#where is my boy asher

[vulshokbersrker]

Journey to Io, home of the Pyramidion. Talk to Asher to learn about the dangers of the Vex, while the Vex slowly convert his biology. Or visit the sacred areas of the Warlocks, where the Traveler once laid in the Golden Age.

[penumbra-mayhem]

And All That Follows (ch. 2)

aka: Put Your Ear Up to My Wall, Mistake My Heart for A Drumbeat

David fights to keep everything quiet, Asher takes on a new role, and Milo finds Tank (for better or worse).

Ch. 1 // Ch. 3 // ao3 // 4.6k words

(TW: death, car accident, grief, implied/referenced self-harm, vomiting, gore/blood, violence)

EDIT: new title (formerly known as The Fall of an Alpha, but i hated that name so i chose a new one)

————————————————

Sept 3. 2017, 11:52 pm

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

David’s phone started vibrating as soon as he pulled away from the morgue. He’d placed it in his backseat—a habit Gabe had instilled in him years ago so he’d never be tempted to text and drive.

He ignored the buzzing, willing the rain battering against his car to drown out the sound. It worked; his phone eventually went silent, and David’s full attention was brought back to the barely visible road he was traversing.

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

Another call. He contemplated pulling over, but Gabe’s voice hummed in his head: Patience. Not everything needs an answer right away. He decided against it. Whoever was calling would realize he wasn’t available and leave a message. 

The call ended.

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

It started again. And again. And again. And again. As soon as a call ended, another began. He could feel them in his skull, like the buzzing was coming from his brain. Like his head was a freshly shaken wasp nest.

The wasps traveled down into his gut, twisting and tightening his intestines. They kept traveling, moving to his extremities. His hands went numb. Then his feet. He couldn’t feel the steering wheel. Or the gas pedal. Or the brakes. His vision began to tunnel.

No. He didn’t have time for this. He had a job to do. He needed to focus. He needed to get back to his apartment safely. He needed to get the key. He needed to go to his dad’s house. He needed to get into his study. He needed to throw up.

David found himself pulled off on the side of the road, doubled over in the rain, emptying his stomach into a bush. How embarrassing, throwing up like a little kid. That’s enough, he thought to himself, get it together. He stood up straight, but the movement was too quick and he found himself doubled over again.

Everything in him burned as it came up. It stung. 

Retreating back to his car, David quickly checked his phone. Missed calls, voice messages, and texts from various pack members flooded his screen. Someone must have found out what happened. None of them seemed urgent—nor from Asher or Milo—so he put his phone on ‘do not disturb’ and returned it to its place in the back seat.

When he sat down behind the wheel, the wasps were gone. David started the car again and continued back home.

————————————————

Asher cradled his phone, rocking gently in an effort to appease his bawling body. He told himself he had until Milo texted with an update. Then he would pull himself together. His abdomen ached as wave after wave of mourning slammed into him.

He mourned for Gabe. The officer had said he’d died at the scene, but had it been instant? Had he suffered? Did he know he was dying? Did he try to move his legs only to realize he was paralyzed from the waist down? The neck down? Did he frantically gasp for breath as his lungs slowly, agonizingly filled with blood? Had he tried desperately to pry his arm from where it was pinned to reach his phone and call his son just one more time?

He mourned for his pack. Gabe was the founder. They’d never been without him. Would they survive? Would they break into dissension? Crumble apart without leadership? Asher had heard of the devastation past packs had gone through following the death of an alpha or a founder. Gabe had been both. And the pack didn’t even know he was gone. David had said he’d tell them tomorrow at the meeting, but was that the best way?

He mourned for David. David, whose family was already so small. Who already struggled to feel and show his emotions. Asher had seen the initial impacts of this loss. Cold. Detached. Devoid. Would David recover? Was this a wound he could ever heal from? Was he in pain? Asher assumed so, but if David was, he hadn’t shown it. Was he putting on a front, a wall he wouldn’t let anyone see behind? Or was he numb? Was that worrying David? Did he feel guilty he wasn’t feeling anything for his dad’s dea—

buzz buzz

Asher jumped at the vibration in his hands. He rose from the floor and stumbled over to the couch, wiping his face with his shirt. Milo had texted:

At Tank’s place, door was left open

Asher’s stomach dropped. His fingers were a messy flurry as he texted back:

shit

txt updts

or call

davids not bakc

He waited for a reply.

————————————————

Milo pulled into the parking lot of Tank’s apartment complex. He’d past the site of Gabe’s crash on the way, scanning for a glimpse of Tank or their bike. Thankfully, he’d found neither.

But he saw Gabe’s car, and that alone almost sent him into a spiral. No wonder Tank had sounded so wrecked; the driver’s side had crumpled like paper.

As he raced through the parking lot, Milo caught a glimpse of Tank’s motorcycle parked in a large puddle to his right. He’d been right; they’d come back here. Thank god.

Once at the entrance to Tank’s building, he pressed the buzzer for their door and waited. Nothing. He pressed it again. When he was met with the same result, he started pressing every button, hoping someone would let him in. Eventually the door unlocked, and he pushed through.

Milo bounded up the stairwell to Tank’s apartment, slipping and catching himself several times on the rain-slick steps. His throat tightened when he turned a corner and spotted their door at the end of the hall, slightly ajar.

As he walked towards it, he texted Asher:

At Tank’s place, door was left open

After a few moments, his phone buzzed with a series of replies:

shit

txt updts

or call

davids not bakc

When he reached their door, Milo pushed it open further and crept into the apartment. The curtains were all drawn and the lights were off, but Milo could slightly make out a series of objects on the floor. He felt around for a switch and flicked on a light.

All the cupboards and drawers in the kitchen were open and empty, silverware and broken dishes littering the floor of Tank’s tiny studio. Milo could practically track Tank’s movements, following the dents along the wall where they had hurled each cup and plate and fork and knife.

Then his eyes landed on blood—a piece of broken glass on the floor, glistening crimson along its sharp edge. Milo trailed the fat red drops to the closed bathroom door. The sight and faint smell of Tank’s blood made his head spin.

“Tank?” he called out.

A smear of blood glinted on the door handle. He gave two soft knocks. “Tank, please,” he tried again, “I know you’re in there.”

A wretched voice answered from the other side of the door, “Go away.”

He ignored them and tried the handle, grimacing at the slick feeling of fresh blood on his hand. Luckily, they’d left it unlocked.

Pushing the door open, Milo peered inside the dark bathroom. Tank was a huddled mass in the corner of their shower, head buried in their arms.

“I said go away, Miles!” they shouted, raising their head just enough to glare at him over their arms, eyes glinting with fury.

Milo flinched but didn’t leave. Crouching down, he spoke in as calm of a tone as he could muster, “Where’re you hurt, Tank?”

“Get. Out.”

“I’m not gonna do that,” Milo replied, “Can I turn on the light?”

“No,” they snapped.

“Okay." Milo took out his phone and turned on his flashlight instead. He tried to ignore the trail of blood leading to Tank as he opened up their mirror cabinet, then the one under their sink.

“What’re you doing?”

“Looking for your first aid kit.”

“I don’t have a first aid kit,” they sneered.

Milo shined his light at Tank, who shrunk against it, burying their head again in their arms. They were soaking wet from the rain and shaking terribly. He cast the light away from them.

“Just leave!” they moaned.

“No. You’re injured, and since you have nothing to treat it with, I’m taking you back to Ash and David’s,” he retorted.

A snarl gurgled up from deep in Tank’s chest as Milo approached.

“You can growl at me all you want, I don’t give a damn.”

The snarl grew louder the closer he got. But once he kneeled down in front of them, it began to change, breaking up and losing its bite.

“I know,” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes as Tank began to cry, “I know, Tank.”

He placed a tentative hand on their arm. They trembled under his touch, but didn’t pull away. 

“Just come with me, please. You don’t have to talk about it. You can be as angry as you want. I don’t care. I just want to make sure you’re safe,” Milo said as he set his phone down, flashlight to the floor.

“I-I am,” they lied, their sobs warping their words. 

“You’re bleeding from somewhere, I saw the blood in the kitchen and in here. So no, you’re not,” Milo countered. 

“…it’s n-n-not b-bad,” Tank lied again. 

“Can I see?”

Tank hesitated, then raised their head. Milo couldn’t make much out. He flipped his phone around, so the light pointed up at the ceiling.

He choked down a gasp at the sight of Tank’s face. The gash just under their left eye was deep, blood still pumping out slowly, drenching their cheek and dripping down their neck. It was in their hair, on their clothes, on their hands.

“Not that bad, my ass,” Milo muttered, “Tank, this needs a healer.”

“No. No healers,” they choked out, tears leaving trails in their blood.

Milo knew accepting any sort of medical help was difficult for Tank. They never talked about it, but he assumed there was some sort of trauma or pride or fear stopping them. He was trying to be understanding, he really was, but it was all too much. It was late, he was spent, Tank was bleeding, and Gabe was dead.

“Fine,” Milo spat, “You either go back to Ash and David’s and let me sew it up, cause it’s going to need stitches, or I stay here and call a damn healer. Your fucking choice.”

That shut them up. Their sobs subsided and they glared with all the fury left in their trembling body before muttering, “Okay. I’ll go with you.”

————————————————

At the sound of the front door opening, Asher sprang up and raced to the hall. "Tank?"

David stood in the doorway, rainwater dripping like tears from his lashes. He looked as stoic as before, but now a sickly tinge covered his features. 

"David," Asher breathed, "Was it...was it him?"

"Yes," he muttered, walking inside and shutting the door, "What happened?"

"What d'you mean?"

"You thought I was Tank." David stopped in front of him. 

"I just uh...hoped..."

“What happened?” David repeated, his voice low and tense. He didn’t have the time nor energy for hesitation. His stare bored into Asher, demanding an answer.

"T-Tank saw Gabe's car," Asher spluttered. David's eyes widened. "They called Milo when they saw it. He had to tell them what happened, he—we couldn’t lie to them. Milo went to their place. He texted me when he got there but he hasn’t updated since.”

Of course. Of course they couldn’t have just waited to tell anyone until David got back. Or until tomorrow, like he told them. David pulled out his phone, turning off ‘do not disturb’. There were more missed calls and texts, but none from Milo or Tank. He pulled up Milo’s contact and called him. 

“Hello?” Milo’s voice oozed with trepidation. 

David’s was dry and sharp. “Is Tank ok?”

“…yes. We’re heading to my car now, we’ll meet you back at your place.”

“Are they hurt?”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

David started getting another call. He ignored it. 

“Um…” David could tell Milo was choosing his words carefully, but for David’s sake or Tank’s he didn’t know. “Yes, but it’ll be ok.”

David gripped his phone tighter, but kept his rising worry out of his tone. He needed to stay level, anything less would just be detrimental to everyone’s safety.

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“Take them to a healer.”

David heard Asher mutter ‘fuck’ behind him. There was a long pause on Milo’s end, filled only with the sound of rain and Milo’s breathing as he walked. 

“Milo.”

Finally, he replied, “We’ll be at your place soon.” And with that, Milo hung up.

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

The buzzing in David’s head started again, echoing those from his phone. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket as he stormed past a bewildered Asher and into his bedroom. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“David? David, what did Milo say? Is Tank ok?” Asher called out as he followed, making the wasps in David’s head angrier. He watched David tear through the drawers of his desk, searching for what, Asher didn’t know. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

Asher called his name several more times before David seemed to hear him. He whipped his head around.

“Is Tank hurt?”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“Yes,” David replied before continuing his search, “But Milo says it’s fine, so I’m hoping it’s not too bad. They won’t go to a healer, no surprise there, so they’re coming back here.”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz… 

“Who is calling you?”

David finally found what he was looking for; he pulled out the key and clipped it onto his key ring. “The pack. Someone must have found out. Maybe the wreck was on the news or someone saw it like Tank did. They’ve been calling since I left the morgue.”

