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aestheticaltcow · 1 month

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Six Months

An attempt at some parenthood angst?

Similarly to the title, this fic has been in my WIP folder for a minute; it went through a handful of edits. I'd like to think this is good enough for y'all.

Carmy sat in the office staring at the paperwork Sugar needed his signature on; when he saw the date on his phone, it hit him—today marked six months. Six months of parenthood and six months of celibacy, to say Carmy was sexually frustrated, was an understatement. “Hey Carm, did you- are you okay?” Sugar asked when she caught him staring blankly at his phone. He didn’t respond until she put her hand on his shoulder. Her touch snapped him out of his trance. He looked at her before quickly apologizing, “Sorry, what were you sayin'?” Sugar grinned as she patted his shoulder, “You okay, Bear?”

Carmy nodded and straightened up in his desk chair, “Yea- just thinkin’ bout the baby.”

Carmy got home from work late. He quietly slipped his jacket off, and hung it on the coat rack before removing his shoes. Walking down the hallway, he slipped into the nursery, knowing the baby would be asleep. He found it impossible not to be happy in her room. The walls were decorated with vintage floral wallpaper you’d bought off Etsy, it may have been a pain in the ass to put up, but Carmy happily obliged when he saw how happy it had made you. He crept to his baby girl’s crib and felt the day's stress disappear. She was peacefully sleeping in a light pink sleep sack, furiously sucking away on her pacifier. “Sweet dreams, princess,” he whispered. “I love you.”

The joy of watching his daughter sleep faded away as he approached the askew door to the master bedroom the two of you shared. “I’m home, baby.” Carmy grinned as he walked toward the open closet door, “Hi, Carm.” you called from the bathroom. When he entered the bathroom, you were brushing your teeth. As the mix of salvia and toothpaste residue dripped from your mouth Carmy’s breath hitched- was this enough to get him goin’? He shook his head as he pulled his shirt off and threw it in the laundry hamper before turning on the shower.

“How was work, babe?” you asked before bringing a small cup of mouthwash to your lips. Carmy watched as you swished it around your mouth and spit it into the sink. “Carmy?” you asked again; he swallowed. “Yeah, uh, it was good. Busy,” he answered as you hopped up on the counter. You were desperate for adult interaction after being home with the baby all day.

“Mia, have a good day?” Carmy questioned. You nodded, “We did some laundry, then had mashed pears for lunch- she did. I had that leftover pasta sauce you made... Read a couple books and went on a walk... Then did her bedtime routine, and I worked on that stupid documentary I was telling you about.”

As you recounted your day, Carmy nodded, but he was staring at your chest, barely hearing what you said. You’d been wearing one of his old T-shirts. He noticed how prominent your nipples were under the soft, worn-in material. He was captivated by the fullness of your breasts, and he’d do just about anything to touch them again. “Carm, you okay?” you asked, hopping down from the counter; he nodded. “Wanna get in with me?” he asked cocking his head in the direction of the running shower. You giggled, “Maybe next time, bear.”

“Oh fuck-” Carmy grunted as he worked his hand up and down his length. He felt like a teenager again, masturbating in the shower before going to school. However, now, instead of imagining the unrealistic scenarios he’d see in pornos, he had memories of you. Carmy thought back to the last time you’d really touched him. Heavily pregnant, hormonal, begging for his tongue and his cock… he’d expected a shift in your sex life as the two of you adjusted to parenthood, but this long of a dry spell was the last thing he’d expected. Carmy squeezed his eyes closed as he came down the drain.

“Good morning, princess.” Carmy cooed as Mia squirmed in her crib, trying to get out of her sleep sack. She spat her pacifier out and let out a gruggle. “So it’s one of those mornings?” he chuckled as he unzipped her. He watched her stretch before carefully picking her up, “See, you’re okay.” he rocked her gently before exiting the nursery and heading downstairs.

You were making coffee and prepping a bottle for Mia as he entered the kitchen. “You’re off today, right?” Carmy nodded in response before handing you Mia. “You goin’ to work?” he questioned, as he got two mugs from the cabinet. You groaned in response, “Jenny called off, so I have to go in. I’ll be back before bedtime.”

“Well, looks like Mia and I are havin' some Daddy-Daughter time,” you smiled as Carmy gently kissed her head before going to get the milk from the fridge. When you’d met Carmy all those years ago at some trendy Chicago bar, you found him incredibly alluring. His disheveled curls, the mix of some musky cologne and cigarette smoke, the way his T-shirt wrapped around his muscular arms… he’d always been… sexy. But watching him interact with Mia was a different kind of attractive.

