail as the horrible despair surrounding his untimely departure collapsed on him anew.

#this’ll probably get expanded later due to being such an important scene #but for now #:)#my ficlets #natsuki subaru #natsuki kenichi #now that’s what i call a dogshow

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lemotmo · 2 days ago

Text

911 8x08 thoughts and freak outs!

Okay…

Well…

WOW…

OMG!!!

What do I say about this episode? 😶

Uhm…

Well, my first reaction was this: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH! 🤣🤣🤣

And I mean this in a very good way! 😏

I’m just going to start with the thing that made me go AAAAAH! In the first place:

Eddie and Chris! That scene was heartbreaking and when Brad talked to ‘Edmundo’ about his estranged son it was a great moment. Eddie has started to realise he has to act NOW, because he son is growing up without him and he doesn’t want that gap to become any wider. 😭

Side-note: Fuck the Diaz parents big time! They suck! 😠

So Eddie decides to move to Texas, which is so very much the wrong thing to do. But I get why he’s considering it. The right thing to do for him would be to go to Texas, talk to Chris and telling him he needs to come home, back to LA. But I don’t think Eddie is ready for that yet. He’ll need some time to get there, but he’ll get there in the end.

Which leads me to that one scene with Buck. And OMG! In the seven years that I’ve been here, shipping Buddie, I’ve seen a lot scenes between them that suggested something more, but it was never really anything concrete… you know? 🤷‍♀️

This scene? It was like being hit over the head with a sledgehammer. Buck just walks into Eddie’s house and Eddie’s okay with that. He’s teasing him about the tablet and Eddie lets him. They know each other through and through. And Buck’s face when Eddie told him it was in El Paso? That was interesting. And of course he wants to help Eddie. It almost feels like they’re buying a house together for a moment there. But then…

Then when Buck’s sitting on the Diaz couch (yes… hello couch theory, great to see you again! 😂), his face falls and there is something there that wasn’t there before. Guys… we just witnessed the very early beginnings of Buck’s ‘OH’ moment. Eddie making plans to move will help Buck realise just how much he truly cares for Eddie. 🥲🥲🥲

So, this is it. This is THAT scene we’ve all been hoping for.

I feel unwell.

In a good way.

The Buddie-arc has officially begun. 😋🌈😁☀️

So unwell right now.

Still in a good way.

But oh… this is going to be such a good hiatus! That scene alone will inspire so many writers to write excellent fic, it will fuel us for months and ignite the fandom to speculate and theorise. It’ll be epic! 😎

I wonder if there’ll actually be a time-jump or they’ll just pick up where they left off after hiatus. 🤔

On to the rest of the episode:

Where was the Maddie storyline they talked about?

Athena’s storyline was actually nice this time. It is entirely possible that something flew over my head when it comes to her scenes as a police officer. But to my non-American eyes, it was a nice storyline. The cart cop kid was a little naive, but he was likeable I suppose. I don’t really enjoy watching people like that on YouTube, but for the show it was okay.

I unexpectedly really enjoyed the Brad storyline. Granted, him rescuing that woman and risking hurting her? That was iffy, but 911 is like HotShots in that respect, you know? We aren’t supposed to take it all ‘that’ seriously. So I can live with that scene. I love the growth in Brad and how he talked that guy from the ledge. Do we think that scene was based on the fact that Jon Bon Jovi talked someone from the ledge a couple of months ago? I think that’s where Tim got his inspiration for this.

So overall, I really enjoyed this episode and I have to admit that I didn’t really expect too much of it. But it managed to surprise me in a few ways. But mostly that Buddie-moment… it just blew my mind. 🤯

I can happily skip into hiatus now. All is right with my fictional TV-show world again.

😎😎😎

I'm off to read the post interviews now and answer some asks in my inbox. YAY!

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 8x08 #thoughts and ruminations #I feel like crying #this is it #THIS is it #911 abc #911 spoilers

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waynes-multiverse · 2 days ago

Text

Glad to hear the tête-à-tête with Ted went as expected 😂

Let's dive into this wonderful comment! 🤍

Seeing a glimpse of their growing friendship in the first flashback scene was somehow both sweet and bittersweet, but of course, there’s also that hint of “more” on Beau’s side that he’s desperately trying to hide. 😅

Definitely bittersweet 😭 Makes you really feel for Beau. What an incredibly tough situation to be in, honestly 💔

Loll not the dad voice! So sweet that he tried to “cut her off,” even though he ultimately wasn’t successful. Always more shit hitting the fan, isn’t there? 😬

Yup, and they both know it. They've picked a very hard job 😅 But it's hard to resist the dad voice! But there's understanding on both sides. Beau, for sure, knows what it's like to be obsessed with a case 🙈

That’s what makes their situation all the harder – the fact that she’s in law enforcement as well and understands this aspect of things all too well. 😰 It’s truly amazing that she and Beau were able to get past this hurdle and actually fall in love. It shows how forgiving she is, I think.

Yes, this 💯 And I definitely see her as forgiving. She knows who the real enemy is, and it ain't Beau. She knows even good people can make mistakes. Part of the job. Tragic, but it happens 🤷‍♀️ Plus, I think considering her own hidden feelings for him, she had an easier time seeing past all that.

HELP. I’m deceased. 🤣🤣🤣 I was smirking/laughing throughout this entire exchange, but this in particular took me out! Ted has nothing but audacity. But at least the reader had Beau’s back on this one. 😆

Glad that exchange made you laugh! I honeslty love writing those ridiculous scenes. This one reminded me somewhat of Ben vs. Colt in Rehab 😂

I imagine Ted as some stuck-up, somewhat bougeois prosecutor that both Beau and Randy talked a lot of shit about behind his back. So Beau's not only offended she dated him for himself, but probably for Randy too 🤣

Ahh, nice that they had this heart to heart, and also this revelation. But while of course that really does nothing to soothe Beau’s guilt, at least it allows her to forgive him.

I saw this mostly as an attempt to soothe Beau's guilt. You can tell she was still a bit judgmental in her thoughts à la "Well, I, the genius, wouldn't have done it/seen right through it, but oh well, guess not everyone can be me..." 😅

Eventually, she forgave him either way because she knows the risks and dangers of the job and that not every decision you make will be the right one in the end

LMAO Oh Beau. You’re right, it is funny to imagine him saying “slimy coyote.” 😂 Bet this is what he wishes would happen to Ted:

Oh, he for sure wanted to Wile E. Coyote Ted 🤣🤣

Oooh what a declaration that is from her! The fact that Beau’s the best she’s ever had, even including Randy, I’m assuming. 😅

Well, there's two options lol, right? Either she only said it to make him feel better, knowing his insecurities. Or, it's fully true and she decided to go for it. I honestly think it's the second. Beau seems to match her energy a bit better than Randy probably did 😂🔥

And Beau, sweet Beau, that was a beautiful rom-com worthy line right there. 💗

Ikr? Imagine Carla hearing that! She'd be livid 😂😂 But I enjoyed playing with the lines there of "first loves" vs. "true loves"

Ooh shit, Diane is certainly up to something. 😬😬

Oh boy, we all should be concerned! She might have some (deathly) surprises up her sleeve... 👀

Polaris – Chapter 7

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

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, fluff, angst, serial killer, mentions of cartels, grief, smut

Word Count: 7.2k

A/N: The chapter where we find out why Ted is on Beau's punch list aka The One With Ted... 😂

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 7: Storm Coming

May 2021

“I sold the house,” you said, your voice ripping through the quiet of the car during another starry stake-out night.

“So you’re homeless now?” Beau joked and peeled his eyes away from the front window view and glanced at you from the driver’s seat, his hand resting on the steering wheel, the other one in his lap.

You chuckled. “Yup, but I got a hot plate now in my motel room and one of those Italian moka pots. So, you know, some would say I’m living the dream.”

Beau snorted in amusement before he pensively rubbed his mouth with two fingers. “You didn’t have to sell the house, you know?”

You heaved a sigh. “Yeah, I kinda did, though… I didn’t like staying in there anymore. It’s just… too many memories, I guess? ‘Sides, I’m always down here anyways. Actually considering moving here.”

Beau frowned at you, his nose scrunching. “What, to Mexico? Are you nuts? Over my dead body are you doin’ that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had a say in it,” you retorted rather playfully and put a shocked palm on your chest in mock.

“Damn right, I do,” Beau scoffed his reply with a teasing grin. “Who do you think is lookin’ out for ya, huh?”

“Wait, you think you are? That’s what you believe?” You snorted a laugh, entering banter territory with him.

It was usually how you passed your time during most of these stake-outs – laughing, teasing, and the occasional talking about your problems. You’d never known Beau like this before. He was your husband’s best friend, but he had been more of an acquaintance to you. Now, after months of spending close to every day together, it felt like he was your best friend. Since Randy’s death, he’d been there for you, even if it was mostly out of guilt.

“Yeah, what d’you think?” Beau countered challengingly.

“Oh sweetie, you’re not looking after me. I’m looking after you,” you stated confidently. The smile that twitched on his lips seemed to actually agree with you. “Out of the two of us, you’re the way bigger wreck. Some would even think it’s your husband who died, not mine.”

“Are you calling me a girl?”

You coolly shrugged your shoulders. “Either I’m calling you a girl, or I’m calling you gay. I’ll let you pick.”

Laughingly, Beau scoffed and muttered, “You wish I was gay.”

However, you still heard his mumbled reply and responded, “Actually, I wish you were a girl and that I was gay.”

Beau stared at you and leaned back against the door for a better view of you, his brow raised and the corners of his lips drawn slightly upwards in amusement. “What are we even talking about?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted with a shake of your head.