David pushed past Asher again and started heading towards the front door. He fought back the wasps in his head. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz… 

“Are you going to answer?” Asher asked as he followed. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“No.”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“Why not?”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

He opened the front door. “I’ll talk to them tomorrow,” buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz… “At the pack meeting.”

“David they can’t wait that long,” buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz… “They already know. Or they’ve at least heard rumors. You need to talk to them.”

“Well, I don’t have the time!” buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz… “I’ve got to get to my dad’s house and figure all this shit out,” David growled. The wasps were winning; he was starting to lose focus. He turned to leave. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“Then let me do it.”

David paused. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

“What?” he asked over his shoulder. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

Asher’s voice took on an edge David had never heard from him before, “Let me go with you and answer the calls,” buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…“I’ll still be near, so you can get to your phone if you need to. But this way, you won’t be distracted, and the pack won’t be left in the dark all night.”

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

David wanted to say no. Having Asher near right now felt like a liability. But he was right. buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…The pack already knew, and keeping them in the dark was only going to incite panic. That and David needed the buzzing to stop, both from his phone and his head. 

buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz…

David unlocked his phone and handed it to Asher. 

————————————————

“Hey, can you see who just texted me?” Milo asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. 

Tank wiped their hands as well as they could on their jeans before picking up Milo’s phone. 

goin w david 2 gabes

key undr mat

b back l8r

“It’s Ash,” they reported, “He’s going to Gabe’s place with David? He said the key is under the mat and they’ll be back later.”

“Why’re they—nevermind. Can you text him back and let him know we’re almost to his place and also ask if David has a suturing kit? Password’s 0209.”

Almost to ur place, u got a suture kit?

tank???

The one and only, how’d u know?

u txt dif

y do u hav milos phone

He’s driving

oh rite

r u ok

Im fine, suture kit?

david says in bthrm

Gotcha

y do u need it

Dont worry bout it

————————————————

“…yeah Kelsey, it’s true…I know…we don’t know that yet…yes, tomorrow morning at 11…okay…hey, you text me if you need anything…okay…okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, try and get some rest…I will…bye K.” 

Asher ended the call and trotted after David, who was already unlocking Gabe’s front door. He rubbed his eyes in the brief moment of silence before David’s phone started buzzing again. 

“Hey, Mika…yeah, it was a car crash…”

David was stuck in the doorway. The foyer loomed before him, both nauseatingly familiar and eerily alien. His childhood home was now as much a husk as his father was. It made the wasps in David’s stomach writhe. 

Asher was staring at him, David could feel it. So, he took a step inside. Then another. And another. It almost felt like trespassing. 

There was a David who used to live here. Who at seven years old had learned the virtue of honesty when he admitted to breaking the kitchen window. Whose first loose tooth was yanked out by a string attached to the front door. Who used to visit every week after he moved out. Who mended the roof and repainted the baseboards. Who spent countless hours listening to his father’s stories by the fireplace.  

That was not this David, the David treading across the floorboards like a thief. 

He reached his father’s study and unlocked it with the key he’d retrieved earlier. Asher ended his call and said, “I’ll be in the living room. Let me know if you need anything.”

David nodded and walked into the study, closing the door behind him. 

It smelled like him: rosemary, leather, and something distinctly Gabe. The scent should’ve been comforting, but it just stirred the wasps up, making him lightheaded as they whirled.

David switched on the desk lamp. Everything was just as he remembered:

Books lined the walls, organized alphabetically by last name. Stacks of paper sat neatly on the outskirts of the desk’s surface, leaving the middle open for work. A lumpy mug David had made in high school held a collection of pens and pencils. 

David walked around the desk. Three picture frames adorned the polished oak. The first held a pack photo from the previous year’s Solstice. The second held a candid of David’s mother, sticking her tongue out at the camera as she ran through a yard sprinkler. The third held a picture of Gabe and David on their most recent camping trip, their faces wild and beaming. 

On the back of Gabe’s chair hung his jacket. David felt the black leather—soft with use and dedicated upkeep. 

The wasps were stinging his eyes; David pressed his fingers into them, seeing sparks as he crushed the bugs behind his eyelids. He collapsed into the seat and focused on his breathing, forcing the wasps in his chest to move in an orderly fashion. Not here. Not yet. He had a job to do. 

David opened the largest drawer of the desk and began to gather what he needed. 

————————————————

"Shit, Tank, this looks really bad.”

Milo sat back on his heels; the cold of the tile seeped through his pants and into his skin. Tank stayed still in their position on the bathroom floor as Milo leaned in again, holding the needle tight in his hand.

After a moment, he leaned back again, exclaiming, "Fuck, I don't know how to sew stitches! I mean, my mom taught me to sew but skin is so fucking different than fabric. It moves and bleeds and-and, for fuck's sake, it's your face, can we please get a healer?"

Tank scowled but didn't reply, biting the inside of their cheek to keep from snapping.

"Alright, fine. Okay. But I'm gonna have to go slow. I don't know what I'm doing and, again, this is your face," Milo warned them.

"Just let me do it, then," Tank muttered. 

He dismissed the offer, "No, you've got your shaky hand."

"I can use the other."

"No, cause that's not your dominant hand. You've got to do this with your dominant hand, and that's your shaky hand. You're gonna scar real bad if you—”

"I don't care about scars."

"You'll care about this one."

"I have other scars on my face, I really don't care."

"You'll care about this one."

Tank looked away, the weight of the night and how they got there in the first place pulling them back down into silence. Seeing he’d won, for now, Milo breathed deep and tilted Tank’s head up slightly with one hand. He held the needle close to their cheek, whispering, "Okay. I'm gonna start."

Tank winced as the needle pierced their skin, and Milo almost called the whole thing off. But he kept going, and they quickly stopped wincing.

Milo was laser focused, doing his best to keep the stitches small and tidy. But when he was about halfway done, a tear rolled down into the gash, stirring Milo from his concentrated state. He used a gentle thumb to brush away the tears on Tank's cheeks.

"I'm not crying cause it hurts," Tank whispered, "It doesn't hurt."

"I know," Milo murmured, "...almost done."

Despite the circumstances, a sort of morbid satisfaction stirred in Milo at the sight of the bloody rift closing under his hand. It felt good, felt right, to be pulling something back together when everything was falling apart. 

When he finished the last stitch, Milo placed a large bandaid over the gash. Tank stared down at their hands while Milo put away the suturing kit. 

As he began scrubbing the dried blood off his hands in the sink, Tank explained:

“I didn’t mean to do this, you know.”

Milo stayed quiet, giving Tank the space to talk more if they wanted. But the silence just made them feel more pressured to defend themself.

“Well, I did mean to throw that glass, I just, I didn’t mean for it to throw itself back at me,” they clarified.”

“Okay,” Milo said. His tone came out of his mouth light, but fell heavy on Tank’s ears. 

“I wasn’t trying to draw attention to myself,” Tank asserted, their anxiety rising.

“Okay,” Milo repeated. The discussion didn’t need to go any further. He didn’t even know why it was happening in the first place. 

Tank blinked tears from their eyes. “I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t purposely pull everyone’s attention from Gabe.”

Milo turned around and leaned against the sink, trying to defuse them, “I believe you, Tank. I know you. You would’ve let yourself bleed out in that shower before ever coming to me or anyone else for help. Especially tonight.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Of course it’s a bad thing, Tank!” Milo threw his hands up, gripping tightly onto his braids.

“How is that a bad thing?!?”

“Because you can’t—I just—ugh, I can’t have this conversation right now. I need…I don’t know what I need, but it’s not any more of this,” Milo shot. 

Tank’s face twitched from the blow. They staggered to their feet. “Fine. Then I’ll leave.”

“What? Tank, no—”

“You stitched me up. Thanks. Now I’m leaving.” They threw open the bathroom door. 

Milo followed them down the hall, grumbling, “Tank, you don’t even have a ride.”

“I’ll walk.”

He rolled his eyes. They were being ridiculous.  “That’ll take you forever, especially in this weather.”

Tank whipped around, hissing, “I don’t give a fuck. You don’t need me here, you said it yourself.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Well it sure did fucking sound like it.”

They stormed towards the door, but Milo slipped in front of them and blocked their path. 

“I just meant I don’t need to talk about that anymore!” he exclaimed, gesturing to Tank’s cheek, “We can talk about Gabe. We can talk about how we feel. We can talk about the future and the pack and what this all means going forward. Or we could not talk at all! But I don’t want to talk about shit that’s already happened. I don’t want to talk about shit that didn’t even happen in the first place. That’s not productive.”

“I don’t care about being productive,” they spat. 

“But you care about David, right? If you won’t stay for yourself or for me, stay for him.”

“He’s not even here.”

“But he’ll be back. And you know how he gets; he’s going to need us.”

“He doesn’t need me.”

“Yes, he does,” he groaned. 

Milo’s phone began to vibrate. 

Tank cried out, “No, he doesn’t! He doesn’t need my mess on top of everything else going on.”

As Milo dug his phone out of his pocket, Tank shoved past him and raced out the front door. 

Milo’s heart stuttered at the name on his screen. He rushed to the open door, yelling into the storm, “Tank, stop! Tank, please come back! Tank!”

Tears welling in his eyes, he leaned his weight against the door frame and answered the call. 

“Mom?….yeah, it’s true. Gabe’s dead.”

Wails erupted through his phone, scraping Milo hollow. 

————————————————

David found everything in under ten minutes—unsurprisingly, given how organized Gabe was and how pressed David was to leave. 

When he’d gathered the last of what he needed, he locked the study and walked into the living room. Asher was pacing, on another call of what seemed an endless barrage. He glanced at David and was summoned by a jerk of the latter’s head. 

The two left the house and drove back home, Asher answering calls and texts the whole way back. When they reentered their apartment, they heard Milo’s voice trickling down the hallway:

“Yeah, I know…no, but I’m sure we’ll find out more tomorrow…Oh, David and Ash are back. I’m gonna talk to them and then head over…no the rain has died down, I’ll be fine…yeah…okay, I will, I promise…okay, see you soon…I love you too, ma.”

He looked up at David and Asher. 

“Is Tank okay?” Asher asked. 

“Huh?” Milo replied in a daze. 

“They had to get stitches?”

“Oh right…um, yeah they fell on their way to their apartment after they saw the crash. The rain made their stairwell slippery and they busted their face open. But I stitched them up, best I could,” Milo lied. 

Asher nodded before getting another call. He answered, walking away into the kitchen. 

“Where are they now?” David asked, clutching a  handful of manila folders, a briefcase, and a familiar jacket. 

“They uh,” Milo looked away, “They left.”

The buzzing picked back up in David’s head. “Left?”

“…we got into a fight.”

David breathed out slowly, muttering under his breath, “Tank.”

“No, no, it’s my fault! I was distracted, I wasn’t careful with my words, I wasn’t listening to them. They left, I don’t know where, and I was gonna chase after them but then my mom called and…” Milo wiped the back of his hand across his face. 

The sight of Milo’s tear-streaked cheeks turned the hum in David’s head into a cacophony. 

“I think I’m gonna stay at hers tonight,” Milo croaked as he gathered his things, “She’s really upset.”

“Of course,” David replied, internally cursing that he couldn’t bring himself to say more. 

“I um, I’ll be at the meeting tomorrow. I’ll text Ash for the details,” Milo babbled. He stopped by the front door. “David. If you need anything, you text me. Or call me. You hear?”

“I hear,” David lied, the buzzing in his head drowning everything out.

[angelic-waffles]

ISNGTH WIPs and doodles!

Mostly Asher because he’s fun to draw

[kainebell]

can I say something

[lynzishell]

🌶️18+ Only

Prev // Next

*Note: If you have not read Part 4 and cba to go back and read it all, then this post should give you enough context.