Carmy drummed his thumbs on the handlebar of the grocery cart. He scanned the shelf before him as Mia happily made her baby noises as she looked around the aisle. “Okay, princess… they don’t have almond extract. What kind of grocery store doesn’t have fuckin’ almond extract.” Mia put her hands out to Carmy, grabbing at the air. Carmy chuckled and ducked to kiss her cheek.

“Oh my gosh, she’s too precious.” a sickly, sweet feminine voice cooed from behind Carmy. He grinned when he turned his attention to her, “How old is she?” she asked. Carmy got a good look at the woman; she was pretty, but she wasn’t you. “Oh, uh, she’s six months,” he answered as the woman stepped closer. She smelled like cheap vanilla and a mix of flowery scents Carmy couldn’t place. Mia glared at the woman, and Carmy scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m Selena. I’m in this parenting group. You should stop by.” she smiled as she looked him up and down. The attention made Carmy regret not regularly wearing his wedding ring. “I’m not really the par-” Carmy started to say before Selena cut him off. “I’m not takin’ no as an answer. What’s your number?” she handed him her phone.

Carmy didn’t know why he gave her his number- could he blame it on feeling uncomfortable? Was that even the right thing to do? It’s not like he’d ever do anything with this woman. He’d never throw away his marriage to you by hooking up with some woman he met at the grocery store. The reality of Carmy's actions didn’t hit him until he was in the checkout line. He gave his phone number to another woman- was that cheating on you? Did doing that in front of his daughter make him a bad father? “Okay, your total is $63.82.” the cashier smiled. Carmy nodded and swiped his card. He needed to get out of there as quickly as possible so he wouldn’t run into Selena again.

It had been a couple of weeks since Carmy’s interaction at the grocery store. He’d noticed Selena’s text messages here and there. They seemed innocent until one Friday night, he was working late, you were home with the baby, and Selena had sent Carmy an explicit picture, hoping it would get his attention.

We’re both parents.

I’m not looking for anything serious, Carmy…

My son is at his Dad’s place

Come over <3

Carmy stared at the messages before his eyes went up to the attached photo. Selena had the hem of her T-shirt between her teeth, showing off her toned stomach. He swallowed as he admired the contrast between her skin and the brightly colored fabric of her lacy underwear. He should block her. He should just delete the messages and block her number. He had a wife and baby at home—he couldn’t make this kind of mistake. He locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket before returning to the kitchen cleanup, “Hey Carm, I can finish this up. Go home.” Sweeps grinned as he attempted to connect his phone to the Bluetooth speaker on the counter. Carmy grinned, “You sure, man?” Sweeps nodded assuringly. “I think I can handle this boss man.”

You heard Carmy walk into the bedroom that night, “Hey babe!” you called as you put your blowdryer in its designated spot by the sink. As the bathroom door swung open, Carmy’s lips were on yours. The initial shock wore off as Carmy’s tongue invaded your mouth, and his hands pushed under the hem of your sleep shorts to grasp at your ass cheeks. Carmy pulled you closer to him, forcing you onto your tip toes. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers delicately tangling in the roots of his hair. The passionate kiss ended when Carmy started to kiss down your jaw. A giggle escaped your mouth as his lips brushed against your earlobe before he nipped at your neck. “Carm-m what got into you?” you croaked as you adjusted your hips against his.

“I need you, baby,” he muttered, lifting you off the floor. You squealed as he crashed down onto your mattress. He hovered above your body, staring into your eyes. “I need to be inside you, baby.” he swallowed hard as you bit your lip. “Carmyyy,” you giggled as you watched him pull his t-shirt off. You ran a finger down his chest, making him moan softly.

“Let me make you feel good, baby…” Carmy whispered in your ear as one of his hands found its way into your oversized sleep shirt. Your breath hitched when you felt his calloused fingertips graze your ribs. " I-I—" you studdered nervously. “Baby…please.” Carmy quietly asked as his lips brushed against yours. “No.” you whispered as you grabbed his wrist through your shirt, “What?” Carmy questioned as he stood up abruptly, “Did I do something? We haven’t done anything in like six months- clearly I did something wrong. Just tell me so I can fix it!” Carmy raised his voice as his eyebrows knit together in frustration.

You propped yourself on your elbows and watched as he picked up his shirt from the floor, “Carmen, please don’t yell at me.” you said calmly. You watched as he rolled his eyes and paced before you, “Baby. I want to have sex with you. I need to have sex with you-” Carmy groaned as he pushed his hands over his face into his hair. Your eyes narrowed, “Carmen. I had a baby-”

“I KNOW! I fucking know! You had my baby, but now you don’t even want to fuckin’ shower with me! I get it- pregnancy was hard, and then giving birth was hard, and now being a mom is hard.” Carmy started staring at the ceiling while he expressed himself. He took a breath and turned to look at you; regret washed over him when he noticed you were on the verge of tears. “Baby, please don’t cry…” he pleaded as he knelt by the bed. He reached for your hand, but you pulled away before he could grab it, “Sorry, I don’t want to fuck you after taking care of your baby all day.” you spat. Carmy closed his eyes and took another breath trying to compose himself before saying something dumb, “How dare I fail to meet my wifely duties.” you angrily laughed as you stood up.