The two of you then burst into loud laughter that filled the entire SUV. For a moment, all your sorrows and hardships seemed to be forgotten, carried away to the desert with the nightly breeze. Then, the familiar and comfortable quiet took over the car again.

“I’m moving out of the house, too,” Beau said, his eyes focusing on the barren landscape and desolate road ahead. “I’m giving it to Carla. I mean, she didn’t ask me to. God knows she can take care of herself… But I want Emily to keep living in the home she grew up in, you know?”

“Yeah, I get that. That’s really nice,” you said quietly. Your soft smile then morphed to a grin. “So you’re homeless, too, huh?”

Beau laughed, throwing his head back into the seat. “Yeah, guess I am. Maybe we should live together?” he suggested half-jokingly.

“Like roommates? Ugh, God no!” You scoffed in abhorrence. “We’re way too old for that. You’re over forty, I’m barely in my thirties–”

“You do know I know exactly how old you really are, right?” Beau teased.

You decided to ignore that jab and continued, unbothered. “It would be seriously so sad. The Widow And The Divorcee – sounds like the worst sitcom on the planet. ‘Sides, it’d be super awkward if one of us starts dating again.”

“Fine, maybe you’re right,” Beau relented with a soft chuckle and then glanced at you sideways. His heart gained speed in his chest. “You ever think about it? Dating? Gettin’ out there again? Been nine months.”

You twitched your shoulders, choosing not to look at him. “I don’t know. Is nine months long enough after your husband died?”

Thoughtfully, Beau licked his lips and let out a small sigh. “I don’t think there’s a timeline, or a right and wrong. I just think it’s one of those things that when you’re ready, you’re ready.”  “Well, consider me not ready then, I guess,” you replied honestly.

“Alright,” Beau accepted, bobbing his head. “But I still think you should try again at some point, you know? You shouldn’t be alone for the rest of your life. First of all, it’d be a total waste, ‘cause, I mean, look at you. And secondly, you’re barely in your thirties, after all,” he repeated your earlier joke with a soft grin.

You felt the heat creep to your cheeks in the moonlight. As you looked at him, you could see his smirk, making you laugh. “Noted,” you replied and were thankful for his pep talk. “I mean, there’ve been offers.”

Beau quirked one eyebrow, a hard lump forming in his throat as his chest tightened. “Offers? Like plural? Who?”

“Well, just some of the guys from our team. Cody, Jordan, Ted…” you named a few. “Also a few locals. Remember those guys we played pool with a few weeks ago? Two of ‘em asked for my number.”

“Huh. That is plural…” Beau pursed his lips and couldn’t keep his brow from wrinkling, his grip on the steering wheel stiffening. “Well, you know, when you’re not ready, you’re not ready. Shouldn’t force anything. No rush, darlin’.”

Smooth, Beau thought wryly with an internal sigh.

“Right, I know,” you agreed. “I do miss sex, though. Getting kinda bored of my vibrator.”

Beau choked on his spit. “Jesus…”

“What? Am I not allowed to talk about it? I thought we were friends. You’re supposed to care about my well-being and happiness,” you argued, frowning.

“I do care. Just… Can we please not talk about that?” he begged and exhaled a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his freckled nose.

“Fine. I miss having women around…” You shrugged and muttered, “Didn’t peg you for a prude.”

“Okay, let’s just get one thing straight – I’m not a prude,” he clarified in defense, his cheeks turning a deep shade of red.

“Alright, also noted,” you quipped, smirking to yourself. Sometimes you enjoyed making him a little uncomfortable. His blushed cheeks could be quite cute. “What about you? Have you still not talked to Carla? I’m sure you can win her back if you tried. You’re a lot better now.”

“Well, thank you for the, uh, vote of confidence, but it’s really over, I guess. We just talked about all the divorce proceedings last time. I actually think she started datin’ someone recently,” Beau told you.

Your eyebrows rose in surprise. “Really? Who?”

“I guess some rich tech guy. I don’t know…”

“And you’re good with that?” you questioned in disbelief.

Beau scoffed a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Ha, no… But what am I gonna do? Kinda shot myself in the leg with that one. I don’t blame her for moving on. It’s been over for months now.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry. I was kinda rooting for you two,” you admitted.

“Well, thanks, but we weren’t you and Randy,” Beau said. It made your brow knit.

“What d’you mean?”

“C’mon, you know what I mean,” Beau replied as if it were obvious, but you still shook your head. He sighed. “You and Randy would’ve never gotten divorced.”

“You don’t know that.” Honestly, you doubted it yourself, but you were too curious to find out what he meant by his statement.

“I do know that,” Beau insisted with certainty. “You guys had that once-in-a-lifetime kinda love. The kind that made other people jealous, you know? Your love made every other relationship pale in comparison. I always figured once the honeymoon phase was over, you’d settle and be less vomit-inducing, but that never happened. Me and Carla were never like that. Not even in the beginning,” he explained, a small, soft smile shaping his mouth. “You guys were special. True love. The stuff folk singers write cheesy songs about.”

“I guess we were,” you mused quietly, the memory of everything Randy was to you causing tears to well in your eyes.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Beau apologized as soon as he noticed the sadness on your face. He reached his hand over to your side and squeezed your thigh gently, just above the knee.

“No, it’s alright,” you brushed him off, swallowing your heartache down. “But hey, if Carla wasn’t your once-in-a-lifetime, maybe she’s still out there. You just haven’t found her yet. I mean, that’s kinda a nice outlook, right?”

Licking his lips, he bobbed his head, his gaze focused on his hand on the steering wheel. “I doubt it.”

“Why? Never say never,” you said encouragingly.

“Well, maybe I already met her, and it’s too late now,” he replied. It sounded more like an actual fact than a hypothetical theory. You found yourself wondering.

“What, did you have like an old college flame? The one that got away?” you teased lightheartedly, but he only grew more serious.

“Somethin’ like that,” he replied vaguely, rubbing his mouth with his fingers.

“Look her up on Facebook. Maybe she’s divorced, too. You could reconnect or something,” you suggested. He nodded but didn’t seem too convinced. You then shot him a hesitant glance from your periphery. “So, now that Carla’s moving on, are you gonna start dating now, too? Jump back into the game?”

“I guess so… Why?” A part of him was curious to hear your response, while another part reminded him that his desired answer was only wishful thinking – and completely insane on top of that.

“That fiery brunette lady at the bar last night seemed really interested in you. Maybe you should hook up with her if she’s there again tomorrow night?” you proposed in earnest.

Wide-eyed, Beau blinked at you in incredulity – like you had lost your goddamn mind. “I’m sorry, what?! Hook up? Who are you right now? Are you tryin’ to set me up?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged simply, not seeing what the big problem was. “Don’t look at me like I’m trying to convince you to get a tramp stamp above your ass with a dirty needle. I’m just trying to be a good wingman… woman. Randy would’ve tried to set you up, right?”

Beau sighed frustratedly. “Yeah, he would’ve,” he admitted in a grumble and then barked, slightly more furious, “But you ain’t him. And I don’t want you to be, so stop it, alright?”

“Geez, I’m sorry. I was just trying to help,” you mumbled defensively and raised your hands in surrender, unsuccessfully hiding your upset over his reaction. He felt guilty when he saw the small pout on your face.

Beau rubbed his forehead before dragging his palm over the rest of his face. “I know. I’m sorry, too,” he said and let out a deep breath through his nose. “I just-… I guess I’m just waiting, okay?”

“Waiting for what?”

Beau squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. For you to be ready, he wanted to say. But he couldn’t very well do that now, could he?

“For Christ’s sake, Y/N…” he breathed exhaustively. That was all he managed to say. With his palm on his mouth, he rested his elbow against the car door, gazing out the window.

“Why are you so upset?” you asked, your brow woven with confusion.

“Switch subjects,” he requested.

It was a phrase the two of you used whenever you didn’t want to talk about something anymore. When someone pushed too much, or the topic got too emotional and you needed a break. The only rule was to always respect the request, so you had no choice but to let it go after that.

“The Texans game sucked last night, huh?”

That elicited a snort from him, and he looked at you with a warm smile. “Yeah, goddamn awful.”

“How many times are you gonna watch those?”

Beau’s question broke your concentration. Your gaze snapped from your laptop screen to his concerned face. You’d been rewatching the victims’ videos for four days straight now, trying to find more clues. Maybe even something that directly led to Diane.

“I keep thinking maybe I’ve missed something,” you mumbled and stared back into the computer, your teeth gnawing on the pen between your lips. “It’s 48 hours each. We have twenty-four victims. I keep watching them sped-up to get through them all, but maybe I should slow ‘em down. I mean, I’ve watched them full-length, normal speed a couple of times before, but maybe I should watch ‘em even slower and really focus, you know? There’s gotta be something there…”

Bobbing his head worriedly, Beau pursed his lips and took a scan of your desk. He counted eight empty cups of coffee and five cans of energy drinks. There were bags under your red eyes and your hands were jittering. He knew you hadn’t slept a lot. He tried to hold you in his arms, but as soon as he dozed off, you snuck out and went back to work.

Beau shut the laptop. “You’re cut off.”

“Hey!”

“Y/N, you need to sleep. Just look at you, darlin’. This obsession isn’t healthy. I’m taking you home,” he declared sternly, ignoring your protests. You were pretty sure he had used his dad voice, too.

“I need that woman in prison, Beau.”

“You startin’ to sound like Jenny…” Beau quipped under his breath.

“We’re running out of time. There’s only one day left before the next victim drops,” you stated and tried your best to keep your voice steady as it broke off towards the end.