Transcript below the cut:

Atlas: Hey. I was just thinking about you. Asher: Were you? Atlas: Can’t you tell?

Asher: What were you thinking? Atlas: I’ll show you.

Asher: Ahh… thank god you still feel the same. Atlas: What?

Asher: Nothing. Keep going.

[Later…]

Atlas: Are you coming to bed? Asher: … Atlas: Ash?

Asher: If I ask you something, will you promise to tell me the truth? Atlas: Of course. Asher: That last morning in Selvadorada, when we woke up in the jungle, you looked genuinely freaked out and you asked me if I remembered anything. What did you mean? Atlas: Why are you asking about that?

Asher: Because something feels different, ever since we got back, and I can’t shake it. Atlas: I see. Is that what’s been bothering you? Asher: [nods] Did something happen? Atlas: I think so. I’ve been trying to convince myself it was all just a dream, but I don’t think it was. I wanted to tell you, but… it’s going to make me sound insane. Asher: Tell me.

Atlas: I don’t really know where to start. Asher: At the beginning? Atlas: [scoffs] I wish it were that simple. Um, do you remember the temple? Asher: I remember the ruins. And the museum. Atlas: Right, okay. The museum. Do you remember what that guy, Sam, I think, do you remember what he said about curses?

One long and confusing story later…

Asher: How is that possible? Atlas: I have no idea, but I think maybe you’re right, that things are not the same as they were when we left. I don’t know exactly how, but I feel it too.

Asher: How do we go back?   Atlas: Back where? Asher: I don’t know. To whatever timeline we were in before. Atlas: I don’t think we do. I think we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.

Asher: [sinking to his knees] But…

Atlas: Hey. Come here. Everything’s okay. More than okay. We made it out. We have each other, and we have our family and our friends, and we still get to create the life we always dreamed of. Nothing else matters. The rest is just… background noise.

Asher: Background noise? Atlas: Yes, and for what it’s worth, one thing that hasn’t changed, that will never change, is how much I love you. Asher: Atlas, I don’t know what I’d do without you. Atlas: We’ll never have to find out. For the rest of our lives, we’re in this together.

Asher: I love you so much. Atlas: I love you too.

[sleep-0-deprived]

Yan mean Naga x ftm bunny boy reader~! ૮꒰๑>؂•̀๑ ྀི꒱ა

WC: 1.7K

Summary: reader was looking for a nice burrow to sleep in but ends up in naga territory, instead of being eaten he’s bred by the naga.

Tags: dub con, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampies, breeding, sub/dom dynamics, yandere themes, pwlp, ovi, dumbifacation, mentions of virginity loss(reader), corruption kink, choking ᓚ₍⑅^ ╥﹏╥ ^₎

Taglist: @asher-is-hotxp @silvern1006 @unstab1eperson2 @yyuinaa @dewday1 @blond3ang3l @creepy141dollie @m4r13ll @ihavezeropancreas @sooobiinn @just-ignore-them @fuckingmxonlight @nightwinglover101 @chasingknives @littlelilithsposts @gayaristocrat @whatupbishs <33

A/N: this was a’h req by anon —💜 M’ very sorry if M’ representation of Afab anatomy S’ off !

Maybe you weren’t the best bunny, you had a short temper and a bratty tone with everyone, that’s what led you to having to hunt for your own burrow, it was the middle of fall and it was almost time to hibernate but you were still hunting for a place to sleep.

Your tall white ears flop around perking up when the wind blew, you couldn’t help but wonder why such a pretty and perfect spot was so untouched.

You keep wondering around until you spot a perfect lil potential burrow, your bunny tail starts to flick getting all excited as you make way towards the deep burrow being able to stand up tall inside the dim cavern.

Before you can make yourself comfortable you hear a slimy hiss from behind you having your body stiff with the hairs on the back of your neck standing up tall.

“Not often do I get such tasty prey willingly come to me you know”

“What’re you doing in my burrow!”

You shout out turn facing the naga, he stood tall on his two feet in his humanoid form with distinct snake like features like a long tongue and slit green eyes, black hair and pale skin he was slender making his way smoothly to you in a quick manner, sharp like a snake.

“This isn’t ’your burrow’, bunny. This is my territory that you so happily hopped over to. I was going to have a nice lunch out of you but I prefer to have you as my incubator”

The naga approaches you gripping your tight pulling you to him and pushing you down onto the ground being rough with his touches and advances, your pussy was all slick feeling a beat between your thighs from the intimate touches.

You couldn’t helped yourself with the way he was groping your chest, snaking his hands to your hips slipping between your thighs while he presses his face into one of your cotton ears cooing out slimy words

“I won’t be mean to you- I know bunnies are tender but don’t they like being mated nice and good? I’m gonna make you a daddy S’ all”

“Ha- not theree~”

Your clothes are being pulled from your body stripping you down in the burrow being all helpless and away from anyone that could possibly help, a bulge rutted against you humping into your aching core making the fabric of your pants wedge uncomfortably between your petals. You knew what was coming.

your cheeks were the color of ripe tomato’s laying looking up at him with big ol wide eyes, all dumb and innocent, oh how he was going to enjoy spoiling you for the first time, to corrupt your womb- to taint your body with his impure seed. He knew that would be heavenly.

“So tender, you know you enjoy it, you wouldn’t be gushing if you didn’t”

The naga pressed his hand to your stomach almost mapping out where he’d pump each egg inside you, his putter hand went between your thighs replacing his bulge when his fingers rub between the folds watching the dampness reach the fabric.

Your clit pulses nearly jumping against his thumb, all he can do is just watch how your body reacts to his touch, it’s all so alluring to him.

The monster takes his hand off your stomach removing his touches from your aching sex, you could practically cry out of sadness! Your body was hot and flushed to the touch needing more despite the denial that was in your mind your reactions were the truth.

Soon the creature pulls his pants down showing his cock standing tall with scales going down the shaft, the top was all mushroomed out with a off white pearl at the tip and a bulbous girth midway on the cock, it looked as though its sole purpose was to breed.

His pants sat around his knees reaching down pulling your thighs apart letting his cock rest on your privates.

Your thighs lay wide open, his hands snake their way to your zipper undoing them with a wide grin. His pupils all wide just staring at the outline of your entrance like a flower in bloom just needing a little help to be opened up all the way.

“Shh- just let it happen, I promise all take nice care of you and our eggs”

The words sounded so sweet and real you couldn’t help but succumb to them, laying under him batting your lashes lazily when his cock rubs between your slit, getting him all lubed up and coated in your juices teasing your entrance while he slides his hands to your thighs pushing them up to your chest making you bend nearly half in two beneath him.

“It won’t fit- you’ll tear M’ in hallff~~!”

You squeak out but he doesn’t seem to care about your pleads just humming against your ear pushing his tip inside you letting you spread around it.

Your hymen was torn from all the times you fingered yourself during a lonesome heat, you were a bunny after all even without dick you needed something inside you during hard times!

“You’re gonna be a good bunny and take it all right? C’mon just let me stuff this pretty pussy right”

The naga bottoms out half way inside you stopping where the knot like bulge in his cock was, he held you down rocking his hips back and forth getting your pussy adjusted to the tip of his cock.

His hips start smack to your cheeks earning a little wiggle from your bunny tail. Your eyes nearly roll back getting stretched to your limits being touched in your deepest parts.

“You’re like a lil vise around this cock, pretty bunny hole was made for me wasn’t it?”

His hips start rolling crashing into you, your cunt bulges every time he thrusts inside you showing just how full you were, the nagas mouth opens nearly digging his fangs into your fuzzy ears but never breaking your skin.

An act of trying to mark you even if impossible. Your slick was messy all over the ground and your thighs, it drenched the pubes surrounding the base of the monsters cock.

Your brain was starting to turn to mush, you could hardly take it- all you wanted to do was orgasm you could practically feel your womb trying to take the eggs from his cock-

This wasn’t a want it was a primal need. Your body wanted nothing more in the moment than to be bred. Your inner walls were like warm velvet fluttering around him, he could feel every stretch when he pulled out and pushed back inside you.

“There’s a good bunny- fuck you’re too good- so sweet, all mine”

The words fell from the monsters lips all rash and greedy reaching his hand up to your neck gripping it tight enough to have the air restricted in your lungs.

Your vision half blurred drug black blots around the isolated burrow while the sound of flesh and the scent of mixed pheromones filled the air. Your thighs convulsed while your lips quivered being nearly out of it so cock drunk a proper thought couldn’t even reach your mind.

“Oh- oh hmp”

Your lips make the shape of an ‘O’ having your eyes lolled into the back of your skull so far you should be able to see your brain, your stomach rises and fell at the feeling of his groin rubbing your clit smushing it between body’s only adding another bit of pleasure into your body.

You were on the edge, you held your knees to your chest just trying to accept it, just trying to take everything shoved inside you.

Your bunny hole was greedy taking everything the naga gave it and even wanting more when he bucked his hips into your womb making you hiss in pain, your hisses weren’t loud from the hand around your s/c neck that you were sure would leave marks on your skin.

All you felt was pain when he pressed into your cervix, deeper inside you than anything was meant to fit but it was so much pleasure that it over came any discomfort you felt.

“You’re close, I feel how you’re spasming around me bunny, c’mon cum all over my cock for me”

Tears slid out of your eyes croaking feeling it all, the cotton white ears sitting on your head laid down in a lewd manner laying and curling at the sensation.

Your tail perked up a little clenching tight around him one last time feeling a harsh orgasm was over. Hands digging into the flesh of your own, loud squelches let out when your cum only added to the wetness on your thighs.

The monster only let go of your neck to bury his face into the side of it breathing the scent in your sweaty skin, it was like nectar to him, his hips speeded up thrashing forwards rapidly fucking your insides raw, fucking your sweet spot until your body shook and spasmed like a wreck beneath him just drooling all over yourself.

His cock swelled up expanding and lodging inside making you feel the pulse of each vein while the tip pressed to your womb pumping in eggs inside of it.

When the monster reached its peak he shuddered, his hands slipping to your chest groping one of your breasts while the other slid to your stomach feeling each egg that was pumped inside you.

“Can you feel em taking root inside you? You’re gonna give me s’many babies won’t you, you were made to be bred”

His words practically fall on deaf ears, your body was like jello on the ground with dirt and grass sticking to the sweaty skin of the two of you.

Your womb took each egg making a bump already appear on your lower stomach knocking you up immediately planting inside you like something sticky matching onto the wall of your womb. The knot on the naga’s cock preventing any eyes from escaping your warm insides.

You knew this was just the beginning of your life with this naga, he had only bred you once he was no where near done using your body like his own vessel, you were far to pretty and useful to get rid of, maybe not eating you wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

[moonysbookshelves]

The Cadence of Part-Time Poets

The Cadence of Part-Time Poets by @motswolo

Have been working on this 10 volume set for the past few months now, and they are finally complete. My Magnum Opus. I have peaked and probably depleted all of my brain power.

Thank you to @motswolo for writing such a beautiful story. My brain chemistry has been favourably altered. Will forever flinch when I hear Queen, The Beatles or Bob Dylan. Love to you from western Canada (west coast best coast lets gooooo).

I also posted a TikTok of these since posts here are limited and I love the insides as much as the covers, so if you wanna see between the pages, here’s that.

Also thank you @avisbindery for letting me scream and cry in your DMs while I read the fic. May you get some uninterrupted sleep now LOLLL.

Going to write a whole essay below about the ideas and details because uhhh I wanna yap bit!