You crossed your arms over your chest and stared as Carmy got up. “Baby, I didn’t—" you cut Carmy off with a groan. “Shut up, Carmen. You don’t get to speak to me like that.”

Carmy sighed and stepped closer to you, as he reached out for your hips only for you to slap his hands away. “Don’t touch me.” you glared at him, “Fuck this.” Carmy muttered under his breath as he pulled his shirt back on over his head. “What do you mean ‘fuck this’?” you questioned as Carmy exited the bedroom, “I need air.” Carmy called back to you.

You moved to your bedroom window to see Carmy walking toward his car in the driveway. He got in and pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket.

Send me your address.

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noforkingclue · 3 months

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Desperation

Summary: The end times are near and Crowley has come to you with a proposition.

Author's Note: decided to publish this as it was sitting in my WiP folder for too long and since I've also started re-watching Good Omens I thought now was as good as time to publish it!

You always knew when Crowley and/or Aziraphale were in your flat. Call it an instinct that developed from knowing them for over thousands of years. Which was why it was so surprising to see Crowley standing in the middle of your flat without any prior warning.

You paused when you saw the demon standing there and you carefully shut the door behind you. He twitched at the sound but didn’t turn around. You slowly made your way towards him, nervous about what was going to happen. You frowned briefly at the unfamiliar feeling coiling in the pit of your stomach, it had been years since he had made you feel like that.

“Crowl-“

“Everything’s fucked.”

You blinked at Crowley’s sudden outburst. While you’d heard him swear before it wasn’t that usual. You winced as you heard the sound of cracking wood and looked down, realising that he was gripping your table so hard that he was splintering the wood.

“Why don’t you sit down?” you suggested, worried about your friend as well as the future of your table. It was an antique after all.

“Have a cup of tea and tell me what’s happened.”

“What’s happened?” Crowley let out a bark of laughter, “What’s happened is the world’s ending and Hell knows that all of this,” he spun around and waved his hands about, “Is because of me! I misplaced the antichrist and now they’re coming.”

“Oh.”

“So I’m leaving.”

“That’s sensible.”

“And I want you to come with me.”

You froze, midway through making that cup of tea you promised. You looked at Crowley out of the corner of your eye. He walked over to you and put a hand over yours, forcing you to lower the kettle.

“It isn’t safe anymore,” he said, “Everything is going to get destroyed. Hell and Heaven are going to war and it isn’t going to be pretty. We can escape. Be safe.”

“What about Aziraphale?”

Crowley, who had rested his forehead against your shoulder, tensed behind you. His arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you against him.

“He think he can stop this,” he muttered, “He isn’t coming.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly you were spun around and pushed roughly against the counter. You gasped in shock and Crowley tilted your chin so you were looking directly into his eyes. It was the first time you had properly seen him and you could see the desperation etched across his face. His sunglasses were gone and you were forced to look into his yellow eyes. He grabbed your chin and forced your head in place.

“Come with me,” he said quietly, “It’ll just be the two of us.”

“But what about-“

“Shh, don’t think about him.”

You opened your mouth to protest but Crowley seized the opportunity to press his lips against yours. You squeaked in surprise as Crowley wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you roughly against him. You put your hands against his chest but found them trapped between your bodies. Crowley broke the kiss but remained close. You felt his lips brush against yours and he said,

“Just think about me.”

“And the world.”

“We’ll be safe.”

“We’ll be on the run.”

“We’ll have each other.”

“And Azira-“

Crowley covered your mouth with a hand. He pressed his forehead against your shoulder.

“I thought I told you not to think about him.”

He removed his hand and brushed your cheek with the back of it. He smile softly and his gaze dropped back down to your lips.

“If Zira thinks that there’s hope then there must be.”

“So you’re choosing him?”

Crowley shook his head and gave you a bitter smile. He stepped away and you gave him a pained look. You took half a step towards him but he put his hands up to stop you.

“I understand,” he said, “one last hurrah.”

“Crowley-“

“It was fun while it lasted.”

“We can still beat this.”

“No we can’t.”

And with that you were once again left alone with only your hope to keep you company.

#fanfiction #good omens #reader insert #crowley #aziraphale #crowley x reader #aziraphale x reader

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farfromstrange · 3 months

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Lizzi’s Valentine’s Special & Follower Celebration

Dear Everyone,

Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, and I thought, since this silly little blog hit over 1.1k followers yesterday, I want to give you something special.