“I know.” Beau clasped your shoulder and squeezed gently. “And we’ll get her. I promise you. But you’re no good to any of us if you’re exhausted and losing it right now.” You nodded and rose from your chair. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you flush against him, kissing the top of your head affectionately. “How about some dinner, huh?”

You grinned warmly. “What, like a second date?”

“Exactly like a second date,” Beau said and mirrored your grin. He was making up for lost time as best as he could, even if it meant taking you out every night for the rest of your life.

Your phone buzzed on the table, your brow quirking at the number. Eagerly, you picked up and wound yourself out of Beau’s embrace. “Special Agent Y/L/N… Uh-huh… Great, thank you.”

Beau pursed his lips. “We’re not going out, are we?”

“‘fraid not, Sheriff.” You shook your head and chuckled at his groan. “That was IT. They’re finally done and sending over the IP addresses.”

“Alright, guess I’m gettin’ take out,” Beau announced with a small sigh, knowing the two of you were in for a long night – and not the one he had planned.

You smiled and pecked his lips. “Thank you.”

August 2020

Beau’s heart thudded frantically in his chest as his knuckles tapped your front door in the early evening. The sky was a color spectacle full of azures, indigos, and apricots as the summer sun slowly set. His boots only stood on that same spot not even twenty-four hours ago. It still felt like a surreal nightmare he couldn’t escape, his hope to wake up soon a ceaseless prayer.

He’d stayed with you all night, held you as you cried yourself to sleep. Beau awoke on your couch with your head resting on his thigh and a strange feeling in his gut. He couldn’t help but think you were beautiful, even in a state of utter turmoil, shoving said thought swiftly down into the depths of his darkening soul.

But he’d spent all day thinking of you, plagued by guilt and torn by misplaced feelings. He’d sat through hours of interviews, going over and over the events of last night till his mind spun like a hamster wheel. He was forced to fill out forms, sign documents, and recount each unforgettable step. He’d listened to lectures, sermons, and admonitions. His captain gave him a tongue-lashing that sounded like mere white noise before he was sent home with a suspension – investigation pending.

Only he didn’t go home; he came here.

At home, his wife and daughter were waiting – for a husband, a father, an explanation. None of which he could provide. Beau wanted to wallow in his grief, his guilt, his loss in peace. He lacked the strength to be strong, play pretend, and act above it all. He wanted to be punished, sent to perdition, and held accountable for his lapse of judgment. A suspension wasn’t good enough. It barely patched the abysmal gaps in his heart.

The only suitable punishment was you. Witnessing your suffering was his personally crafted hell. You were the broken remnants of his destruction, the shattered pieces of his idiocy, the explosive fallout of his arrogance.

And you hadn’t answered a single call or text of his. His torturous worry was part of his penalty.

Consecutive rings of the doorbell and incessant knocks remained unanswered. For a moment, Beau rested his forehead on the door. He felt helpless and clueless all the same. You had friends and family to take care of you, probably better suited and closer to you than him, but somehow he felt burdened with the responsibility.

He took the spare key out of the left-side planter and barged inside. The ground floor was deserted. Last night’s uneaten dinner still sat untouched on the table. It felt like a whiplash against his bare back.

Bolting upstairs, he found the door to the main bedroom ajar. He pried it open slowly, the sight of you delivering his second lashing. This time, he felt the sting burning through to his heart.

He found you curled up in bed, on your husband’s side, in your husband’s t-shirt, with your wedding photo album clutched tightly in your arms. His breath halted for a moment; his heart did, too.

Did he do this? Was this all his fault?

“Y/N?” His deep voice was quiet and careful as he spoke. Slowly, he walked over to your side and knelt down in front of you. “Darlin’, hey… You need to get up. Eat somethin’.”

Beau was sure you hadn’t moved all day. He didn’t ask you if you were alright or how you were doing. The question seemed insulting. The answer was obvious. Your phone was lighting up on the nightstand with a million unanswered calls and messages, his own among them. Your beautiful eyes were vacant, red, and empty. You didn’t cry, however, not anymore. You were dehydrated and all out of tears at this point. You never looked at him, not even a glance.

“I want him back,” you whispered, your voice coarse from screaming, crying, cursing.

Beau nodded, licking his lips. Caringly, he caressed your head, brushing a few strands of messy hair out of your face. “I know. I hope you know I’d trade places with him in a heartbeat if I could.”

For the first time your eyes found his. Your gaze was scathing and piercing. “Tell me what happened.”

Beau let out a harrowing sigh. He had rehashed the story all day long. He wasn’t sure if he could do it again, but maybe this version was the most important one. Who deserved the truth more than you?

“Y/N, I don’t think this is such a good idea, darlin’,” Beau tried to reason, mostly for himself. He wanted to hold on a little longer, the idea of you hating him tearing him apart. He wanted to spare himself the additional guilt, the anger, the hurt.

“Tell me or leave.”

Beau closed his eyes and nodded hesitantly. “Okay, alright.” He took a deep breath and settled down on the floor, leaning his back against the wooden bedside table. “We were closing in on that biker gang. Few murders, arms trafficking, drug deals… You know the drill. I’m sure Ra-… he filled you in.”

Not that long ago, Randy had asked you for advise on the case. You gave him your contacts in the DEA and a number to a CI.

“Your DEA guy warned us. Said the gang was working closely with the cartel down in Juárez. But I had my own intel that only a few members were meeting at the Hatcher warehouse in MacGregor. It was supposed to be a small deal. But I figured it could lead to bigger things if we shook ‘em down, you know? But fuckin’ Harper told us no like usual. Refused to give us back-up. Said to pass the case on to the DEA. But Randy and I worked our asses off the last few months to get even this far. We were so close. I didn’t wanna let go… So, I suggested we go in anyways. It was supposed to be only three guys from the gang. I knew if we were smart about it, we could easily take ‘em down, you know?”

You rolled onto your back and propped yourself up on the bed. Shaking your head, you chuckled humorlessly and grabbed the half-empty whiskey bottle from the nightstand. “‘Course you did. It’s not the first time you broke a rule or shit on authority.”

“Yeah, and I was right every single time,” Beau bit. His anger wasn’t geared at you but at himself. He knew he was in the wrong. He flew too close to the sun and got burned. But he still felt the need to defend himself, even if it was unjustified.

His gaze drifted to the dresser and the patch of wall above it, decorated with photographic evidence of yours and his partner’s life together. The wedding, dates, vacations, holidays – it was all there. Beau had watched it all, start to finish. He wished he could rewind the tape and cut off the ending, all so you could have the love of your life back. He didn’t know yet your cassette had a B-side. One that featured him.

“You got fucking lucky, is all,” you scoffed.

“Randy backed me up on it!”

“Of course he did! You’re his fucking partner! He would’ve followed you anywhere if you asked him to,” you snapped, shaking your head. You gulped down some whiskey then and locked your jaw before you met his eyes again with a glare. “And? What happened then, Beau? Was it only three guys?”

“No.” The word was almost inaudible. He shook his head with a harsh swallow. “They were meetin’ with a few cartel members there. My intel never said anything about that. When we were inside and saw what was really going on, it was already too late to get out. They made us, bullets started flyin’… They got a hold of Randy and… shot him.” A tear escaped down his cheek, his throat closing as he tried to choke out the last bit of the story. “I had to leave him there. I barely got out myself. I’m sorry, Y/N. I know this is on me.”

Your lips twitched with a bitter smile. You didn’t look at him, just rubbed your tired eyes. “Damn right it is. Get out.”

“Y/N, please–”

The storm in your eyes made him stop as you met his gaze, his useless apologies becoming stuck in his throat. “I said, get out. I ain’t asking a third time. You’re the reason my husband is dead. You’re the reason I don’t even have a body to bury. So, get the fuck out.” Like a snakebite, your words were targeted, sharp, and venomous.

You finally got out of bed and prodded towards the en-suite bathroom. The truth had been what you needed to switch the fighter inside of you back on. You knew what you wanted to do then and were determined to get it.

“Y/N–”

“Do you know what cartels do to bodies, Beau? To rivals? To law enforcement? ‘Cause I just came back from a job where we found forty-eight decapitated bodies, left to rot inside the walls of a house. Still haven’t found the heads yet. Probably never will,” you told him and stared him dead into his dark green eyes. “Ever seen that before, desperado?”

Beau bit his lips, averting his gaze. “No.”

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” You scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “Now, leave. Please. Get the fuck outta my house. I don’t wanna see you anymore,” you spat and slammed the bathroom door shut behind you.

Beau then grabbed the whiskey bottle you’d left and walked out of your home. It was the first of many nights he started to drink himself to sleep, but at least it kept the nightmares temporarily at bay.

“Theodore.” Beau forced a bright smile onto his freckle-dusted face, although the stiff features could barely fool anyone. At least, they wouldn’t have fooled you.

“Beau, good to see you again.” Ted smiled and did a more convincing job of it as he waltzed into Lewis and Clark County’s Sheriff’s Department. It almost seemed like he meant it. “I was surprised when Y/N told me you got a gig as a sheriff here.”

Translation: I was surprised because you were such a fuck-up back in Texas.

Beau feigned a chuckle. “Yeah, I bet you were.”

“Hopefully, you’re givin’ the DAs here less headaches,” Ted jabbed under the disguise of friendly banter. He then turned to Jenny with that same shit-eating grin. “Your sheriff is a little troublemaker.”

Sweet Lord, Beau wanted to whack the bastard.

The blonde deputy coolly brushed the accusation off. She shrugged and playfully nudged Beau’s arm, sending the Texan attorney a smile. “I prefer him that way.”

“Hey, there she is!” Beau smiled with frazzled relief when you finally hurried into the station. A little while longer, and he definitely would’ve thrown a punch.