So for starters, I wanted to make these binds look like magazines because of the epilogue where (spoiler) Tonya sees Remus in a copy of New Musical Express. But of course this fic is long, so I was like, what if I do multiple volumes? This very quickly spiralled into me painstakingly (finding publication-accurate fonts almost sent me to an early grave) recreating 10 different music-focused magazines from the 70s and 80s from scratch (thank you to Photoshop, Affinity, Procreate and Canva). Each volume features a unique cover, along with stylized typesets to match that display the songs for each chapter but in different designs. And then I went a little crazy and made a 45 sleeve and a cassette too, to really set the scene when I took the photos lol

While the covers display the dates pertaining to the contents of that particular volume (Sept 1975 for volume one, for example) I was thinking about what the magazines would say if they were really published when Marauders are traipsing about being spectacular and famous in the future. I sprinkled in details from the fic itself and fanon-ed it a bit, but that was the general inspiration :-) Tried to keep the photos used either faceless/obscured, or to use the fancasts on Mots’ Cadence master post. I also tried to use period-accurate photos but didn’t always succeed, so settled for photos of 4 member bands where I had to :”) But the general intent with the facelessness was that they could be implied to be Marauders. If you squint? lol. Just pretend. Pls.

Volume One: Based upon The Record Song Book. This magazine went on to inspire the typesets, since it publishes lyrics and such. The cover images are of Spacey Jane and David Thewlis.

Volume Two: Based on ZigZag, specifically the issue from July 1978 featuring Siouxie and the Banshees just because I thought it looked sick as fuck. I re-drew the abstract shapes and such in procreate. The cover images are The Clash and a young Gary Oldman. Lord he was foiiine.

Volume Three: Based on Trouser Press, November 1980. The cover images are a young Metallica, and my personal fav fan cast for James, Reiky De Valk. The film negatives are from a Bruce Springsteen tour, 1976.

Volume Four: Based on Gay Times (November 1984), a queer magazine from the UK because this volume contains Wolfstars first kiss hehe. Also hence Somebody To Love plastered all over the covers. The Front cover is Inhaler. The “4A” on this one is of course the boys’ dorm number, but I made the A the lambda symbol as this was a pride symbol in the 70s after Stonewall.

Volume Five: Based on Melody Maker. Front image is Alex Turner. All of the text on this one is pulled directly from the fic. The scene where they all drop acid and James jumps off the roof Almost Famous style had me hootin’ and hollerin’… until Tomny showed up hahaha :”)

Volume Six: Based on IT (International Times, Aug 1971). Front image for this one is Joy Division, and the back features Jane Asher for Lily

Volume Seven: Based on Record Mirror, June 1976. Front image is John Taylor of Duran Duran. Yum.

Volume Eight: Based on Rolling Stone. More vibes than anything for this one, but the quote still makes me laugh.  Front image is of Matt Hitt. Can you tell I photoshopped a cell phone out of this one? IDK. This photo just screamed ��Remus’ to me so I had to use it. The back image is an old cigarette ad, but the photo is taken in Shepherd’s Bush.

Volume Nine: Based on Fusion magazine. Front image for this one is once again Inhaler. Oops. Back cover is our gals. Images are Jodie Foster as Cherry, Brenda Sykes as Mary, and Goldie Hawn as Lottie.

Volume Ten: Based on New Musical Express. You know why :”) These are all victims of fanon, but this one especially. I wanted it to be NME instead of the re-invented logos I’d been doing for all the rest, as I wanted it to look like the magazine the Sister gives to Tonya. I referred to an issue of NME from October 1979 for this and layered in fic references where it made sense to. The cover image for this one is (I think) Cigarettes After Sex. This issue also contains all of the B-Side chapters, and the Marauders song lyrics too just for fun :)

Slasher Chick: This is just my take on what Sybill’s zine could’ve looked like. Prob way off but I just wanted to have fun with this one since I had no cover to reference lol. The zine contains her little write-up and the interview, lifted straight from the fic :")

ok yap sesh over byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee lmfaooooo

[heartfullofleeches]

Male Hyena Hybrid Yan + Male Cafe Worker Reader

[Reader mentioned to be bi/pan/unlabeled]

-

"Say, Boss.... Do you... Do you like guys?"

Sweaty palms. A nervous twitch muddying the conviction in his brazen smirk as your back faces him - blind to his struggles. This is so much harder than all those shitty romance flicks his boys suggested made it out to be- It's not like he's even confessing anything to you yet. The wound is still fresh and he needs to figure out where you stand before dousing himself in flames.

"Like.. guys?"

A sneaking peek over your shoulder stokes a fit of giddy airy laughter in the hyena. Prince clamps a hand over his mouth, welding his jaws closed as he steers his eyes towards the growing pile of dishes in your arms.

"Lemme start over-" Prince drops his hands from his mouth, tucking them into the pockets of his jeans. "I know you 'like' dudes considering we're buds and all, but I meant like... like-like guys."

"I know what you meant, Prince- Excuse me." Brushing past Prince, you carefully lower the mountain of dishes into the cart next to him. "It would've been nice if you waited till I got off to ask, but to answer your question; Yes, I do."

"Great." That's amazing, actually. The best news he's hears in years

"I like everyone pretty much. Well, I'm attracted to whoever I'm attracted to, is what I'm getting at."

Prince gets that. He was only ever into girls before he met you, but then again he's never met anyone like you. Thoughtful, good looking, easy to talk to- People would die for a chance to date you, clearly evident by the waitlist lining months in advance.

"Boss likes everyone, huh...."

Doesn't that mean I have more people to compete with for his love?

The realization nails Prince like a bucket of ice water after a weekend with his college friends.

No...

"Boss..."

"Is everything alright, Ash?-"

Hearing the spike in his shrill whimpers, you instinctively reach your arms outward as he crumples against you. Caressing his ears as he whines into the crook of your neck, you hush him softly.

"Asher, what's wrong, boy? What's got my brave Prince feeling down?"

"I'm like an eight for a guy - thats like a four compared to a girl! Either wear a blindfold or you can't work here anymore!"

[iwaasfairy]

pls the way I was just casually playing lads and then got fucking blindsided by caleb and the absolute cest horniness that overtook me I can’t escape the huge strong devoted big bro that can’t live or breathe if he doesn’t have his cute lil sis carnally

tw yandere caleb, possessiveness, blood, a lot of niichan calling, siscon, I hc that reader calls him Mahiru growing up n Caleb when he leaves for uni and DAA so I use Mahiru here

It’s all too easy to feel like a big shot when neighbourhood kids flock around you. The swingset still glitters with dangling raindrops after the downpour, and laughter and childish discussion echoes the playground for a whole block between the raised skyscrapers.

“He’s coming again,” Nene giggles under her breath, air blowing through the hole where a tooth sat a few weeks ago, and her ponytail bounces. She hoists herself back onto the monkey bars while looking your way. Some of the other girls chat among themselves, and though they pretend not to look, even at age nine they seem to know. You hear your name fall between giggles.

It’s quick.

“Hey.” A rounded pebble hits your spine, and you turn.

The taller boy, stout, with soft freckles and a bit of a mean look stands before you for the nth time this afternoon. His words won’t make it clear, but he can’t seem to leave you alone. You place your hands on your hips, and sneer at him. “What do you want, Asher…” Gran told you he’s going through a phase, to be gentle. Niichan told you to punch him between his eyes next time he gets on your case.

You’re not sure you can do either of those. Asher’s eyes flick around as he shuffles a bit closer, under the eyes of some of the other boys— and a dusty rose tints his cheeks. “We’re gonna play house now. Since you’re not busy, you gotta play the mom.” He mirrors your pose, and his hands land on his hips. “I’m the dad, and they’re the kids.”

—Nene giggles from her elevated position, before yelling something out. “We don’t wanna play with you, Asher! You only play rough, and girls don’t like that.” Her smile is so wide that it’s almost Cheshire. “And besides, you should ask a girl. Not just order her around. Right?”

Right. You don’t say it, but your eyes stay on the boy as his face gets brighter, and he starts fidgeting with his clothes. “I’m playing with my friends,” you end up saying, as Asher steps into your space, and his rough hand grabs onto your wrist to yank you his way. That, and Mahiru nii is running around with his own friends somewhere. He already told you not to engage. It wouldn’t end well even if you ended up playing nice.

The blond’s basically sunset pink in the face, and though he’s holding onto you, you can tell he’s trying his best to be gentle. “Just play with me- with all of us. Don’t be like that.” He stares down his nose at your defiant eyes, and raises his nose. “If you don’t I’ll pick you up and throw you in there.” The sandpit. Rude.

“My brother will punch you if you do,” you snap back, as you pull your hand back. He doesn’t let go though, hand now trapped between your arm and chest.

“Just leave her alone, Asher.” One of the other girls chants from behind you. The longer he holds your arm, the hotter your face grows. Then one of them lets out a laugh. “We know you wanna play with her because you like her.”

The change on his face happens in slow motion. His eyes flick wildly over your face like he can’t settle them anywhere without more embarrassment, so he lets go of you as if burned. “I wouldn’t ever like you! You girls are all annoying, I was just joking around!”

“Asher’s in love!” Nene squeals out over the whole yard, and he gets a look in his eye that tells you to get out of the way. 

“Shut up, Nene! I’m not! I’m not in love with her at all.” You go to run back to your friends as they all squeal and chatter, and the muted blond grabs one of your pigtails to yank you back, hard.

You land on the floor, dirt and sand on your hands— and tears spring up in your eyes. But before you can cry out as you look back up at him, a larger body’s already flung him to the ground and gets on top of him to pound a fist right onto his brow.

It’s harder than you landed. You’re pretty sure it’s much harder than is needed, too. The sharp thud is followed by another, and another, as the playground goes quiet. You can’t even see the boy who hurt you under Mahiru’s bigger form— older, stronger, he’s already started to grow up while Asher definitely has not. Adrenaline courses through your veins, and the tears clog up your throat.

Only when one of the older kids who’ve joined from the street pull Mahiru back by his collar, does the assault stop. “Hiru, I think- that’s enough.” Mahiru’s heavy breathing makes way from the soft puffs of breath coming from the younger boy, who’s bloodied face starts bruising an angry red almost instantly, and gasps and hisses sound out.

He’s flattened to the grass with no movement. 

The pained looks come from the older boys most of all, as they straighten your niichan up. When he turns to you, he’s stuck between chewing you out and putting on a smile. He kneels before you to take your hands in his. “Told ya’ to punch him between the eyes next time he tries to talk to you.” The chastising tone doesn’t fit the mood that’s overtaken the playground. But he doesn’t hesitate to brush a thumb along your cheek. “Are you not too badly hurt? C’mere, let niichan see.”

His knuckles are split and bloody as he cups your small hands in his, and starts dutifully dusting them off for you— as his friends only grimace. Your shock doesn’t fade when he hoists you up under your armpits, nor when he pulls you into his chest to place a kiss on the top of your head. “Think you’ve had enough fun for today, ‘mouto.”

He smiles brightly to the young girls frozen on the swing, then at his own friends. “I’m going to take this one home first. We can hang out again later!” That’s that, before he picks you up and puts you onto his hip without another word, and your shaking hands are forced to link around his neck. “Don’t space out. Let’s go.”

…

The streets even out into less busy districts as he walks, lets you rest your head into the crook of his neck, your breaths evening out. You’re not sure what to say, only that it’s gone quiet since all the prying eyes followed you both down the block.

“Will Asher die?” you end up asking, and Mahiru’s steady breathing only breaks for a slight exhale through his nose, before continuing.

“Bad kids don’t die so easy.” His brows furrow ever so slightly, before he turns his face to yours so that his cheek is against your nose. “Shouldn’t you be a bit more worried about yourself?”

His dark head of hair rubs against yours with how close you two remain, until your lack of answer makes him continue. The swaying of your legs as he walks is easy, and it’s this that makes your tummy feel a bit queasy. You don’t have a scratch on you. Mahiru always makes sure of that. Your lips purse, and you tense against him. “He’s my friend. The girls were teasing him, that’s why he did that.”