First of all, though, I want to thank you. I’ve been on here since (and I checked with the archive) July 19, 2022. I can't believe that it has been almost two years. I started watching Daredevil after watching Spider-Man: No Way Home in December of 2021 and hearing Matt Murdock say, "I'm a really good lawyer," after catching a brick. So, I started watching the show, and that was during a time I was really miserable. Mentally and physically, I wasn't in a good place, but after watching Daredevil for the first time and falling in love with Charlie Cox as a genuine person and an actor, it felt like I found a reason to keep going.

I started writing fanfiction again, which I kind of neglected because I felt like this hobby of mine wasn't going anywhere. I wasn't inspired at all until I watched the show. If I hadn't, I probably would not have gotten back into writing and using it as an outlet for my feelings, and I probably wouldn't be where I am today. Thanks to Charlie's portrayal of Matt Murdock, and watching his interviews, I felt like I could do the things that I love again and follow my dreams. He's the reason I chose to major in English. And while I owe him that much, I owe you guys here on Tumblr and AO3 even more.

When I first posted here, I didn't think people would even be interested in what I had to say and write. But then more and more people started visiting my profile, you guys started following me, and it kept me motivated to keep writing, even when I'm miserable, and I sometimes only post once every blue moon.

I feel so honored that you guys chose to follow a silly little blog run by a silly little 20-something-year-old whose first language isn't even English (but made it her entire personality), and who chose to write about traumatized dark-haired characters portrayed by Charlie Cox. I'm overwhelmed by the love you continue to show me, and every time one of you chooses to reblog or comment on one of my works, saying that it resonated with you, I feel like I'm doing something right. I'm sharing my ideas, my own experiences, my wishes, and even my deepest, darkest dreams through my writing like it's a fucking diary, and you eat it up every single time.

I'm just so glad that this community exists, as chaotic as it sometimes is, and that you chose to stick around, even when I suck at keeping promises sometimes. You keep teaching me new things about who I am, my writing, and how important it is to put myself first. I don't know if you've heard it lately, but you guys are incredible and I appreciate the hell out of every single one of you.

Thanks to Tumblr, I made lifelong friends (especially looking at you, @blackshadowswriter) and found like-minded people that made me feel less alone. That alone was worth making this account and continuing to post on here.

You may think that I'm being dramatic, but for someone who has never really experienced the kind of validation this community gives me, I want to celebrate this milestone. It means more to me than I can even put into words. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I love you all so much! Please, don't ever forget how amazing you are.

That being said, I've got some exciting things planned.

The other day, I found a folder in my Docs titled "the vault". I completely forgot about it because I usually keep my WIPs in a different folder. As it turns out, I made that folder for fics that I originally never planned to post, or ones that I'd finished but wasn't happy with. It’s many, but it’s a few. Some are deeper than others. I also jotted down rough ideas and outlines last year that I stuffed in there, some of which I've actually shared with you but never started working on. Until now. And the contents of that vault are what I want to give to you now.

INTRODUCING: The Vault

6 stories from the vault. 1 bonus fic. 7 days.

I went through a myriad of emotions while I wrote these. For some, I actually bled my soul onto paper. For others, it was merely a brain fart that led to their existence. They're sad, horny, and at times angry, but some of those were originally written for me, and only me. Those that weren't started as a few sentences in a folder before I forgot they existed. Either way, I don't want them to catch dust. And I wouldn't want to share them with anyone else.

Starting February 14th, I will be posting one fic every day until February 20th. My “The Vault” works are Matt Murdock x Reader works, but I've made an exception for the bonus fic. I won't tell you what they are about, but I will give you a list of installments and what kind of fic they are so you know what to be excited about (and maybe which ones are not your cup of tea).

-> The number at the end tells you the date I will be posting it on, but I put it in chronological order as well.

INSTALLMENTS:

1. If You Need To Be Mean (angst, hurt/comfort) 14.

2. Mismatched Bridesmaid (fluff, smut) 15.

3. Weed Cookies (humor, fluff, cw: accidental drug use) 16.

4. the grudge (songfic, angst, hurt/comfort, cw: death of a parent) 17.

5. Halloween (Smut) 18.

6. I Want To Fuck A Priest (Smut, cw: priest!Matt) 19.

BONUS:

7. Now That We Don’t Talk (Part 2 of Is It Over Now?) -> Frank Castle x Reader (smut, angst) 20.

A few more words: You are free to send me an ask if you want to know more, but be prepared that I won't be answering in much detail. I don't want to spoil the fun. I would, however, not mind talking about them as vaguely as possible (if you’re interested).

Thank you all. For everything. And I hope you stick around to read these little gems.