“Hey, Ted. Thanks for coming. How was your flight?” You greeted him with a warm smile and a quick hug.

“Good, good. Never been to Montana before,” Ted said and then let his eyes wander up and down your body. “Look at you. You look great!”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” You subtly cleared your throat. You could physically feel Beau stiffen next to you. In your periphery, you could spy a tightly clenched jaw and a few strained muscles in his neck.

“Mind if Y/N and I borrow your office, Sheriff Arlen?” Ted asked and emphasized his title. “Considering the nature of this case, I’d like to keep it as private as possible. Don’t want anything to reach Ms. Newton’s ears.”

Your hunch had been right. Several IP addresses pointed to Diane, some to public Wi-Fi’s. You and the team still needed to connect her to the other states and find out where she’d been staying there, but you could definitely trace some posts in recent weeks to her home in Montana. It was enough for an arrest warrant, but you still needed more evidence.

Additionally, it had all come together a little too easily. It seemed like a giant trap you were walking into. Diane wanted to be caught. But why?

“Why don’t I just join you? I’m sure Y/N here doesn’t mind,” Beau suggested with a tight smile and then snaked his arm around your middle, pulling you closer. “Ain’t that right, darlin’?”

Internally, you sighed a little at his obvious territorial pissing, but you were willing to throw him a bone. You stretched up and claimed his plump lips in a fervent kiss that Beau only all too happily reciprocated.

“Not at all, Sheriff. You know I always appreciate your input,” you replied with a dirty smirk at the double entendre.

As Beau looked down at you, he mouthed ‘God, I love you.’ You grinned in response.

“Happy to give it to you,” he said with another sweet peck of your lips. A triumphant and slightly cocky grin graced his lips as he looked back at Ted.

“Oh, so you two are back together?” Ted realized, his brow rising to his hairline. He’d never seen you two together but certainly had heard the whispers down in Mexico from your old task force. He’d been the DA for those cases as well. You’d never explicitly told him about you and Beau, though, even when he had tried to pry a little on those dates you went on.

“Well, I’m a hard one to quit,” Beau quipped almost proudly, like a peacock showing off his fan of feathers.

“As are cigarettes and many other vices,” Ted shot back with the same stupidly proud grin.

Translation: You’re an ass. And a failure. She deserves so much better. I’m ‘better.’ But maybe that didn't need a translation.

Beau should’ve known it was hard to out-argue a lawyer and ground his jaw. After all, he’d been married to one for many years.

You, on the other hand, shared a wide-eyed and baffled look with Jenny that bordered on amusement. You had almost gasped in shock. You hadn’t expected such a fiery reply, sure the men would stick to their Southern manners. But, oh well, everyone’s packing in fucking Texas…

“Why don’t you two go ahead? I’ll join you in a minute,” you ordered more than you earnestly proposed and shooed the two men down the hallway towards Beau’s office.

“Sure it’s such a good idea to lock those two in a room alone?” Jenny teased, her eyes lingering a little too long on Ted’s perfectly formed ass as he sauntered down the hall.

You couldn’t blame her. You had checked out Beau’s in the same breath.

“It’s only for a short time. They’re not gonna kill each other,” you laughed it off. Jenny arched a doubtful eyebrow at you. “That quickly,” you added a correction. “So, what did I miss here?” you asked and nodded towards the two men, closing the door to Beau’s office behind them. All you heard last was them talking about the recent Texans game.

Ugh, of course, they’d end up by football…

“Dick measuring contest,” Jenny supplied wryly.

“Ah, figured…”

“Well, better them than to lock Agent Y/L/N and the sheriff into the same room,” Poppernak joked with a soft chuckle as he appeared next to you and Jenny, chiming into the conversation.

You gaped at him in mock-shock. “Mo! I can’t believe you just said that,” you chided playfully.

His cheeks turned crimson red. “I’m sorry, Special Agent Y/L/N,” he apologized in a fluster.

“Mo, I told you to call me by my first name,” you reminded him with a smile. “Or I’m gonna have to start giving you silly names like Beau does.”

“Oh, I love Sheriff Arlen’s nicknames,” he quickly defended with a nervous laugh.

“Do you?” Jenny tilted her head with a questioning eyebrow.

He shrugged. “They’re clever.”

August 2020

“Old Fashioned,” you ordered with a look at the bartender, feeling Beau’s confused eyes and crinkled brow wander up to you. “Couldn’t have picked a nicer bar, huh? This place is a dump. You know that, right?”

Beau clicked his tongue and took a sip from his Ranch Water. “What are you doing here? Thought you never wanted to see me again.”

You let out a small sigh but didn’t meet his gaze. “Carla called me. Your family is worried about you.”

“I didn’t tell her where I was. How did you know I was here?”

“I didn’t. Carla said you haven’t been home in three days. Figured you’d gone on a bender. This is the fifth cop bar I checked out. Finally got lucky,” you said and thanked the bartender as he placed his drink in front of you. You settled down on a barstool next to Beau.

“Quite the effort. Sure I’m worth it?”

Your tongue swept over your lips. “Beau, look at me.” His forest-green eyes found yours upon your soft plea. “I’m sorry I put all that shit on you. It wasn’t fair. It’s not your fault, okay? His death isn’t on you. I know you loved him like a brother.”

“I did.” Beau took another sip of his drink. “But it is my fault. I was reckless and arrogant. We both know it.”

“It was a set-up, alright? I talked to my DEA contact. Cody said your intel was wrong. They knew you and Randy were closing in on them. They wanted to get rid of you,” you explained.

Beau smacked his lips. “I still shoulda known better. I should’ve seen it was a trap.”

“Maybe,” you admitted. You couldn’t say you would’ve done the same thing, but you knew Beau would’ve never purposely put Randy in danger if he had even the faintest idea. “But it could’ve happened to anybody. This was bigger than you knew.”

“It wouldn’t have happened to you,” he stated quietly. You couldn’t argue with that. You were more by-the-book than he was. You would’ve never gone against a superior’s order. You would’ve respected it.

“Look, just go home. Talk to your wife. Get some help,” you said. “You missed your suspension hearing, but I spoke on your behalf. Told them it wasn’t your fault. The DEA backed me. Harper’s gonna reinstate you. Just come back as soon as you’re ready.”

Beau nodded slowly. Even if he didn’t say it, you could tell he was thankful for your efforts. “I can’t go home.”

Your brow furrowed. “Why? I’m sure Carla will understand. You need to talk to someone about this. Go to therapy – and not the alcoholic kind. Losing a partner is not something you get over quickly. You need people in your corner, including your wife.”

“You mean the wife that lets criminals out on the street?” Beau’s gaze was focused on the glass in his hands. The wrinkles on your brow deepened. “The guy that shot him… Carla’s his defense attorney. Was, at least. He was supposed to do time, but two months ago, she got him paroled.” With a dark chuckle, he emptied his glass.

“Beau…” You knew he had always struggled with Carla’s job, making you sometimes wonder about their dinner conversations at home. “It ain’t her fault more than it is yours. She’s just doing her job. You know that. You’ve been together for so long, you’d think you’re used to it by now.”

Beau scoffed a chuckle and gestured to the bartender for a refill. “I was a young cop back then. Wasn’t on the job as long. I didn’t know it would bother me so much. Still lived in that hopeful bubble, I guess.”

You smiled knowingly. “You mean the ‘I didn’t think I’d see as much shit and injustice as I do now’ bubble?”

He snickered softly. “Yep, that one. Just didn’t think it’d be this hard, you know?”

“I get it. I mean, me and Carla butt heads all the time over this stuff. But we do it in a competitive fun way and then get drunk,” you said with a light chuckle. “Guess it’s different when you’re married, though, huh?”

“Yeah, it is…” he sighed.

“Still, go home. Talk to her,” you encouraged but could see your words of wisdom fell on deaf ears. “By the way, the funeral’s on Saturday.”

He turned his gaze away from his glass and found your eyes. “You need any help with that?”

“Maybe you can give a eulogy. You knew him best. I think he would’ve really liked that,” you said with a warm smile. No matter your own feelings, you knew deep down Randy would’ve wanted you to forgive his partner.

“Yeah, I can do that. Anything you need, okay?” Beau clasped your hand that laid on the bar counter and squeezed reassuringly before dropping it again.

You smiled appreciatively and teased, “Maybe show up sober. Or at least close-to.”

Beau chuckled a little. “I promise.”

You stood up from your seat then and put some cash for your drink on the counter. “Alright, I’m heading home. You need me to call you a cab?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’m just gonna finish this drink, then I’ll head out, too,” he said.

“You sure? Don’t make me come back here,” you threatened playfully.

Beau laughed softly. “I won’t. Thanks for everything, Y/N. I mean it.”

You sent him a smile and gave his shoulder a squeeze on your way out. “You’re welcome. Get home safe, okay?”

However, Beau couldn’t keep any of his promises. He made it home after three more drinks and woke up on the front lawn of his house. Carla wasn’t happy when she found him in the morning as she brought Emily to school. But Beau couldn’t stop. Every time he closed his eyes, the tragic events flashed before him like a horror movie, witnessing Randy’s death in a never-ending loop. He kept seeing his partner get dragged away, heard the shot over and over again like a rain of bullets without a ceasefire.

The guilt was eating him alive. The guilt of getting his partner into this mess in the first place. Of leaving him behind. Of surviving and coming out alive when he didn’t deserve to.

So, Beau kept drinking to forget, even though he knew it was a futile endeavor. The memory would never fade, but at least it was blurred.

Your heavy breaths echoed through the small trailer. His mouth moved down the column of your throat, leaving a wet path of ravenous love bites in its wake.