Big brother stops walking. His long arms move from the small of your back where he’s holding you against him to your thigh, and he looks at you. Now nose to nose, heat climbing onto your cheeks. You’ve always been close, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still make you nervous. Mahiru doesn’t seem to get nervous for anything. His eyes sink deep into yours as he talks. “I don’t like your friends then. They put their hands on you and pull you and touch you. You think I’m stupid?”

“No.”

He lowers his eyes to your throat, then leans into you. Mouth to your neck, it tickles. “I was pissed at him because I know what he wants. Soon enough they’ll start asking you to kiss.” You can’t help it, you flush. Heat travels to your nose and cheeks and ears, and of course, Mahiru notices.

“What’s that reaction?”

“Nothing! I don’t have a reaction.”

The shades of brown and purple in his irises get a darker tint as he lets out an unamused noise. The tension makes you all jittery and weird feeling, and you start struggling a little to stay in his hold. “You’re my sweet, innocent little imouto. You’re not kissing people yet, right?”

“I’m not kissing anyone, niichan! Only you.” The silence is filled with your breathing. “Even if they ask, I'm not going to do it.” His dark brows are laced together so tight it looks like it hurts, and it only takes a moment for you to lean in and give a polite peck on his cheek. He doesn’t relax until you make an exaggerated ‘mwuah’ sound and press your lips longer against his ear, nuzzling into his cheek. “Don’t be so mad, you protected me, right? I’m okay thanks to you, niichan. Love you.”

You hop off his hip to stare up at him, and take his hand in yours to lace your fingers together. “Let’s just go home, nii nii? You were right, I’m tired.” And something still plays in his eyes, but when you pull he follows. That’s enough for now. You don’t want to get Hiru nii in trouble. He’s just protective.

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER ELEVEN ━━ The Story of Us

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 5.8K

❀ ━ warnings: mentions of cheating

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: never date a penn state boy (i say this from experience)

JO FEELS her body move before her mind can fully catch up, her legs shaky as she pushes herself off the bed. The room feels suffocating, suddenly too small, too loud in its silence. Asher’s phone is still in her hand, the weight of it like a lead anchor pulling her into the crushing reality she can’t seem to process. Her fingers tighten around it, her knuckles white, but her face betrays nothing. Not yet.

“Asher,” she says, her voice calm, steadier than she expects, even though it feels like there’s venom in her blood, poisoning her. “Get your shoes on.”

He’s standing near the bedroom door, mid-step. Confusion flashes across his face, his brows furrowing. “What? Why?”

Jo meets his eyes. The familiar green she’s known her whole life. But then his gaze flickers down, just for a split second, to the phone in her hand, and she sees it—the faint, fleeting flicker of something that looks like realization. Panic, maybe. Guilt.

Her chest tightens, and she feels like she might choke on the sudden wave of nausea that rises in her throat. But she doesn’t let it show.

“Just… put your shoes on,” she repeats quietly, her voice still calm, still too steady. She doesn’t trust herself to say anything else yet.

Asher hesitates, his mouth opening like he might argue. But then he closes it again, his jaw tightening. He nods, moving toward the corner of the room where his sneakers lay. He doesn’t ask any more questions, but Jo can feel his unease growing with every passing second.

She starts to walk, leaving the bedroom to go put on her slippers near the apartment door. Her grip on the phone is still so tight that her hand aches, but she doesn’t let go. Her thoughts are loud, a deafening roar in her head, but at the same time, she feels hollow. Empty.

This isn’t real. It can’t be real.

The words keep looping in her mind, a desperate chant she clings to even as the truth sits in her hand, undeniable. She doesn’t want to do this. She doesn’t want to have this conversation, doesn’t want to fight, doesn’t want to see whatever’s written in his face when she says the words she knows she has to say.

She’s not a fighter. She never has been. She’s kind, and forgiving, and willing to let things slide because she hates conflict, hates the way it leaves scars on her heart and the hearts of the people she loves. But this? This is too big to let slide.

She thought she knew him. She thought he was hers.

Asher’s been her constant, her everything, for as long as she can remember. The boy next door who she used to finger paint with when they were kids. The boy who held her hand when she was anxious on the first day of middle school. The boy who kissed her for the first time in eighth grade, on one of the picnic tables at their neighborhood park.

He’s the only boy she’s ever thought about, ever wanted, ever loved. She built her future around him in her head—her dreams of getting married, of starting a life together, of building something that would last forever.

Forever.

The word feels bitter in her mouth now, a cruel joke. She can feel the cracks forming in her heart, the fissures that threaten to split her in half.

When Asher finally walks out of her bedroom, his shoes tied and on, he looks at her, his face unreadable. Jo avoids his gaze, focusing on the door instead. “Come on,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He follows her without a word, and they step out into the hallway, the soft click of the door closing behind them echoing in the stillness. They have to do this outside; Jo doesn’t want to wake up Paige.

The Jacobson girl stops a few steps from the door, turning to face Asher. She keeps her grip on his phone, her fingers trembling now despite her best efforts to stay composed. Asher stands there, his hand shoved into his pockets, his eyes darting between her face and the phone. She can see it in his posture now, the way his shoulders are tense, the way he’s chewing the inside of his cheek. He knows.

But he doesn’t say anything. He’s waiting for her to speak first, and for a moment, she almost can’t. She stares at him, her lips parted but no sound coming out, her throat tight and dry.

She doesn’t want to do this.

But she has to.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she takes a deep breath, the sound shaky and uneven in the quiet hallway. Her voice is soft, almost fragile, when she finally speaks.

“So, her name’s Brooke?”

The moment the words leave her mouth, Jo watches as Asher’s expression crumbles. His face twists, guilt flashing so obviously across his features that she doesn’t even need to hear him confirm it. But then he does, stumbling over his words in a rush to apologize.

“Jo, I—God, I messed up. It was a mistake, okay? It—it only happened once, I swear.”

For a second, she just stares at him, her mind short-circuiting as it processes the words. Her heart feels like it’s collapsing in on itself, cracking with every beat, and yet she somehow still finds the strength to blink back the tears threatening to spill over. She gives him a look then, one that she knows has to cut deep.

“Why are you still lying?” she asks, her voice quieter now, but sharper, trembling at the edges. “I looked through your texts. You’ve been seeing her since September.”

The tears in her eyes blur her vision slightly, but she can still see the way his face falls completely at her words. His mouth opens, like he’s about to defend himself, about to deny it or say something—anything—that might patch up the gaping wound he’s just ripped open. But no words come out. Jo can tell he’s scrambling now, reaching for an explanation, a lifeline, but nothing comes.

Jo lets out a small, bitter laugh that feels foreign to her, a sound so unlike the person she usually is. Her body feels cold, her chest hollow, like everything inside her has been scooped out and left her with nothing but this raw, gnawing ache.

Her voice wavers as she speaks again, the tears finally slipping free, her composure fracturing under the weight of it all. “If you wanted to break up for college, we could’ve. You could’ve just told me that long distance would be too hard and you wanted to see other people. I would’ve—I would’ve understood.” Her voice cracks at the end, and she hates how small she sounds, how stupid she feels. She’s giving him too much credit, too much grace, but she doesn’t know how to be any other way.

“You didn’t have to cheat on me,” she continues, her voice rising a little now, her hurt spilling over into anger, “and then—then pretend like you still love me.”

The tears come faster now, hot and unrelenting, but she doesn’t wipe them away. She lets them fall, lets him see the full weight of what he’s done.

Asher steps toward her then, closing the space between them, his hands reaching out as if to comfort her. “Jo,” he says desperately. “I do love you. I love you so much. I’m so fucking in love with you, okay? I just—” he pauses, choking before continuing, “—you weren’t around, and I was missing you so much, and you’ve been so busy with basketball—”

She steps back before he can touch her, shaking her head, her voice cutting through his excuses. “—when then gives you the right to have sex with another girl? To tell her she’s the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen?”

Her words seem to hit him like a physical blow, his face paling as he shuts up. Jo doesn’t stop, though. Her voice is sharp now, full of a fury she rarely ever allows herself to feel.

“I saw the texts,” she says again, now shoving the phone back into his hands. Her breath hitches as another sob escapes her throat. “It doesn’t really seem like you still love me when you’re talking to someone else like that.”

Jo feels the air in her lungs grow heavier. The hallway is too quiet, every sound—her shallow breaths, the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead—feels deafening in the stillness between them. Asher stares at her, his lips once again parting and closing uselessly, trying to find words that might somehow undo all of this.

“Jo, please,” he says finally, his voice thin and frantic, like he’s clutching at straws. “It didn’t mean anything—she doesn’t mean anything. I was lonely, okay? I was missing you so much, Jo, so much, and I just—I made a mistake. A huge mistake. But it doesn’t change how much I love you.”

His words hit her like a stab to the chest. The sheer audacity of them leaves her feeling sick, like her body can’t keep up with the reality of what’s happening.

“Why would anyone do this to someone they love?” she asks slowly.

Asher shakes his head, stepping toward her again, but Jo takes another step back, hitting the wall. She’s never felt so trapped—trapped between the ghost of what they were and the cruelness of what they’ve become.

“It wasn’t like that,” he says, his hands gesturing wildly, desperate to make her understand. “You were always on my mind, Jo. You’re always on my mind. But you weren’t there, and I was—God, I was so fucking stupid.”

Her chest tightens, a sob clawing it’s way up her throat. “You knew I wouldn’t be there!” she says loudly. “You knew since I committed nearly two years ago! That’s why I’m saying you could’ve just broken up with me before we both went to college instead of doing—this!” She gestures to the phone in his hand, the tears still spilling freely down her cheeks, mixing with her mascara. She probably looks insane.

Asher takes another step closer, and Jo flinches without meaning to. She sees the way his face crumples at her reaction.

“Jo, I’m sorry,” he says pleadingly. “I’ll do anything—anything to make it up to you. Please, baby, I’ll never talk to her again. I’ll block her, I’ll delete her number, I’ll—”

Jo cuts him off, shaking her head violently. “It’s not about Brooke!” she cries, the name tearing through her like glass. “It’s about you! It’s about the fact that you lied to me, that you betrayed me, that you’ve been doing this for months! It’s about the fact that you’ve made me feel like I’m not even enough for you anymore.”

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he says weakly.

Jo lets out a noise between a laugh and a sob. “Well, you did,” she tells him firmly.

She doesn’t know when she starts crying harder, but suddenly, her body is wracked with sobs, her chest heaving as everything she’s been holding in comes pouring out. She can hardly even breathe.

And then Asher’s dropping to his knees in front of her, his hands reaching for here. “Jo, baby, please,” he begs, tears forming in his own eyes. “Please, let me make it up to you. I’ll transfer if you want me to—I’ll come here, be closer. I just—I love you. I love you so much. I can’t lose you. I can’t lose us.”

His hands are warm against hers, but she barely feels it through the numbness creeping into her limbs. She stares down at him, her vision blurred with tears, and for a moment, she thinks about all the years they spent together. When they were younger, when they were older. Every moment, every memory—they flash before her eyes like a cruel montage of everything they’ll never be again.

Jo pulls her hands away from his, her chest aching like it’s being ripped in half. Her voice is small, barely above a whisper, but it’s absolute. “No matter what, I’ll never be able to trust you again,” she says, the finality of her words settling heavily between them. “I can’t have a relationship with no trust, Ash. I love you—I’ve always loved you—but I can’t do it. I can’t.”

The words ring out and, for a moment, they stay where they are. And then Jo turns and opens the door to the apartment. Her fingers tremble against the knob as she pushes it open, but she doesn’t stop. She can feel the way Asher stands from his knees behind her, hovering a mix of desperate and disbelief radiating off him like a suffocating heat. She steps inside, her legs feeling like jelly beneath her, and she doesn’t turn back to look at him when she hears his footsteps following her.

“Jo, please,” Asher says again, his voice cracking, the way it always does when he’s on the verge of tears. “Let’s just—keep talking, okay? I’ll do whatever you want, just… don’t do this.”