With love from yours truly,

Lizzi <3

#lizzi writes #follower celebration #valentine’s day #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock x you #frank castle x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #charlie cox

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 3 months

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Survivor Blues

DEAD WOOD: JOEL'S POV

A/N: After far too long, this one is back in action! I have missed writing this story so darn much and it feels great to be back with these characters. This interlude has been living in my wip folder for a damn year, and I am really exciting to finally be sharing it. It takes place immediately following the events of Part Five, and it marks the first time that we get to see things through Joel's eyes in this universe. (It also alludes to some things that I haven't expanded on within this story yet, but that I am so SO excited to.)

Series Masterlist

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: language, mention of character death, loss, grief, trauma, brief description of injury, Ellie is a snarky teenager, PLOT SPOILERS FOR TLOU, feel free to message me if you have questions (it's actually a lot more hopeful than the title makes it sound)

Summary: Home from the supply run, Joel contemplates how far he's come since arriving in Jackson... and hopes that it will be the same for you. Tommy and Ellie - of course - have thoughts and opinions on things, too.

By the time Joel got home after a quick stop at the clinic, it was past seven, the house - and Ellie’s garage - both standing dark and empty against the beginnings of night.

She must be out with friends. Good.

It had taken a few years, but he was finally in a place where her absence didn’t immediately put him on edge. When they first settled into the house on Rancher Street, Joel would insist that Ellie stay at Tommy and Maria’s anytime he was gone overnight. Even the walls and the close knit community couldn’t fully satisfy that need to know that she was safe then. But now a note stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet telling him where she’d gone was more than sufficient.

Which was exactly what he found when he entered the kitchen. Plucking the piece of paper from the fridge door and leaning against the counter, he read the girl’s hastily scrawled words.

Joel,

Not sure when you’re getting back but I might not be here when you do. Staying with some friends tonight and tomorrow. I’ll be home on Tuesday. Movie night - don’t forget!

-Ellie

He chuckled to himself and shook his head. Like I’d ever forget movie night, kiddo.

Getting that back - that time with her where they could just be a family, laughing together and watching some movie that was made fifteen years before she was born, that time that both of them desperately craved where they could put down all the things they carried and all the things they’d gone through even if only for 120 minutes at a time - that was a gift he would never take for granted. Her eventual forgiveness and understanding, once he’d finally explained his reasoning for the choices he made, was everything to Joel. And it was still fresh. The two of them were still awkwardly trying to find their way back to the kind of relationship they had before the lie came to light. But it was a chance that Joel never imagined he’d get, and it wasn’t one he would ever squander.

He raised his hand to stick Ellie’s note back on the refrigerator door for now, but paused before using the same faded orange Longhorns magnet that she had used to secure it. Instead, he dug into his back pocket and pulled out a new one. Turning it over in his palm, Joel glanced down at the yellow letters spelling out Wyoming and remembered the look on your face when he handed you one identical to it that morning.

It wasn’t really a smile, more like the framework of one, a hint of what it would look like fully fleshed out. It was different from the ones he’d seen you wear while working in the bakery or waving to someone on the street. Those were pleasantries that you were refamiliarizing yourself with. This one touched your eyes, softening them for a few seconds. It made Joel wonder what he unearthed with that small gesture - what part of your former life he’d been able to reach and awaken, at least partially. He didn’t bother with wondering what it meant that he’d taken an identical magnet for himself.

With a sigh, he used the gas station souvenir to tack up Ellie’s note where he’d found it. Keeping his injured arm down at his side, he reached to open the cupboard next to the fridge and pulled down a glass and the bottle he kept there. He let out a grunt as he twisted the cap off, needing to use both hands to do so and being punished for the miniscule movement with a throb of discomfort through his bicep. Shit, that hurts.

Though your work had held up just fine all the way back to Jackson, the wound had still garnered a hiss and a wince from the nurse on duty at the clinic. Using a cloth and clear grain alcohol, she’d carefully cleaned between and around the stitches, telling him that he was lucky he had someone with him who knew what they were doing, because the cut was deep and without closing it properly, he would have lost a lot more blood than he did. Slathering the area with an antiseptic cream, she re-wrapped his arm and sent him on his way, recommending that he not get the stitches wet for a good two days.

Gonna have to stick my arm outta the shower I guess. First thing’s first, though.

But before he could finish making himself a drink, he was interrupted by the call of his name. “Joel?” Tommy’s voice joined the stomp of his boots as he climbed the porch stairs and let himself through the front door. “Hey, Joel? Where-”

I shoulda known he’d be over.

Holly, the nurse at the clinic, was close friends with Maria. There was no way that she didn’t radio over to let Maria know that she’d just taken care of her brother-in-law. And that meant that Tommy knew, too.