“Fuck, baby,” you moaned wantonly, his grip on your flesh punishing as he kept you pressed flush against him while he devoured you on the little dining table. Your ass sat on the wooden surface, your crossed ankles locked tightly behind his muscular back.

“God, you made me so happy today,” he growled against the shell of your ear, his rising length rubbing against your core through layers of denim.

“I can see that.” You giggled, your hands dangling in his hair. “There’s no need to hate him so much, you know?”

“Says you,” Beau quipped and unzipped your jeans, eagerly pulling them off you as his mouth sucked your clavicle purple and blue. “That slimy coyote always had it out for me.”

Beau removed your panties as well, tossing them behind his shoulder where they landed in the kitchen sink. “Whoops.” He grinned charmingly but was unstoppable, freeing his throbbing dick as he shoved his jeans and boxers barely over his ass. He didn’t bother to slip out of them all the way, too impatient to wait any longer to enter you.

“Still, I’m already yours. I’ve always been yours,” you said and braced yourself on his broad shoulders as one large hand on your back pulled you closer to the edge of the table. His other hand grabbed his cock, twisting his fist along the hard, long shaft a few times before he glided his cockhead through your slick folds.

“Not always.” With one harsh thrust, he pushed inside you, your tight walls fighting to make room for him and adjust to his stretch.

You gasped at the pleasurable burn that coursed through your body and ignited every sizzling nerve. He dropped his head to your shoulder, giving both of you some time to get used to each other. You could tell you were in for a wilder ride tonight. You always loved when he fucked you rough and hard. There was something raw and animalistic about the need in his hypnotizing green eyes.

Beau then claimed your lips with one fervent kiss, enough of a spark to cause a wildfire. He met your gaze, hands gingerly cupping your cheeks. “But I love that you’re mine now. And I’m sure as hell gonna make you mine tonight, darlin’.”

You crashed your lips against his, your kisses frenzied and untamed as his hips began to slam into you. His pounds into your pussy were relentless as you swallowed every inch of him. You gripped him tight, already feeling your first orgasm bloom. It accumulated like dark, violent storm clouds on the horizon, forecasting roaring thunder and heavy rainfall.

“Oh God! Fuck, baby!” You screamed as your climax tore through you like a hurricane, your cunt gushing on his cock and pulsing around him. Your nails dug into his shoulder blades and scratched down his back as you came undone.

Beau groaned into your ear, squeezing his eyes shut as he barely held on himself. But he didn’t let up and kept up his furious pace, not ready to stop yet. “Shit, keep doing that. You’re so fucking tight, Y/N,” he grunted against your skin, your sensitive flesh barely withstanding his ruthless pumps. “Want you to come again, darlin’.”

With his declaration, his hand slipped between your sweat-clad bodies. You came close to losing your mind as he thumbed furiously at your clit, the stars already starting to twinkle in front of your eyes. You could feel yourself get shoved to the edge once more, staring down the steep cliffs of white-hot ecstasy.

Your mind was consumed by need, his grip on your hips bruising as you exploded. You cried out raucously, your whole body quaking in his hold upon your eruption, the aftershocks so powerful they could cause cracks in your bones.

Beau spilled his seed deep inside of you, his body stuttering in rhythm with yours as your earthquake took him down with you. Hazy gazes met each other with lazy smiles as ragged breaths mingled.

“Fuck, that was good. I think that one might make it into our Top Ten.” Beau chuckled gravelly and placed a gentle kiss on your temple.

“Hmm, not sure. We have a few greatest hits.” You giggled and bit down on your lower lip with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes. “Can I tell you something?”

Beau cupped your cheeks, thumbs caressing the heated and rosy skin as he lifted your gaze. “Anything.”

“Just between us, you’re the best lover I ever had,” you confessed with a wide grin. The corners of his mouth rose to match yours.

“Well, between us, I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. You’re it, darlin’. You know that, right? You’re the love of my life,” Beau revealed, making you smile brighter than you ever had before.

“I’m not sure about the sex, but this moment, right here, is probably gonna make it into the Top Ten,” you said softly as a few tears stung your eyes.

“Good.” Beau smiled and pecked your forehead.

The buzzing of a phone shifted your attention. You recognized it as yours, and Beau was quick to retrieve it from your jeans pocket in the pile of clothes on the floor.

“It��s Jenny,” you told him before picking up. “Hello… What?! Uh-huh, we’ll be right there.”

Beau’s brow furrowed as he watched your features flicker through an array of emotions. “Bad news?”

“Uhm, honestly, I don’t know,” you said and swallowed some of your confusion down, gathering your thoughts. “Jenny said Diane just walked into the station and gave herself up. She is ready to confess but only wants to talk to us.”

“Us? As in us two?” Beau’s eyes narrowed. You nodded. “Well, that doesn’t sound fishy at all,” he commented wryly.

“Yup, I don’t like it.”

Chapter 8: Chemical Bonds – JUNE 26

A lot of revelations and foreboding in this one... 👀 Also, I just love having Beau say the word "coyotes" for some reason 😂

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luckyjak · 3 days ago

Text

how I would fix veilguard

general note: I enjoyed Dragon Age: The Veilguard and it is very easy, post game release, for me (a person who doesn't work for Bioware and isn't the game's developers) to sit back in my armchair and go "This is what they should have done instead." That said, this is the internet, and I have opinions, so let's roll.

also, spoilers, obviously.

First, I would have made two games out of the material in Veilguard, not one.

Game one (which we will still call The Veilguard) takes place in Northern Thedas. The beginning of the game is the same: you interrupt Solas's ritual, and Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain escape. However, rather than taking over Thedas together, the two decide to divide and conquer: Ghilan'nain takes over the North, and Elgar'nan takes over the South.

Most of the game stays the same. You still play as Rook; however, the game starts with Varric recruiting you, so you get a chance to spend time with Varric before, you know, Solas. You still recruit your seven friends. For pacing purposes, romance and friendship scenes occur faster. This is because we're going to end the game sooner.

We're going to shave off all of Act 3.

Why would we do this? Ghilan'nain and Elgar'nan are both stand-out villains who deserve their own time in the spotlight. As it is now, we hardly spend any time with Elgar'nan other than the constant looming threat of him, and Ghilan'nain mostly comes off as his lackey as opposed to a full-fledged "mother of monsters" she deserves to be. By splitting them into two games, each gets to shine as a villain, and Rook doesn't seem like such a overpowered protagonist who is able to kill (potentially) three elven gods.

So, where does Veilguard end? Last mission of The Veilguard should be "Isle of the Gods" and it should end exactly as that mission ends: Ghilan'nain's death, the realization of where Varric has been all along, and Solas trapping Rook in the Fade. Rook is trapped in the prison of regrets, realizes they are trapped, and then bam, end credits.

but wait, doesn't Veilguard suck now then? Most people agree acts 2 and 3 are the best part! And they are! But I think with tighter pacing, the whole game is improved. Remember, we are moving companion's Act 3 moments up to the end of Act 2 as well. We won't spend quite as long wondering when Lucanis will ever talk to us if we have his romance happen sooner, and that becomes true of all the companions.

So does the "Hero of the Veilguard" thing matter? It does, but not until the next game! Hold your horses!

So, now we make Game 5: Dragon Age: Dreadwolf. At the end of the last game, Solas established himself as a villain (by putting Rook in prison) so now it's time to really mess with that.

For starters: Game 5 cannot happen unless world state is included, and I'm talking about most of the Keep. Game 5 takes place in Southern Thedas, with the focus being on Fereldan, Orlais, and the Free Marches.

You play as the Inquisitor once more. You get to decide what happened between you and your LI in character creation: are you married now? Did you break up post-game? The game starts with you saying goodbye to your LI (if you still have one) then getting on a ship. No need for dialogue from LI, so no excuses about hunting down voice actors. The game starts with you getting a spirit hand, so that you can once again be the hero of the land. The ship is your Lighthouse, your base of operations that is always moving.

Your companions are:

dwarven grey warden woman (warrior)

human or elven orleasian bard man (rogue)

qunari runaway saarebas woman (mage)

spirit of wisdom (mage) *this is Solas in disguise, spying on you.

human avaar man (warrior)

human woman who definitely killed her husband (warrior)

dwarven artificer who is making bombs and got exiled to the surface (woman, rogue)

elf man who used to work for Solas but deflected (mage)

DLC character: my son Kieran, who is customizable, and also a blood mage

All of them are romancable if your Inky is single except for maybe Kieran.

Don't worry, though: you get frequent letters from your previous LI's giving you life updates (except for Solas but like. you know)

The core gameplay loop is sailing the Waking Sea to defend people from darkspawn and try to find more info on Elgar'nan, who is definitely causing trouble.

Places you visit:

Highever (Fereldan): I have legit always wanted to go there. Saving my origin character's hometown that is currently being ravaged by darkspawn? Fuck yeah

obviously, the slaughter of Denerim (Fereldan). Bonus points if we save the life of King Alistair/Queen Anora

Ostwick (Free Marches)

Val Royeaux (Orlais)

Cumberland (Orlais)

Maybe also Orzamar?

Jader

Final battle at Halamshiral because we love a callback.

Essentially, all the stuff we hear about in Inky's letters about the south, we now get to experience in the game.

Elgar'nan has done something fucky with time magic and now Halamshiral is half modern Orlais, half ancient elven empire. He's trying to bring the veil down, and Solas is unsure if he wants to stop him, or wait until he brings the Veil down to stop him.

Inky requests Rook from the Fade. Rook tells Inky about Solas's betrayal. Double-team Act 3 time, where people may still die depending on faction strengths in Veilguard, and who/what Inky has managed to save in Dreadwolf.