But there’s nothing left to talk about. Not now. Not after everything.

Jo’s head pounds as she crosses the room, her eyes scanning for the things he’ll need to leave. His coat is slung on the back of one of the chairs, and his keys and wallet sit on the table. She grabs both, her hands shaking, and turns back to him.

“Asher,” she says, raw and unsteady, “please.” She holds out the coat and keys to him, her arm outstretched like it’s the only way she can keep any distance between them. “If you love me like you say you do, please leave. Please.”

He doesn’t take them at first. He just stands there, staring at her with wide, red-rimmed eyes that make him look younger than he is, like the boy she used to know. Her next-door neighbor, the boy who used to race her to the ice cream truck every summer. The boy who brought her flowers from his mom’s garden the first time he asked her to a school dance in eighth grade, nervously holding them out to her like they were the most precious thing he’d ever touched. The boy who kissed her on the Ferris wheel, telling her he’d never seen anything prettier than the way the lights reflected in her eyes.

Jo thought that boy was perfect.

But now, that boy is clearly gone.

“So this is really it?” Asher asks, his voice barely a whisper. He finally takes the coat and keys from her, his movements slow, almost mechanical, like he’s not fully in his body. His words hang in the air, heavy and final, and Jo feels like they have hands and they’re suffocating her.

She bites her lip hard, the metallic tang of blood sharp on her tongue. A sob claws at her throat, but she swallows it down, refusing to let it out. Because—God—she doesn’t want this to be it. She doesn’t want to end this chapter of her life, doesn’t want to say goodbye to the person who’s been by her side through everything. She thinks about all the time they’ve spent together, the endless summers of childhood spent chasing fireflies in their backyards, the countless nights they stayed up late talking about everything and nothing. She thinks about the way he used to cheer for her at every basketball game, the way his laugh uses to make her feel like the world wasn’t so big and scary.

But then she thinks about the texts. Brooke. The lies. The betrayal. The pain of knowing that the person she loved most in the world didn’t love her enough to stay faithful. And she knows—she knows—that she can’t stay with him. Not after this.

So, with a terrible, gut-wrenching finality, Jo forces herself to meet his eyes. Seafoam. She’ll never look at them the same again. “Yeah,” she tells him. “It is.”

Asher flinches like she’s just slapped him, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to say something else, like he’s going to keep fighting. But then his shoulders sag, and the fight leaves his body all at once. He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, and the sheer heartbreak in his expression nearly undoes her.

Jo takes a shaky breath and steps toward the door, her movements stiff and unnatural, like her body doesn’t belong to her anymore. She holds the door open and watches as Asher hesitates, lingering in the threshold like he’s waiting for her to change her mind.

“Um,” she starts, staring at the floor, unable to meet his eyes anymore. “I’m not gonna be back in Boston for break. I’ll be on that ski trip with my family. So, uh, when they get back, you just… you get your stuff from the house and bring mine back to them, okay?”

For a long, excruciating moment, Asher just stands there, staring at her like he’s trying to memorize every detail of her face. Then, finally, he nods. “Okay,” he says quietly.

He steps out into the hallway, and Jo closes the door behind him with trembling hands. The moment the latch clicks into place, she presses her back against the door, her knees nearly buckling. She buried her face in her hands and keys the sobs come.

PAIGE LIES in Celeste’s bed, staring at the ceiling, her body tangled in soft sheets that smell faintly of sex and Celeste’s perfume. The room is dark except for the faint orange glow of the streetlamp outside the window, cutting through the blinds and casting uneven stripes across her skin. Celeste is already asleep, her breathing slow and steady beside her, an arm draped lazily over Paige’s stomach.

The weight of the arm feels suffocating. The room feels too still, too warm, and Paige can feel the alcohol from earlier churning in her stomach. She hadn’t realized how much she drank until she laid down, the world tilting slightly when she closed her eyes. She shifts uncomfortably, trying to focus on anything but the growing nausea.

Her phone sits on the nightstand, and she reaches for it, squinting at the brightness when the screen lights up. 3:08 AM. Jo and Asher should be asleep by now, she thinks. The thought is a small relief, though she hates that it’s on her mind at all. When she’d come here earlier—straight from Ted’s—it wasn’t just for Celeste’s company. It was to avoid them. Avoid the sight of them fueled up on the couch, or worse, the sound of them behind Jo’s closed bedroom door.

But lying here now, with the alcohol making her stomach roil and Celeste’s soft breathing only amplifying the pounding in her head, Paige knows she can’t stay. She hates being sick, hates it even more when it happens in someone else’s space.

Carefully, she moves Celeste’s arm off of her, sliding out of bed with practiced quiet. She pulls on her jeans and shirt, then her coat, then slips on her sneakers and grabs her phone. By the time she’s in the hallway, she’s regretting every drink she had tonight.

The walk back to the apartment feels endless. The streets are deserted, the air sharp and cold against her flushed skin. She shoves her hands into her coat pockets, her breath visible in the air. Her head spins with every step, her stomach twisting tighter and tighter until—without much warning—she’s doubled over, throwing her guts up into a bush. It’s humiliating, even though no one’s there to see it.

But after, she feels marginally better. Her legs are still shaky, and her throat burns, but the nausea ebbs, replaced by exhaustion. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, cursing herself under her breath, and resumes the walk home.

When she gets to the apartment, it’s quiet. Thank God. She lets herself in carefully, taking care not to let the door slam, and moves toward the bathroom in the dark. She brushes her teeth quickly before going to her bedroom. There, she toes off her shoes, drops her phone onto her own nightstand, and collapses into bed. The sheets are cold, her pillow soft, and she burrows into them, hoping sleep will come quickly.

It doesn’t.

Instead, Paige ends up staring at her phone, her thumb absently scrolling through TikTok, then Instagram, then TikTok again.

It’s probably a half hour later when she hears footsteps outside her room. She doesn’t think much of it, only registers that Jo and Asher are awake. She thinks she hears the apartment door open, but she can’t really tell. She just resumes her scrolling.

Maybe another twenty minutes pass before she hears the door reopen. There are voices this time, too—Jo and Asher’s. They’re too low to make out what they’re saying, but there’s something off about the tone.

Paige feels her stomach twist again, though this time it has nothing to do with alcohol.

She tries to ignore it, forcing herself to keep scrolling, but the voices continue. Then, suddenly, the sound of the apartment door shutting—loud enough to make her flinch.

Paige sits up in bed. She stares at her closed bedroom door, debating. Curiosity—and something heavier—wins out. Slowly, cautiously, she swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands.

The floor is cold beneath her bare feet as she crosses to the door. She hesitates for a moment, hand on the knob, before turning it and pulling the door open. She steps into the hallway, walking slowly at first, unsure of what to expect. But as she rounds the corner, the sight in front of her makes her heart twist painfully in her chest.

Jo is pressed against the front door, her back flat against it as though it’s the only thing keeping her upright. Her face is buried in her hands, her shoulders trembling with sobs that Paige can hear from a few feet away. The sound cuts through her like a knife, raw and unrelenting.

Paige’s stomach drops, dread pooling deep and cold inside her. She can count on one hand the number of times she’s seen Jo cry, and not even the panic attack she had before the first game of the season looked like this. The sight freezes her for a second, but then she’s moving, instinctively, her feet carrying her closer without hesitation.

“Joey,” Paige says softly, her voice a little unsteady as she steps in front of her. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

She hates seeing Jo like this, hates the helplessness it churns up in her. Jo’s supposed to sunshine and rainbows and butterflies and happiness. Seeing her like this, crumpled and sobbing, feels wrong, like the world has tilted off its axis.

Paige notices, too, that Asher is nowhere to be found, and her stomach knots tighter at the implication. There are only a few reasons why Jo would be crying like this in the middle of the night, and Paige doesn’t like any of the possibilities running through her mind.

She steps closer, only inches away from Jo. She gently reaches out to tug Jo’s hands away from her face. The brunette resists at first, her fingers curling tighter, as if she’s trying to shield herself from the world. But Paige persists, her touch gentle but firm, until Jo lets her pull them down.

She looks wrecked, utterly and completely undone. Her mascara is streaked across her cheeks, smudging into the skin where her tears have carved wet paths. Her lips are trembling, and her eyes—red-rimmed and glassy—hold a look of devastation that Paige has never seen before.

Paige’s stomach drops a little. This isn’t just a bad night. This is something worse.

“Joey,” Paige says again, her voice soft but coaxing. “Joey, talk to me. What happened?”

Jo shakes her head violently, fresh tears spilling over her cheeks. “I feel so stupid,” she chokes out.

Paige’s protective instincts kick in hard, a fierce surge of anger and worry burning in her chest. Jo is her best friend, and Paige can’t stand seeing her like this, so small and hurt and vulnerable. It makes her want to fix it, to fix everything, to hunt down whatever or whoever made Jo feel like this and give them a piece of her mind.

“You’re not stupid,” Paige says quickly, her hands moving to Jo’s face. She cups her cheeks gently, her thumbs brushing over the tears as they fall, even though it’s futile. The tears keep coming, harder and faster, and Jo’s sobs are so harsh now that Paige worries she’s going to make herself sick.

“Jo,” Paige whispers, her tone soothing, steady. “Joey, you’re not stupid. Just tell me what happened. Please.”

Jo looks at her then, and the brokenness in her expression hits Paige like a tidal wave. Jo’s breaths are short and uneven, catching in her throat as she struggles to speak. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she manages to force out a choked answer:

“He’s been cheating on me since September.”

Paige isn’t sure how to react at first. Not because she doesn’t care—no, she cares too much—but because it feels incomprehensible. Asher? Cheating? On Jo? It’s like trying to convince herself the sky isn’t blue or that the sun doesn’t rise in the east. Jo is the kind of person who radiates light, who gives more than she takes, who makes everyone around her better by simply existing. The idea that anyone—anyone, let alone Asher, who Jo has loved since they were kids—could betray her like this? Paige’s chest tightens, a painful knot forming deep inside her.

“Oh, Joey,” Paige says softly, her voice breaking. She steps forward without thinking, wrapping her arms around Jo and pulling her in close. Jo is stiff at first, her body trembling like she’s holding herself together by a thread. But then she leans into Paige, her arms coming around her back, and she crumples completely.

The sobs come harder now, racking Jo’s body as she buries her face in Paige’s shoulder. Paige can feel her shirt dampening with tears, but she doesn’t care. Not even a little. All that matters is keeping Jo held together in this moment when she clearly feels like she’s falling apart. Paige’s chin rests against Jo’s hair, and she squeezes her tighter, as if that might somehow protect her from all of this—might take away the pain.

Her mind flashes to Asher, and the anger that surges through her is immediate, white-hot, and consuming. How the fuck could he do this? Asher, who seemed to adore Jo, who, just earlier tonight, had looked at her like the world revolved around her. He’s the guy everyone thought Jo would marry, the guy Paige didn’t want to like because of her own feelings for Jo but begrudgingly respected because he seemed like he loved her. Paige’s fists clench at the thought of him, the betrayal he’s inflicted on someone so good, so perfect.

Jo pulls back just enough to speak, her voice trembling through the sobs. “I just—I don’t get it,” she chokes out. Her hands are fisted in the back of Paige’s shirt now, clutching at her like she’s a lifeline. “He never seemed like—he would do that. He was never distant or anything. I—I don’t know. It’s just—it’s been us forever. He’s—he’s literally all I know.”

Paige closes her eyes for a moment, biting back her own emotions. She knows this—of course she knows this. Jo and Asher are the couple everyone compares themselves to, the pair who grew up together, who went to prom together, who everyone thought would get married and have a picturesque life together. Paige knows this betrayal isn’t just about the cheating—it’s about the loss of something Jo has held onto her entire life.

And as much as Paige didn’t want to like Asher, she can’t deny that even tonight, when they were all together, he seemed so in love with Jo. He didn’t seem like the type to cheat. Then again, Paige thinks bitterly, a lot of them don’t.