“Kitchen,” Joel answered, cutting his brother’s question short and reaching into the cupboard for a second glass. Setting it on the counter, he opened the freezer and scooped a few ice cubes into his palm before dividing them between the two tumblers. They clinked against the cut glass but fell silent as Joel poured a few fingers of whiskey in each, turning around in time to see Tommy appear in the doorway. “Hey, little brother.”

Tommy’s eyes were alert as he gave Joel the once over, his heightened focus settling on the bandage on his arm. “Shit, you alright? Holly said-”

“M’fine, Tommy.” He picked up one of the glasses and handed it over, the younger man accepting it with visible relief. “Just a cut. Fell into some broken glass.”

Tommy raised one eyebrow. “You fell, huh?”

Joel rolled his eyes with a gruff groan. “Couple’a infected caught us by surprise at the eye doctor. Nothin’ we couldn’t handle.” He leaned back against the counter and lifted his glass to his lips, taking a swig.

“Jesus.” Tommy took a drink, too, bending forward to rest his elbows on the island in the center of the kitchen. He set his glass down but kept his fingers around it, forehead furrowing as he spoke your name in the form of a question. “She’s alright, too? Holly didn’t say anything about-”

Joel shook his head. “She’s fine, Tommy. Didn’t even have to stop at the clinic, so Holly didn’t see her.” He took another small drink, letting the rich amber liquid coat his tongue before swallowing. “She went straight back to her place from the stables.”

“Good.” Tommy nodded and blew out a breath, the last of the worry leaving his expression. “That’s good.” He cleared his throat and swirled the contents of his glass, watching the ice slide around the sides. “And uh… she did alright?” His eyes came back up then. “I mean, dealin’ with the infected and all?”

Joel recalled the way you snapped immediately into action, shifting seamlessly from defense to attack, muscle memory taking over and guiding your blade exactly where it needed to go without hesitation.

Alright’s an understatement.

You’d had a moment of panic in the aftermath, but though Joel was certain that was what Tommy was asking about with the addition of “and all”, he decided not to consider it in his response. Your explanation was solid. No harm had been done, and he didn’t think it warranted mentioning. Nor did the fact that he had only been knocked through the glass display case because he’d glanced in your direction first to make sure you didn’t need help.

We’re both fine. No point in worryin’ him over nothin’. She’s no more of a liability on a run than I am. She just… she needs time. Like we all did.

“Yeah,” he answered, brows pinched together as he took another drink. He shrugged his bandaged arm out in front of him. “She even patched me up once we were in the clear.”

Tommy’s eyes widened. “Well, shit.” The tiniest twitch of his mustache gave away a hidden smirk, and he used the hand holding his glass to point at Joel. “You mean you actually let someone take care of you?”

Joel rolled his eyes again. “Shut it, Tommy.”

That got a laugh out of him, the younger man setting his glass on the island to lift both hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m just messin’ with you, big brother.” He smiled, a smaller chuckle slipping through it as his hands dropped to the counter. “Really, though.” He nodded. “I’m glad you’re both okay.”

“Yeah.” Your near-smile flashed in Joel’s memory again as his eyes shifted to the magnet on the refrigerator. “Me too.” The kitchen fell silent for a handful of seconds, both men finishing their drinks before Joel spoke again. “Hey, do… do you remember that time you gave me a hand takin’ down the old oak tree in the yard?”

Tommy blinked, clearly surprised by the question, but didn’t ask why Joel had brought it up. Instead, he tilted his head, brow furrowed as he sorted through his memories. The moment he dug the right one from its hiding spot, his expression changed. The creases in his forehead smoothed out and gave way to curved lines around his mouth as he broke into a smile.

“Yeah.” He let out a huff of laughter, hanging his head and letting it shake from side to side before lifting it again. When he did he was still smiling, though there was a bittersweet shadow behind it. I know. You miss her too. “I remember us catchin’ hell for it.”

We sure did. Joel tipped the bottle to fill both glasses with a half measure, then screwed the cap back on and put the bottle back in the cabinet it came from.

The tree in question had been Sarah’s favorite. A swing hung from one of its branches, and Joel had tacked scraps of wood into the trunk that she used as footholds to scamper up so she could sit in the Y-shaped split in the center. And though she was only seven at the time, she had put up quite a fight when it came to taking it down. Joel could still picture the determined scowl on her face as she sat against the trunk. She had her scrawny arms crossed over her chest as she informed her father and her uncle that she wouldn’t let them kill her tree. What she didn’t know was that the tree was diseased, and that if left alone, not only would it become a safety hazard, but it ran the risk of infecting other nearby trees.

He matched Tommy’s smile. “That girl all but tied herself to that damn trunk.” Joel always had the suspicion that if she had the time and an accomplice to help her with the knots, she would have. “She could be persistent, huh?”