Assume you manage to stop Elgar'nan, and then the question becomes:

Do you, the Inquisitor, stop Solas? Save him from himself? Or die trying?

#dragon age #datv spoilers #datv #dragon age the veilguard #how i would do the games

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mirandasidefics · 18 hours ago

Text

But Home is Nowhere- Chapter 12 Pt2

Pairing(s): Lucien x Plus Size Reader, Azriel x Plus Size Reader, and Ruhn Dannan x Plus Size Reader.

Summary: Azriel and Reader finally start to bond bringing about some strange feelings that Azriel isn't sure how to process. It's made all the more complicated when Azriel confronts Ruhn about his actions.

Word Count: 5.8 K

Warnings: Mentions of nudity, sexually suggestive dialogue (no smut)

Author's Note: I'm still in a bit of a funk, and with the holidays coming up, things may be a bit slower. So I apologize for things slowing down. I can't thank you all enough for the support that this fic is getting along with some of my other little stories.

As always, a HUGE thank you to my beta reader @hardcoremarvelfan for all her help with this chapter. She really helped out with the struggles I was having for the Azriel and Ruhn scene and I don't think that I could have gotten past that block without her!

Series Masterlist Divider by @/tsunami-of-tears

Previous: Chapter 12 pt1 Next: Chapter 13

A half hour passed by quickly and Azriel was back at the front of the townhouse waiting for (Y/N) to emerge. He sent in a shadow to let her know of his arrival, even though she still appeared uncomfortable around them, she seemed to do better with a single shadow at a time. He couldn’t help but wonder if she had the same reactions to Ruhn’s shadows as she did with his.

When she finally joined him in front Azriel drank in the sight of her. He knew instantly that this wasn’t a dress Rhysand had originally picked out for her, but one that was very likely picked with either the assistance of Mor or Bryce. The simple silver off shoulder sweater dress was perfect for her frame.

“Wow.” He whispered to himself.

“I know right. I never thought that I would have the opportunity to actually wear this. Bryce picked it out. Apparently she wanted to take me to this place called Rita’s here. I told her I haven’t been out to a club in like a decade… literally.”

“Wait, how old are you?” Azriel asked, realizing that was something he had never learned about her.

“How old do I look?” She challenged. Azriel paused for a moment as she looked down from the stair stoop of the townhouse.

“I’m not answering that. Not if I want to continue living,” He smiled.

“Good boy,” She quipped.

A couple hours later, Azriel and (Y/N) returned to the townhouse after the concert. They decided to walk back from the concert hall and the entire time she spent gushing about the experience. He noted each of her hand movements as she talked, the way she walked slightly angled towards him. He was surprised that she hadn’t tripped on the cobble stone path in the high heels she wore. Azriel smiled the entire time she spent describing the music, her descriptions even provided him with insights into the pieces he had never considered before.

However, her chatty demeanor quickly dissolved the minute they approached the townhouse, which was still as dark as they had left it before leaving for the concert. Azriel watched as the sparkle that had been in her eyes throughout the performance slowly dissipated. It was starting to get late and it was clear that Ruhn had still not yet returned from whatever Rhys and Cassian were having him do.

“I’m sure he will be back soon,” He reassured her. However, she didn’t bother to acknowledge him. Instead she squared her shoulders, entering the townhouse as if nothing was wrong and resumed their conversation.

“So a requiem in my world also serves the purpose of remembering and honoring the dead,” She explained. “One of the largest religions has a very specific ritual surrounding it and many composers have set music to the prayers that make up the Mass. It’s honestly fascinating to see the same occurring here, but with a completely different religious base.” Azriel couldn’t help but smile as she continued to talk about what she found most enjoyable about the concert. “What were the parts of this one again? I’m so used to the Latin from my world,” She looked at him and Azriel’s mind froze for a half second before he remembered what she asked.

“So there are eight segments, the first seven are based on the elements of life that the Mother placed in her Cauldron to create Pyrthian, which are Darkness, Sun, Moon, Earth, Water, Sky, and Fate. The final segment is the standard prayer that the Fae recites to those that are dying and was added much later.” He explained as they entered the parlor.

“Yes I recognized the prayer. My mother taught me that one. It’s been passed down in my family for generations.” Her previous excitement was diminished, but she was making an effort to not let her disappointment in Ruhn’s continued absence show. “I also really enjoyed the segments for Moon and Earth. I am so impressed with this composer’s ability to encapsulate the imagery of each concept. It reminded me more of “The Planets” by Holst than a liturgical mass of traditional requiems in my world. It’s fascinating. And see this was one of my favorite things about music, the ability to allow us to gain insight into a wholly different culture through sound and the emotions it can help us experience. Oh! And…I’m rambling again…” She trailed off, but Azriel truly didn’t mind. There was a long pause before she spoke again.

“Thank you,” She whispered. “Wow…I didn’t think I’d ever thank you for anything if I’m being honest.” Azriel chuckled, slightly shaking his head.

“Just glad that I could help, even for a few moments.” He admitted as they sat down in the parlor. The conversation between them dwindled, the silence more comfortable than it had been in the past. But just as the silence grew, so did her anxiety.

“I should head up to bed soon.” Her voice was quiet and tried to mask the worry. He watched as she chewed on her lower lip, wondering if she was aware of how frequently she looked towards the clock on the wall. He noted that it was getting late, well past midnight. He also noted how Ruhn had still not arrived.

“Will you be needing more of the tonic soon?” He asked, trying to keep a conversation going, hoping that it could possibly lead to a new topic to help ease her mind. She merely continued to chew on her lower lip and began to pick at her nails.

“He’s never been home this late before,” Her whisper was her only response. “It’s been a week. I was hoping to talk to him tonight…I can’t…” Her eyes flicked to the clock again.

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” Azriel tried to reassure. “But what is it you can’t do?”

“I can’t take the tonic tonight. If I take it for more than...a week at a time…” She sighed. “That’s when I pretty much reach my limit before I start to build a tolerance for opiates. After that I notice that I have to start upping the dosage to have the same effect. And that…that just won’t be good for me in the long run.” Azriel nodded in understanding, his own mother experienced the same issue from time to time. He watched as she continued to chew on her lip and pick at her nails. He wanted to rest his hands upon her before she hurt herself again but stopped himself. He could tell she was lost in thought and his touching her suddenly had the potential to undo all the progress they made over the past year.

“Would you…would you like for me to stay here until he shows up?” Azriel asked tentatively. She nodded, her eyes still mostly glazed over from whatever scenario was playing out in her mind. “Go upstairs then and get some rest. I’ll let Cassian know that you won’t be at the training tomorrow.” She nodded again, making her way towards the staircase. Azriel watched closely, but remained a few steps behind her. As soon as she closed the bedroom door, he took a steadying breath and plopped himself on the staircase.

Azriel sat on the center of the staircase, head bowed down as his elbows rested on his knees. It had been a couple of hours since (Y/N) went to bed, though his shadows informed that it was not at all a restful sleep. His own hearing could attest to her experiencing at least one partial nightmare that she was able to wake herself from without screaming. After the first hour of waiting for the Midgardian male to return he had decided that he was going to have a small chat with Ruhn upon his return.

A few minutes later, Azriel heard the beating of Cassian’s wings in front of the townhouse. Given the hour it was slightly unusual for him to even be awake this late, much less out and about town. For a slight moment, Azriel even wondered if something may have happened to Ruhn. That thought was quickly dismissed as a second set of uneven steps were heard all the way from the gate.

As soon as the pair reached the front door Azriel was able to smell the stale and bitter stench of ale. Once the door opened the varying scents of different females were added to the mix. Azriel felt the shadow of rage begin to build within his gut. If the scents of the females truly indicated what he assumed, then he’d have every reason to physically beat some sense into Ruhn rather than just listen to whatever bullshit he may have spun as an explanation for his behavior.

As soon as Ruhn stumbled through the door, he made a beeline for the parlor, falling face first on the couch. Cassian stood in the entryway, his gaze moving towards Azriel. “Go easy on him brother,” Cassian’s voice almost sounded defeated. “He’s been a mess all week and I figured he could use a break. So, I took him to Rita’s. He was quite the novelty amongst the females, I almost wonder if I should have kept a better eye on him.” Azriel stood from his spot on the stairs, nodding his acknowledgment of Cassian’s words, but his eyes remained on the other clearly exceedingly drunk male.

Azriel descended the stairs turning to Cassian and sighed. “I got it from here.” Cassian nodded, leaving the townhouse and returning to his own home. With his arms crossed Azriel entered the parlor and stopped in the other male’s line of sight. Or at least it would have been his line of sight had Ruhn’s eyes had been open.

“What happened between you and (Y/N)?” Azriel questioned. Ruhn merely groaned in response, arm falling off the side of the couch. Azriel sighed again, closing his eyes to take a deep breath and keep the building rage at a simmer. “She said you made her feel ‘forgotten.’ You of all people.” This time Ruhn managed to release a sequence of incoherent noises, only a few words making any sense.

“Stupid… can’t… gonna…up…”

Not even a second later Ruhn bolted up from the couch and ran towards the kitchen, without a care that he bumped into Azriel as he dashed by. Azriel quietly thanked the Mother that the purple eyed male made it to the kitchen sink before puking inside. Ruhn remained draped over the sink, breathing heavily and occasionally spitting into the basin. Azriel walked over to the male, the awful stench of stale ale, whiskey, and whatever food Ruhn had managed to eat nearly overpowering Azriel’s nostrils. Turning on the tap, Azriel rinsed the vomit down the drain before grabbing and filling a glass of water for the other male. Clearing his throat, Azriel garnered Ruhn’s attention, slightly shaking the glass of water. Ruhn made to reach for the glass, but Azriel withheld it. He needed to hear exactly what the hell happened between them, though he wasn’t entirely sure why he found himself caring so much about a squabble between them.