Paige hesitates, her voice careful. “Did you…?” She doesn’t have to finish the question; Jo knows what she’s asking.

Jo nods against Paige’s shoulder, her tears warm against Paige’s skin. “Yeah,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I broke up with him.”

Paige lets out a slow breath, one she didn’t realize she was holding. She always thought if this moment ever came, she’d feel something else—relief, maybe even happiness. She thought it would mean she finally had a chance with Jo, that the door might crack open. But as Jo sobs in her arms, as her heartbreak bleeds out into the quiet hallway, Paige feels none of that.

Because Jo isn’t happy. She’s broken, and Paige would rather suffer her unrequited feelings forever than see Jo like this. All she’s ever truly wanted is for Jo to be happy, to be the kind of happy that lights up her eyes and makes her laugh the way she does when she’s teasing Paige. This? This is not that.

Paige pulls back just enough so they’re face to face. Her hands come up to Jo’s cheeks once more, cradling her face gently. Jo’s eyes are red and swollen, tears still spilling over. Paige’s thumbs brush over her cheeks, wiping away some of the tears, though they’re still coming faster than she can catch them.

“Joey,” Paige says softly, her voice low and firm, “you are the most beautiful, selfless, talented, smart person I’ve ever fucking met. You don’t deserve any of this, okay? He doesn’t deserve you. Not even close.” She shakes her head slightly, her throat tightening as she continues. “I’m so sorry, Jo.”

Jo nods slowly, her breath hitching as she tries to calm down, but the tears are still there, streaming down her face.

Eventually, Paige convinces Jo to come with her, leading the brunette to her bedroom, keeping a steady hand on the small of her back as they navigate the dark hallway. Paige can feel the exhaustion radiating off of her in waves—emotional, physical, every kind of tired there is. She figures Jo doesn’t want to go to her own room, where everything probably still smells like Asher. And Paige figures Jo doesn’t want to be alone, either. That much is obvious in the way she stays close, almost leaning into Paige as they walk.

Once inside Paige’s room, Jo hesitates by the bed, looking small in a way Paige isn’t used to seeing. Jo’s always been the kind of person who fills up a space just by being in it—confident, easygoing, happy. Now, she’s quiet and folded into herself, arms crossed protectively over her chest like she’s trying to hold herself together. Paige doesn’t like it.

“Stay here for a sec, yeah?” Paige says softly, her voice careful, like she’s afraid to push Jo too far or say the wrong thing. Jo nods, sitting down on the edge of the bed, and Paige slips out of the room.

She goes to the bathroom first, grabbing some makeup wipes from the cabinet. Her mind races as she moves, filled with anger toward Asher, with concern for Jo, with guilt that a small, selfish part of her is glad to have Jo here, with her, instead of with him.

On her way back, she detours into Jo’s room just long enough to grab the emotional support stuffed animal—Bubbles. She tucks the little turtle under her arm and heads back to her room.

Jo hasn’t moved. She’s still sitting there, looking at her hands, the way her fingers twist together nervously. Paige kneels in front of her, setting Bubbles aside for now. She doesn’t say anything at first; she just takes one of the makeup wipes and gently starts to clean the streaks of mascara from Jo’s face. Jo blinks in surprise, a ghost of a smile flickering across her lips.

“I could’ve done it myself,” Jo mumbles, her voice thick and uneven.

“I know,” Paige says simply, and there’s the smallest hint of a smile tugging at her own lips.

It’s a quiet, intimate thing, wiping away Jo’s makeup. Paige works slowly, carefully, brushing over her skin with a tenderness she hopes Jo can feel. When she’s finished, she tosses the wipes aside into her mini trash can and hands Jo the stuffed turtle.

Jo takes Bubbles with both hands, clutching him close to her chest. There’s a tiny moment of relief in Paige’s chest when Jo actually smiles a little at the sight of him. It’s fleeting, but it’s there.

Paige climbs onto the bed beside her, hesitating for a second. The air between them feels heavy, uncertain. Jo curls up on her side, facing away from Paige, and for a moment, Paige wonders if she should leave her alone, give her space. But before she can decide, Jo’s voice breaks through the silence, shaky and fragile.

“Can you—can you just hold me?”

Paige’s heart clenches. Of course. Of course, she can. “Yeah,” she says softly, already shifting closer.

She slides in behind Jo, wrapping an arm around her waist. Her hand comes to rest gently on Jo’s stomach, fingers brushing over the fabric of her shirt in smooth, soothing patterns. Paige doesn’t think much about it; she just does what feels natural. Her face ends up close to the back of Jo’s neck, and she can feel the faint hitch in Jo’s breathing, the way it stutters each time another quiet sob escapes her.

Every time Jo shakes or cries, Paige instinctively tightens her hold, pulling her closer, letting her know she’s there. Jo doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Paige. The silence is filled with the faint rustle of the blankets, the sound of their breathing.

Paige focuses on the rise and fall of Jo’s chest, on the feeling of her heartbeat beneath her hand. It’s comforting, in a way, even though everything about the situation feels wrong. Jo deserves better than this—better than Asher, better than heartbreak. And if Paige could take it all away, if she could somehow absorb all of Jo’s pain just to see her smile again, she would.

But all she can do is hold her, keep her safe in this moment. So she does. She stays there, tracing patterns on Jo’s stomach, her own breathing falling in time with Jo’s. Eventually, Jo’s crying slows, her breaths evening out into something softer, something closer to sleep. Paige doesn’t let go.

She feels her own eyelids growing heavy, the exhaustion of the day—and mostly the night—catching up to her. She doesn’t remember exactly when she drifts off, but the last thing she’s aware of is the warmth of Jo in her arms, the quiet sound of her breathing, and the hope that maybe things will feel a little better in the morning.

[roosterforme]

I just saw the post about Darlin joking about him using a walker if they had a third baby.

I feel like Jake would have a real big doubt and guilt in himself one night about being too old for her. Maybe one day they're playing with their boys when the two are maybe like 6 and 3 and Darlin says she misses them being really small and now they kick and squeall when they get kisses because it's like icky.

That night maybe Jake is sitting on the side of the bed as Darlin gets in and she senses something is wrong and he asks her if she was with a younger guy would she have more kids as he feels he's holding her back. He definitely has a bit of self doubt as the daggers always tease him about being the old man of the house.

Btw love I adore your little blurbs for this fam. Today is probably the day I might catch up on a bunch but they are amazing 😍

Oh, ouch. Yes. It would hit him sometimes that maybe certain things would be easier or better for you if you had a partner closer to your own age. (angsty below)

Your husband was one week away from turning forty-seven, and he just absolutely rocked your world in bed. "I like it when you do that thing with your tongue," you whispered, staring up at the ceiling as he sat on the edge of the bed, naked.

His back was to you now, but you heard him chuckle. "And I like it when you do that thing with your tongue."

You rolled toward him and groaned. You were going to be sore tomorrow. "I'll go check on the boys before we go to sleep," you said, kissing him when you stood.

After your robe was securely tied, you walked quietly in to check on both Liam and Asher who were sound asleep. Then you went back to your bedroom where Jake had barely moved an inch.

"They looked extra cute when they're asleep and not fighting over Legos or eating all of the food in the kitchen," you mused, dropping your robe again. "I kind of miss when they were tiny and didn't know how to argue."

Jake cleared his throat. "Would you want to have another baby? If you could?"

You stared at him, unable to read the expression on his handsome face. It was closed off. And you were confused.

"I don't understand," you told him, placing your hands nervously on your hips, suddenly very aware of how naked you were.

"Just answer me. Would you have wanted more than two? Would you have wanted to try for a girl?"

You swallowed hard and shook your head slowly. "You got a vasectomy. I wouldn't even be able to get pregnant again."

Jake ducked his head and looked at the floor. "I wanted the vasectomy, because I'm already the oldest parent in Asher's school pick up line."

You took a step closer. "Who cares about that? You're also the hottest dad in Asher's school pick up line."

He looked up at you and whispered, "Will you just answer the question?"

"I already did!" you snapped. "We decided about the vasectomy together. Last year. You didn't make the decision alone, Jake." His eyes were fixed on your face as you said, "I have never once looked at you and thought you were too old to do anything. I didn't want more kids. Some days I can barely handle the two we have."

You burst into tears, crossing your arms over your chest as you turned to get your robe from the floor again. Jake's arms were around you, pulling you toward the bed, and you let him take you there. "I didn't mean to make you cry, Darlin'," he whispered. "I just hate the idea that I could be holding you back."

"You're not," you sobbed, face buried against his neck as he pulled the covers over both of you. "All you do is make everything better. The boys and I woudn't want it any other way."

Jake held you until you felt calmer, his fingers trailing up and down your arm. "I won't doubt my wife again," he whispered, turning off the lamp.

"Don't you dare."

You fell asleep to the sound of the ocean and the feel of Jake's big hand on your back.

[callsign-rogueone]

We need more with Brennan and Duchess and how Brennan is like as a dad🎀

I’m using these asks as excuses to post all the little snips of happily ever after I have for these two, hehe.

🏷️: ~600 words, happens about four years after the events of the twins, duchess’s second pregnancy, these boys are 50% Brennan which means they’re 100% sweethearts, duchess is on bed rest after the scare she had last time, but that makes for a whole lot of family cuddle time <3

The door creaking open has you setting down your book, a soft smile crossing your face. “Why aren’t you two off playing with your cousins?” you ask, reaching down to ruffle their hair.

Naolin gives you a pleading look. “We want to stay with you.”

They’ve been extra clingy since you’ve been put on bed rest, picking up on Brennan’s worry for you — even at just four years old, they’re both incredibly perceptive. It breaks your heart to think of them being scared for your health at such a young age, and both you and your husband have done everything you can to ease their minds.

“Your mother just needs more sleep than she used to,” you’d overheard Brennan soothing one of them last week, on one of the secret trips out of your room that you’d taken for your personal sanity. You’d only seen their back through the cracked door as they sniffled in their father’s arms, but it was most likely Asher, the more sensitive of the pair. “It’s hard work making a new person. But I promise you, she’ll be okay. She’s strong, just like you.”

“Yeah, Ash,” Naolin had added confidently, confirming your suspicion, “she’s even stronger than Uncle Gare. And Daddy can make her better if she gets sick.”

You’d cried a little bit after you slipped back to your room.

Asher tucks his stuffed dragon under one arm, taking the book of Tyrrish fables off of your nightstand and extending it to you quietly. “Can we keep reading, please?”

“Of course, my loves. C’mon, up you get.”

They scramble up the small steps that Brennan had added at the foot of the bed so that they could spend time with you without you having to strain yourself picking them up, each settling onto one side of you, getting comfortable as you crack open the well-worn book, running your thumb over the ink in the front cover.

“Whose name is that, mommy?”

“It’s my name. This was my book, when I was small. My mother, your grandma, would read it with me every night, just like we do.”

———

You hadn’t realized the time — the hours and days you’ve spent in this room are blurring together — but Brennan and the rest of the assembly must have called it a day, because he’s here now, his boots off and the top buttons of his uniform undone.

“My entire family is reading without me,” he gasps, visibly offended.

The boys giggle at his dramatics, and you laugh too. “You’ve read this book half a dozen times, dearest.”

“But not with all of you,” he answers. “That makes it so much better.” He scoops up Asher, settling down by your side and depositing the boy on his lap, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Oh, this one is my favorite!”

“You say that about every story, daddy.”

“I’m allowed to have more than one favorite,” he defends. “You three are my favorite people.”

“Four,” Naolin corrects from where he sits at your side, his head rested against your stomach. “Sissy, too.”

Brennan gasps. “How could I forget? Yes. All four of you are my favorite people.”

“You think it’s gonna be a girl?” you ask.