Tommy hummed. “Wonder where she got that from. What is it they say about apples again?” He laughed, but then curiosity got the better of him. “What…” He coughed to clear his throat. “What made you think’a that?”

I’m gettin’ to it. “You remember how I had to prove to her that the tree was sick? Took my pocket knife and scratched the bark so she could see it was already dyin’ underneath?” She had gasped when the scratch test revealed a grayish, ashy underlayer, her eyes going wide and her bottom lip quivering, tears threatening to spill as her outrage instantly turned to fear for the other trees in the yard. “I had to scrape ‘em all, show her the rest of ‘em were still green and alive, even though they all looked the same on the outside.”

Tommy’s eyes narrowed and he swallowed. “Yeah… Where you goin’ with this, Joel?”

“I been thinkin’ about how it’s like that for people, too. It was like that for me. It was like that for me for a long time, Tommy.” Tilting the glass in his hand, he watched the amber liquid collect in the corner of it, shining gold through the cut crystal where the overhead light struck. “Scratch test came up gray for years. Thought I’d never really feel anything again… Thought I was done.”

Straightening the glass, he let its contents slosh back to cover the bottom before bringing it to his lips and taking a sip. Honey and malt slid over his tongue, a subtle layer of smoke and spice following as he swallowed. Back in Boston, drinking wasn’t something he did for enjoyment or relaxation. It wasn’t for savoring or even tasting, really. Then he drank to forget. To sleep. To turn it all off. Here in Jackson though, he could share a drink with his brother and remember.

Remember what life tasted and looked and felt like. Remember his daughter. Remember who he was beneath all the dead wood around his heart.

“Yeah.” Tommy’s eyes were on his own glass, a frown pulling at his mouth and etching creases between his eyebrows again. “I know.” He cleared his throat and took a long swig, finishing his drink with a wince that cracked into a fool’s gold grin - one that Joel knew was covering feelings of guilt and empathy and other things Tommy still felt compelled to atone for even though Joel had tried his best to lay those things to rest in the years since their reunion. We were no good to each other like that, little brother. We would have just broken each other. I don’t blame you for leavin’. Not anymore. Tommy reached over, grin still stretched across his face but growing more genuine as he clapped Joel on the shoulder of his good arm. “But you ain’t done, you old fucker. Not yet.”

That was thanks almost entirely to Ellie and they both knew it. The girl was determined, borderline relentless, same as Sarah had been with the tree. She had been the one to keep scratching, keep digging, keep checking for the hint of green under all that twisted, lifeless gray. And when she found it, all the things that he thought had disappeared started coming out of their dormancy.

Things like jokes and laughter. Memories. The capacity to care deeply for others again. Things like movie nights. The things that made surviving the worst worthwhile.

It was also thanks in part to Jackson - and to Tommy and Maria for welcoming him and Ellie into their lives. Some days it terrified him, allowing himself to have so much to lose again. There were still times he worried that he had peeled back too many of those hardened layers. That he’d let his guard down too much, exposed his heart to happiness for too long and that it would all be lost to blight. But even on those days he knew what Tommy had just said to be true - that he wasn’t done yet.

And neither is she.

Joel spoke your name then, nodding solemnly. “I think it’s been like that for her for a long time, too.”

Tommy sighed. “Yeah.” He finished his drink and walked over to set the empty glass in the sink. “I got that impression, too.” Turning around, he tilted his head to one side. “You said she was alright on the trip though. Somethin’ happen?”

Joel took a breath in through his nose, letting it back out slowly. “Just…” He tapped his pointer finger absently against the glass he still held. “I think I saw that in her. The green underneath. I think… bein’ here is… it’s helpin’ her.” Even if she’s got a long way to go. “It’s… she’s still in there.”

You were. And Joel realized, for the first time since meeting Tess all those years ago in Boston, that he wanted to know that person - the person who showed him the hint of a genuine smile, the person who carefully and gently patched him up, the person who shared a coveted instant coffee packet with him to pass the time and stay warm on a chilly night. And that scares the hell outta me.

“Well that’s-” Tommy’s smile had nothing but warmth behind it that time. “That’s real good to hear.” He stepped away from the counter and towards the kitchen door then, bringing his hands together. “Well, I’ll get outta here so you can get yourself cleaned up and all. Just had to make sure you were good after we heard from Holly.”

Joel nodded, following him out into the living room. “Yeah. How’d you put it? Thanks for still givin’ a shit about me?” He heard his brother snort out a laugh before turning around to face him again.

“Yeah, exactly.” He paused then, the joking smile falling away to reveal something more serious yet still full of relief and warmth. When he spoke again his words were quiet, but they made a big impact. “It’s real good to hear you talk about Sarah again, too.”

With that, he left, and Joel was left to respond to the empty room. “Yeah. It is.”