“What. Did you say. To (Y/N)?” His speech was slow, voice filled with the dark undertone he reserved for his interrogations. He blinked away the surprise, having honestly not intended to use that tone when talking to Ruhn.

“I fucked up.” Ruhn muttered, his voice a bit clearer now that he emptied a good portion of the contents of his stomach.

“Yeah, I’m aware of that much. Question is: How?” Azriel insisted, hauling the younger male to sit at the small breakfast table on the far side of the kitchen. Ruhn stumbles over, the metal chair from the table squeaking against the tile floor as the male practically drops himself down.

Ruhn leans his head back against the wall, “I called her ‘Lidia.’”

“Lidia?” Azriel sat himself opposite the male across the small breakfast table. The water glass was still in the Illyrian’s hand, holding it just out of reach as incentive for answers.

“Lidia Cervos, also known as ‘the Hind’. She was a female shifter from Midgard.” Ruhn paused, letting out a heavy sigh. “I thought… I don’ fuckin’ know.” He paused again, a wry chuckle escaping him. “I…cared ‘bout her. She died before I could… figure my shit out.” Ruhn chuckles again, but the laughter quickly turns to tears. “Lidia died…just to save me.”

Azriel remained quiet, taking in the information. He could almost see where this was going, but needed the other male to confirm, he’d long learned to never assume anything during an interrogation. Ruhn released a pathetic whine, his head falling to the table, forehead banging hard against the glass surface. Luckily it didn’t break. The younger male’s arms came up to support his head as he continued to rest it on the table.

“Okay, so, you called her by another female’s name,” Azriel tried to brush off the icky feeling saying the words out loud gave him, “I’ve called Rhys Cassian and vice versa. So, it sounds like an honest and innocent mistake. Just a slip of the tongue. Unless-”

“I had her nipple in my mouth.” Ruhn’s voice was muffled by his arms, but the shame in his voice was as clear as the winter night skies of Illyria. Azriel felt the simmering rage turn into a boil and it took everything within him not to lash out.

After a few deep breaths, he was finally able to respond with a simple, “Oh.”

“Her sweet, perky nipple…” Ruhn trailed off, as if lost in the memory. “FUCK! I’m so stupid! How could I…I was thinking about (Y/N)! Her intoxicatin’ scent, the way it takes on a slight tinge of amber when she’s aroused. Fuckin’ Urd, I get so fuckin’ hard jus’ thinkin’ about it!”

“Alright, I don’t need to hear that.” Az shuddered. The last thing he wanted was to imagine the human woman in that state. Naked and moaning, another male’s mouth on her breast. He didn’t want to know, let alone allow himself to imagine what that change in her scent would taste like. The sweet and savory taste of the slickness between her…Azriel caught himself. The thoughts swirling around in his head took him by surprise. He couldn’t deny that the woman was attractive, but he couldn’t afford to have those thoughts. There were other…other things-people- he needed to focus on. Azriel shook his head, hoping the physical action would work to clear the questions forming in his mind about (Y/N). His focus returned to the blubbering male in front of him.

“Why’d I say Lidia? I wasn’ thinkin’ ‘bout her, at least not then,” Ruhn continued, his tears were silent and slow. “I wanted that moment with (Y/N) for years now. I can’t believe I fucked it up. When Lucien-”

“Lucien? What does…” Azriel’s attention perked up at the mention of the Autumn male. “Lucien is mated.”

Ruhn sits up, scoffing at the reminder of Luicen’s relationship status, “Yeah, well his ‘mate’ won’ give ‘m the time of day, let alone even acknowledge the bond.” Ruhn took hold of the glass of water, drinking half of it quickly before continuing. “I may be new ‘round here, and mating bonds seem to be a little different, but I’m not blind. Elain wants nothin’ to do with him.”

“I still don’t see what that has to do with (Y/N)?”

“I thought Lucien… he and (Y/N) would be something more than jus’ friends,” Ruhn explained. “But things changed after tha’ first trip to that other court. Lu kept his distance, and even if he didn’ ask me to help I would have. The past three years we’ve become so close.” He sighed, finishing the water in his glass. Azriel stood and refilled it for him before sitting back across from the male. “I didn’ wanna rush things between us either. She’s been through so much. Last thing on her mind was romance or sex. Then her birthday came; I wanted to make it special for her. I didn’ do it with the hope of anythin’, but…she kissed me an’ I thought, ‘Finally!’” He smiled softly to himself. “I could feel it, she wanted me as much as I wanted her.” Ruhn ran his hand through his mangled hair. “I jus’ had to fuck it up.” He reached for the refilled glass again, Azriel sliding it towards him.

“Did you apologize?” Azriel asked, knowing that even if Ruhn had, the likelihood of her being receptive to that apology in the moment was minimal.

“I tried,” Ruhn sighed, spinning the glass of water in his hands along the smooth glass surface of the table.

Azriel sighed again, his own hand running through his short hair, as he debated on saying anything. His own thoughts surrounding the woman were jumbled. It would be so easy to withhold what he knew about her feelings, her worry for the Midgardian prince. Ruhn deserved to wallow in self pity. Deserved to spend a few more nights away from her. However, Azriel eventually settled on his earlier admission to himself. (Y/N) deserved someone that made her feel safe, and Ruhn made her feel safe, even if they were in the middle of a fight. “She misses you.”

“I miss her,” Ruhn picked up the glass, drinking the contents in a singular gulp, throwing it back like a shot. He paused, setting the glass back down on the table, “Did she really say I made her feel ‘forgotten?’” Azriel could only nod, causing Ruhn to groan, his head returning to rest against his arms on the table.

“I can’t believe I did this. She’s all I think about and…” He trails off. “Her softness. Her body is so soft, yet also firm, strong. Even with all the trainin’ over the years she still has those plush feminine curves.” Ruhn closed his eyes and groaned. “And her skin tasted like… like… fuck, I don’t even know how to describe it. Imagine your-your favorite dessert, the one that’s not overwhelmingly sweet so you savor every bite. You then spend the rest of your life only wanting that flavor, craving it and daydreaming about the next time you’ll get a taste.”

The Shadowsinger shifted his wings, bringing them closer to his body. Even his shadows began to swirl and vibrate as the other male’s description of how the human woman’s nipple tasted made his cock twitch. With a deep breath Azriel willed himself to remain soft.

“Lidia…the shit with Lidia is just a jumble of thread. I wanna ignore it; a loose end with no closure.” Silver tears returned to line purple irises. “I had just found her and…there’s a lot of shit I gotta unpack ‘bout her. I sure as Hel didn’ think I’d find anyone else, but…(Y/N) just had to walk into that fuckin’ dining room. It’s like…the more time I spend with her, the more I get to know her, fuck… she is jus’ what I needed. Straight from my dreams. I felt this way with Lidia and… it’s so fuckin’ hard,” Despite the cracks in his voice, his words became clearer. “I feel guilty, like I shouldn’ wanna even be with anyone else. And ashamed, ashamed that I didn’ grieve the female that was likely-” The prince paused, trying to compose the tears that wouldn’t stop. Azriel hated to admit it, but the young shadow wielder was a damn mess without (Y/N). “I’m falling in love…I’m in love with (Y/N).”

Love. That simple word rattled something deep in Azriel, a wave of nausea swirled in his gut. He shouldn’t have been surprised. It wasn’t as if the Prince’s behaviors didn’t give away his feelings towards the woman. Nevertheless, the Shadowsinger didn’t expect to hear that exact word, that exact confession and the genuine emotion in Ruhn’s voice as he finally expressed the sentiment out loud. Azriel felt the blood rush to his head, his vision tunneling as the nausea built and acidic bile burned his throat. His mind echoed a singular truth: Ruhn is in love with (Y/N). The thought played over and over in his mind on a tortuous loop.

Another thought struck Azriel, why the hell did he even care? Why did he care if any male- Human, Fae, or otherwise-held any feelings or sexual fantasies for (Y/N)? He didn’t. He didn’t care. His body just responded as any sexually frustrated male would upon hearing Ruhn’s desire for her. Azriel reminded himself that he’d had similar thoughts about Elain many times over the past few years. Said fantasies regarding Elain made perfect sense for Azriel to have. Just like it made perfect sense for the male crying in front of him to be in love with the human woman that had slowly crept into all of their lives. But if he didn’t care, why did Ruhn’s spoken confession cause such a visceral reaction? Could it be guilt? Azriel recognized that most of his efforts to make (Y/N) feel comfortable in this world stemmed from the guilt from…that week of torture. That had to be what caused these feelings churning deep inside him. Guilt that he wasn’t the one to make her feel safe and secure after he had been the one to break her in the first place.

It wasn’t anything more than that. It wasn’t anything like what he felt for other females in his life. (Y/N) wasn’t all that unique; sure, she was kind, compassionate, and resilient as hell, but so were Elain and Gwyn, and many of the other Priestesses he’d come to know during the morning training sessions. This feeling in his stomach, and the thoughts now swirling around in his head were all just the result of a guilty conscience and nothing more. Settling on this rationale, the nausea in his stomach subsided, and the rushing of blood in his ears died away, allowing the Spy Master to refocus on the still struggling and drunk male in front of him.

“I really fucked up,” Ruhn held his face in his hands, elbows resting on the glass table. “I don’ think…I can’t…atone for something like this. Fuckin’ Hel…jus’ a piece a shit…makin’ her feel forgotten.” Azriel continued to listen quietly, biting his tongue to keep his agreement of the Midgaridan’s self assessment to himself.