“Mm-hm!” Asher agrees. “Auntie Darling said so, and she can see the future.”

You and Brennan exchange a look, eyebrows raised. He just shrugs, as if to say, ‘news to me’, — but he can’t contain the grin on his face. “Did she really?”

“We weren’t ‘posed to tell!” Naolin whispers to his brother.

You can’t help but laugh. “It’s okay. But we won’t know for sure until a few more months — until they’ve grown enough to come out. And we’ll love them either way, because they’re part of our family.”

[aimedis]

redacted asmr hcs pt.8 - shaw pack edition

-milo and asher have had a super complicated handshake since high school (tried to teach it to david but he was not having it)

-milo and sweetheart are the type to bully kids on roblox 

-sam and darlin’ will start giggling to each other about literally nothing (milo and sweetheart as well) 

-sweetheart and milo insult and fight with each other all day (the first time the pack heard sweetheart call him a bitch and milo just laughed, they all freaked out because milo never takes insults from people) ((milo and sweetheart swing at each other even while sweetheart’s cloaked and they giggle the whole time)) (((milo: “don’t even try it, you brat. i’ll beat your ass”)))

-angel is one of the smartest in the pack (sometimes smarter than david in certain areas) ((during pack trivia they beat him for first place and he glared at them for all of ten seconds))

-angel gets progressively more irritable the more hungry or tired they are (like a toddler) and david points it out because he thinks it’s cute (angel: “can you like shut up? you’re starting to piss me off” david, smirking in amusement: “I think you’re just hungry” angel: “say that to me again and you lose your head”) 

-angel has anger issues (more like easily irritated) it just takes a lot for them to show it

-sometimes for date night, asher and baabe just put on comfy socks and clothes and make pillow forts to sit in while they watch crappy tv shows to giggle at

-milo and sweetheart are horribly possessive when it comes to anyone outside of the pack and sometimes even within the pack (not in a toxic way) ((milo: “touch them again and i’ll rip your hand off” / sweetheart: “unless you want your entire upper body to go invisible for the rest of the night, get your hands off of my mate”))

-asher spends the entire summer solstice pouting and whining into baabe’s chest while they rub his back and occasionally give him little massages where it hurts

-david covers angel’s face for them when they yawn in public (he also does it when they make questionable faces or if they start crying around other people, he’ll cover their face for them) ((he does it so often that angel doesn’t think to do those things on their own anymore when david’s not around)) 

-sam and darlin’ play the “that’s a body”/“that’s cheating” game with things they’ve very well done

-in shifter culture, wolves pressing their foreheads together is a very intimate but casual show of affection and it really means a lot when shifters do it to a non-shifter (most shaw wolves have done it to the non-shifter mates at this point) 

-darlin’ loves sam’s hands on their face (they close their eyes and lean heavily against him) 

-asher and baabe are literally johnny and mavis 

-darlin’ has learned to lean on sam (metaphorically and literally) they take the hand he offers when they need it to keep balance when with anyone else they would’ve denied it ((the wolf bois were understandably shocked))

-david hates straight black coffee but he insists on having it all the time. angel on the other hand proudly drinks their sugary milky coffee and david steals sips from it all the time (claims it tastes better coming from them so they don’t bother getting him their regular) 

-darlin’ cracks all the crackable bones in their body (back, fingers, neck, ankles etc.) and it drives sam insane because he can hear it so clearly

-when milo was younger, marie would run her finger between milo’s eyebrows and down his nose to remind him to relax whenever he made a face so he didn’t get a line on his forehead (she still does it and she does it to sweetheart as well) 

-david can tell when angel is in a bad mood within seconds, he can just feel it without even seeing them (he'll randomly text them "are you okay?" and they're like "how did you-")

-milo gets really cold on the summer solstice and sweetheart gets really hot (milo clings onto sweetheart the whole day and sweetheart let’s him no matter how sweaty and agitated they are) ((fanfic idea??))

-darlin’ gets mad when they’re bored 

-darlin’ is really really good at pretending things don’t hurt (physically or emotionally) 

-whenever david gets really angry at darlin', he starts acting like them (they are so siblings)

-david thrives off of knowing how flustered he makes angel with no effort (he looks into their eyes for a second too long and their face flushes/they smile nervously and turn away)

-angel being an angry jealous and asher being a pouty jealous (rarely) 

-despite being a wolf, asher sneezes like a kitten. david's sneezes are a nuclear bomb

-david and asher being childhood best friends, have had their fair share of arguments but one of the big ones was surprisingly, not during the period of gabe's death but almost immediately after they both got off their honeymoons. they had a pretty bad argument that milo and darlin' somehow got roped into (they weren't ganging up on one or two people really, it was a free for all) -the argument was bad but because they're all as close as they are, it wasn't tense afterwards

-david and milo bicker quite often, as do sam and sweetheart

[undying-love]

Hi!! Could you make a compilation of all the times their relationship is compared to a marriage (or something similar), either by them or by people close to them?

"Marriage", "love affair", "girlfriend", "wife", etc: A Compilation

“I think it was like he was married to Paul. And now he was married to me so it was like a situation that he didn’t feel like he wanted to go back." (Yoko Ono)

"Why this odd little Japanese lady? The reason, many people believed, was that more than a trophy wife, a model or an actress, John needed a chum. His love affair with Paul McCartney was ending." (Peter Brown)

“That’s very hard to delve into. They were great friends, and had great mutual respect, but they were also quite different from one another. I don’t know. Human relationships are tough to analyze. It’s like trying to talk about someone else’s marriage.” (Peter Asher)

“I still think at the back of John’s mind was this fascination of wanting to get back with the first girlfriend... and that was to get back with Paul, who he had so much history with.” (Tony Barrow)

"It's like a marriage. These two broke up. And it took Paul a long time to get over it. John too, but he was just too macho to show it. But they had a marriage before Yoko arrived, although they both had girlfriends before." (Ray Connolly)

"It [Mick and Keith's relationship] had all the irrationally and passion of a love affair. Lennon and McCartney had a similar bond between them." (Marianne Faithfull)

"Paul and John kind of knew that they were growing apart, and Let It Be was almost like a marriage that’s failing, and they wanna go on their date nights again" (Giles Martin)

"There’s no hard feelings or anything, but you just don’t hang around with your ex-wife. We’ve completely finished." (Paul)

"Then also we were like married, so you got the bitterness. It’s not a woman scorned this time, it’s two men scorned — probably even worse. And I had to make way for Yoko. My relationship with John could not have remained as it was and Yoko feel secure.” (Paul)

"It was as if I was another girlfriend, almost. Our relationship was a strong relationship. And if he was to start a new relationship [with Yoko], he had to put this other one away." (Paul)

"I've compared to a marriage a million times and I hope it's… understandable. For people that aren't married. Or any relationship. It was a LONG relationship." (John)

"With Yoko present, Paul's reign as Lennon's princess was doomed."(Peter McCabe)

"In a marriage, or a love affair...there comes a point where the marriage collapses because they can’t face that reality, and they go seeking what they thought they should be having, still, somewhere else. I get a new girl, it’ll all be like that again; I get a new boy… But for all marriages, all couples, it’ll all be the same again. But what you lose is what you put into that… relationship." (John)

"..an old, estranged fiancée of mine called Paul." (John)

"Paul and John were emotional partners in a powerful, creative and loving way." (Paul Saltzman)

"Julian and Sean had lost a father; Cynthia, her knight in shining armour; Yoko, a fellow artist, contemporary and house husband … and Paul? Well, call me crazy, but he lost the wife. I’m certainly not implying anything of a carnal nature here, but to almost all intents and purposes (as John would have put it), what they had was a marriage.” (Ruth Mccartney)

"When John and Paul split up (think of them as a couple for a moment) their second mates had to stand by them." (Francie Schwartz)

"For a reason to hold a grudge [against Yoko], think about the possibility of this: She took John from him. And she didn't particularly want to share John with his "ex significant other" on certain levels." (Francie Schwartz)

[lynzishell]

Prev // Next

Transcript below the cut:

Asher: Atlas!! Ow… fuck.

Asher: Atlas! Atlas: What’s wrong? Asher: Check your email. We have a message from the clinic.

Atlas: Here it is. “See the attached for good news about your embryos :)”. Asher: Ohmygod. Atlas: Are you ready? Asher: Yes! Open it.

 Atlas: Six! We have six healthy embryos. Asher: Six is good. And?

Atlas: Five female. Asher: Uh-huh? Atlas: And one male.

Asher: Holy shit.

Asher: [laugh-crying] He’s there.  

Asher: What? What’s wrong? Did it say something else?

Atlas: Five females. Asher: Yeah? Atlas: At our next appointment, we’ll have to decide which ones we want to use. How do we choose? How are we supposed to know which one is Sadie?

Asher: Sadie? Where did you get that name? Atlas: From you. In the dream I had, after the temple, that’s what you called her. Asher: [smiles] Atlas: What?

Asher: That was grandmother’s name. Well, her name was Sarah, but everyone called her Sadie. I was really close to her when I was little. In fact, before she got sick, this used to be her room. On nights when I had trouble sleeping, rather than going across the hall to my parents’ room, I’d come in here with my pillow and blanket and sleep on the floor. Atlas: That’s cute.

Asher: Y’know, there was a part of me that wondered if we were reading too much into these dreams. I had this doubt lingering in the back of my mind that, even as strongly as I felt, there was a chance they weren’t… real. Atlas: And now? Asher: I don’t have any doubts anymore. If we trust our instincts, we’ll make the right choice.

Atlas: So, you’re okay with naming our daughter Sadie then? Asher: It’s perfect. Atlas: What about the boy?

Asher: I don’t know his name. Atlas: Well, we have time to figure it out. Asher: [sniffles] Yeah. Atlas: You okay? Asher: Just happy.

[tommytomatoe]

this is the wolf boys reaction to their mates acting like someone wants to fight them over the phone:

babe and asher

babe: “oh, you wanna fight? for real? okay, lets go. let’s do it, my place. i’ll send you my address right now.” 

asher: “woah what?”

babe: “yeah, i’ll be here. i can’t wait to watch my boyfriend beat that bitch ass smile off your face.”

asher: “huh?” 

babe: “what? you don’t want to fight for me? for my honor?”

asher: “no i do, but like, who is that? what’d they do to destroy your honor?”

babe: “you’re asking too many questions, ash. they’re already on their way.”

asher: “what’s my motive though?”

babe: “they’re an asshole.”

asher: “good enough. oh- tell them i’m over six feet!” 

sweetheart and milo

sweetheart: “really? okay yeah no let’s just fight this shit out. i’m sick of you, i’ll send my address now. my boyfriends gonna tear you a fucking new one.”

milo: “hell right i am, who the fuck is that?” 

milo proceeds to grab sweethearts phone, swearing profusely into in only to hear the other mates cackling on the other line

milo: “oh, oh you’re real fucking funny. is this one of you guys’ little pranks again?”

sweetheart: “yeah, we just wanted to see how you guys would react.”

milo: “well, did i, um, act accordingly?”

sweetheart: “our first date was you killing a shade for me, i didn’t expect anything less.”

angel, on the other line still listening: “your first date was a what?!”

angel and david

angel: “let’s do it then. you wanna act like that then put your money where your mouth is. come over now, let’s end this. my boyfriends gonna kill you.”

david: “angel, what the actual fuck?”

angel: “i need you to beat this man’s ass for me.” david: “what’d he do?”

angel: “he’s being a total asshole.”

david: “and he’s coming over?”

angel: “yep.”

david: “now?”

angel: “you don’t wanna fight for me?”

david: “baby, i’ll fight for you but i’m just a little lost.”

darlin: “i’m not. when’s he gonna be here, i’ll start digging a hole now.”

angel: “awww thanks hon.”

david: “how the fuck did you get into my house?”

darlin: “window :)”

TLDR; mates play prank, wolf boys go "huh?"