The two fell into an uncomfortable silence. Ruhn’s head now leaning back against the wall of the breakfast nook. Azriel glances between the male and his empty water glass, a few minutes pass by before he stands. Picking up the glass from Ruhn’s limp grip, he refilled it a final time. However, instead of returning to his previous perch, he went over to the opposite side of the kitchen. Pulling out a loaf of bread, he ripped off a sizable chunk to then set down in front of the night haired male. Azriel had to pause for the briefest of moments, the tears in Ruhn’s purple eyes reminding the Shadowsinger of Rhysand after he returned from Amarantha’s grasp.

“Apologize.” Azriel tried to keep his voice soft yet stern. “Don’t just ‘try.’ Make her listen and apologize.”

“Make her listen, huh?” Ruhn chuckled darkly, picking at the chuck of bread. “You interrogated and tortured her for a week, and you now spend hours with her every day. Yet you still don’t know a fuckin’ thing ‘bout her.” Azriel stopped and turned from where he stood in the doorway leading towards the hall. He was about to counter the Prince’s words, but the utterly defeated look on the male’s face gave him pause.

“You’re right,” He loosened a heavy breath. “You know her better than I do. So figure something out. Maybe a grand gesture or something.”

Ruhn began to laugh, “I didn’t peg you as the romantic type Azzie.” Azriel tensed his shoulders at the nickname, mentally brushing it off due to the other male’s drunk status. He looked towards the clock on the wall, dawn was only a couple of hours away now.

“Look,” The spy master ran his fingers through his hair, “Just…just talk to her. If a grand gesture won’t work, then start with a small one. She made a comment about not really knowing you. That sounds like a good place to start.”

“The last female I opened up to was killed,” Ruhn lifted the water glass to his lips, his movements slow, as if the glass held the weight of his heavy words. The sips he took were slow and deliberate. His eyes glazed over as he stared ahead. Azriel sighed again. While he kept most of his thoughts to himself, he also understood the other male’s hesitancy. However, the idiot in front of him created this issue. It wasn’t up to Azriel to fix it nor tell him exactly how to do so. Yet, that is exactly what he found himself doing.

“If I was in your position, trying to regain the trust of someone I was in love with, I’d tell her everything and not hide a single part of who I am.” Azriel stepped closer to the male still sitting at the table. “She’d know of every crime, and every life I’ve taken or irrevocably altered. She’d know about my past and the story behind every single visible and invisible scar. She’d know the reasons behind every sacrifice I’ve made over the last few centuries. Especially regarding the safety of those I love and care for. She would become an integral part of my life, she’d know my loved ones and they would know her.” Azriel didn’t care that Ruhn began to shrink away in shame as he loomed over the younger male; the unintended intimidation of flared wings appeared to be just the thing the “Starborn” Prince needed to understand that any apology to a loved one could not be half assed. “I’d lay my soul bare before her… and if she understood, if she stuck around, and she could feel safe with me then I’d know with complete certainty she would be worth it.”

“And if she couldn’t?” Ruhn questioned. Azriel paused, he knew what answer he would receive from (Y/N) if he truly was in Ruhn’s position; and that would be a very different response than what she would grant the Midgardian Prince.

“Just talk to her Ruhn,” He muttered, wings returning to tuck in close before turning around to exit the kitchen. “She wants to listen.” Ruhn’s midnight hair shifts as he nods, a long contemplative sigh escaping his lungs.

“I’ll talk to her, tell her everything…” he mumbled, placing his head on his arms as they rested on the table top.

“And apologize.” Azriel reminded sternly.

“And apologize,” Ruhn nodded, his voice drifting off as he closed his eyes. Within seconds the younger male was asleep at the table. Azriel didn’t even bother to wake him, perfectly content to let the other male’s muscles cramp from the awkward sleeping position.

Azriel made it to the bottom landing of the staircase before a soft whimper caught his attention. Against his better judgment, he ascended the stairs giving into the pull he felt to check on (Y/N). The door was already slightly ajar, the light from the hall flooding into the darkness of the bedroom. The beam of light streaked across the wooden floorboards, up along the bed. Her lower limbs tangled up in the wine red colored sheets. He instantly knew that the level of dishevelment was the result of her tossing and turning during a nightmare.

His hazel eyes followed along her legs, red sheets fading into the black of her night dress. His gaze continued to travel up, snagging on an unexpected exposure of soft flesh. Azriel’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes drank in the sight of her uncovered breast. He tried to avert his eyes, but they continued to linger, a part of him wanting to know if Ruhn’s description was accurate. His questions were answered as she shifted, and a perky nipple made visible in the light from the hall.

One second Azriel stood frozen in his spot, the next, he was sprinting down the steps and out the front door of the townhouse. The cool air filling his lungs helped him regain his senses long enough to force the organ between his legs to return to a limp state. He glanced back at the townhouse, confusion marking his face. Perhaps he was spending too much time with the human…he shook his head, taking a few steps to exit the gate. It had also been quite some time since he enjoyed the company of a female, perhaps it was time to find that release. As soon as he cleared the gate of the townhouse, Azriel shot into the skies of Velaris, taking his time to process the conflicting and concerning thoughts in his head before returning to the House of Wind.

The sound of glass shattering startled Ruhn awake. Sitting bolt upright, he looked around the darkened room, moonlight filtering through the bay window of the breakfast nook in the kitchen. His heart pounded inside his chest, as he took in the sight of the broken water glass now on the floor. It took a few more moments for him to get his bearings and remember what transpired earlier in the evening. He could still smell the alcohol, and the various scents of what he could only assume were Fae females on his clothes. He needed to change. He needed to clean up this glass first. It took him ten minutes, but he finally located a broom and dustpan and swept up the shards, dumping them in what appeared to resemble a trash can. His vision was still slightly blurred as the headache of what was sure to become a monster of a hangover made an appearance.

Ruhn took a few more minutes for himself at the kitchen sink. Grabbing a new, clean glass, he filled it with water from the tap, taking small sips and deep breaths. Gathering the stamina and the courage to face going upstairs. Bits and pieces of his conversation with Azriel stuck out in his mind. He knew that he had to talk to (Y/N). To apologize again, especially now that the woman had some time to get her own thoughts in order. He also knew that Az and Cass were right. He and (Y/N) wouldn’t get anywhere if he didn’t also open up to her. He supposed that he could start small, let her know some of the positives of his life before telling her about all the fucked up shit.

He finished the glass of water, and slowly made his way upstairs. As he reached the top landing, he heard a faint whimper. He instantly recognized the sound and even in his hazy mind realized that (Y/N) had not taken her tonic tonight. He sighed, a part of his heart breaking that he had allowed himself to fuck around while she suffered. She had already been using the tonic for a full two weeks at this point. One week while with Lucien, and now this past week during their time apart. The Prince closed his eyes, standing outside the bedroom door debating if he should even enter. He heard her sharp movements and that was enough for him to move his feet forward.

Ruhn quietly entered the bedroom, careful as not to wake the woman sleeping in the bed. Their bed, he reminded himself. The one that he missed sharing. He missed her warmth and the softness of her body as he would curl around it. They had slept next to each other for the past few years and he was surprised by how much he missed her. The past week had been one of the worst he endured since he first arrived. Tossing and turning. Panicking when he couldn’t feel her lying next to him. He lost count of how many times he startled awake to find himself in a room separated from her. Cassian had seen the change in his attention, and after a week decided that it would be a good idea to let off some steam by taking him to a place called Rita’s.

He carefully made his way around to his side of the bed. Sat on the edge, he took off his shoes; his pants and shirt quickly followed suit. He didn’t care that (Y/N) would likely be pissed that he joined her in bed before she allowed it. He needed to feel her, to hold her. Especially if she had been too afraid to take the tonic tonight.

He knew that he needed to apologize, he only hoped that she was more willing to listen to him now. He had spent most of the evening trying to figure out exactly what to tell her. Where would he start? Cassian advised to start at the beginning, and Az…well all Ruhn could remember was Azriel telling him to just talk to her. However, which “beginning” would be the best to start off with? Should he tell her about his childhood, his mother, and his dickhead of a Father? Or should he start with telling her more about Midgard and what his life was like before his sister turned it all upside down. Honestly, with the way his head was starting to pound he may as well just flip a coin. Whatever he chose to tell her first didn’t matter. All that matters is that he would be telling her something.

Ruhn lifted the sheet, immediately noticing that her body was curled in on itself, back towards the center of the bed. She only did that when a nightmare was starting to take hold. He laid down next to her, and carefully wrapped his arm around her middle. Her body immediately began to relax. The knowledge made him smile, his own shoulders and upper back releasing their built up tension. He curled the rest of his taller frame around her, perfectly molding himself to her. She stirred, hips twitching as if she was going to turn over. Ruhn moved his hand seeking hers, interlacing their fingers once it was found.

She turned over to face him, and that’s when he heard her soft whimpers. Even though he enveloped her during the early stages of her nightmare, it seemed that whatever had played in her mind had already done its intended damage. He hated watching her cry, especially when he felt so powerless against the forces that brought her to tears each and every time.

He adjusted his limbs to accommodate their new position. One of her legs wiggling its way in between his. His arm wrapped around her back, snaking up her shoulder blades, allowing his fingers to find purchase in her hair. He gently tugged on the roots, reassuring her that he was there. She let out a shaky breath and the smallest whine before pressing her face into his chest.

“It’s okay baby,” He assured, another gentle tug, “I’m here. You’re safe.” She seemed to relax a bit more at his dulcet timber. “Go back to sleep. I’m right here.”

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