– – –

Twenty minutes later he was drying off from the shower when he heard the sound of the back door opening, followed by the call of his name.

“Joel? You home?” Ellie’s voice was muffled by the closed door and the towel that he was dragging over his hair.

Ellie? Thought she was stayin’ out tonight?

He called back. “Yeah. Gimme five minutes, I’ll be right down.”

Moving from the bathroom into his bedroom, Joel pulled clean clothes and underwear from his dresser - a pair of thick navy blue sweatpants along with a dark gray t- shirt and a pair of wool socks. Easing the shirt carefully over his wrapped bicep, he sighed, knowing that as soon as Ellie saw it she would react. She hated seeing him injured, as anyone would hate to see someone they cared about get hurt. But Joel knew that in her case, it was more than that. In her case, it reminded her of those dark days in Colorado, when she did all she could to keep him alive and still wasn’t sure he would make it through the night.

It won’t always be like that, though. ‘Least I hope not. For her sake.

The thought of covering it up with a loose fitting flannel or long sleeved shirt didn’t even occur to him, though. After coming clean about everything that happened in Salt Lake City with the Fireflies and the doctor they were working with, Joel made a solemn vow to himself that he’d never withhold the truth from her again. Even when it might hurt. Especially when it might hurt. Because he knew that nothing he’d done in that hospital had hurt her more than the lie he told her on the outskirts of Jackson.

And I’ll never do that to her again.

As he made his way down the stairs, he heard her moving around in the kitchen, the sound of plates being set on the counter meeting his ears. “I’m making sandwiches,” she yelled when the fourth step from the bottom creaked under his weight. “You want one?”

“Sure, kiddo.” What happened to stayin’ with your friends? Everything alright?” He wasn’t trying to distract her by keeping her talking before she saw his arm, but Joel wanted her to hear it in his voice that he was okay.

She groaned. “Kat and Dina are having some kind of stupid drama and I didn’t wanna get sucked into it so I decided to come home. You know, they’re both important to me but sometimes they can just - Fuck! Joel! What the?”

He’d walked into the kitchen at the same time that she looked up from the slices of bread that she was piling with leftover chicken, the sight of him making her stop what she was doing and scramble around the island to stand in front of him.

“Hey, hey, it’s…” He held up both hands, only wincing a little at the pull of his stitches when he lifted his arm. “I’m fine, Ellie. Just a cut.”

“Well …” Her eyes were wide but she tore them from the bandage to look up at him. “Well, what happened? I thought it was supposed to be an easy run?”

“It was. But you know as well as I do that easy runs can turn, yeah?” He reached forward, placing his hand on her shoulder and tilting his head to the side. “Hey. I’m okay, kiddo.” Giving her a light squeeze, he waited for her to nod and accept what he was saying, and then he shot a glance at the half-finished sandwiches. “C’mon, I’m starvin’. Let’s eat and I’ll fill you in.”

Just like he did the night that he and Tommy brought you into town, Joel sat down and told her everything that happened at the optometrist’s office - how the pair of infected had seemingly come from nowhere and were suddenly on the two of you, how the one that lunged at him managed to knock him backwards and through a glass case, how you had made sure that the wound was cleaned and tended to as best as you could. And though she had been concerned and rattled at the beginning of his story, Ellie was wearing something close to a smirk as he finished.

“Oh.” She bit off a mouthful of her sandwich, raising her eyebrows as she chewed and speaking again before she swallowed. “So you like… really trust this chick, huh?”

Joel clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. Her too? First Tommy and now- “That’s your comment? Not ‘Well I’m glad you had someone there to help you, Joel’?”

Ellie rolled her eyes right back. “Yeah, yeah that too. But I mean…” She gave a casual, one-shouldered shrug. “First you let her take care of you, then you decide to both sleep at the same time instead of taking shifts?” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. “You never do that unless it’s me or Tommy.” Something dawned on her then, and she turned mid-chew toward the sink, gesturing towards it with the hand that still held what was left of her sandwich. “Wait. Is that why there’s two glasses in there? Did she come over when you got back to town?”

“What? No. Ellie…” He sighed, and shook his head. “No. There’s two glasses in the sink because Tommy was here earlier, not-”

“Well you should invite her over for dinner then. As a thank you-” She emphasized her intention to silence his protest. “- for sewing you up, you know?”

Joel took a bite of his food, chewing it slowly to buy himself more time before answering. The idea of having you in his home, sharing a meal, talking and laughing - he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t like it. But I don’t know if she…

He thought back to his own first few months in Jackson and how skittish he was every time someone would try to include him in anything that wasn’t directly related to security or survival. It all still seemed so impractical. Cookouts and movie nights and holidays while the world outside the walls continued to crumble? And then there was the guilt. That grating, shredding near-constant feeling that he shouldn’t be there - shouldn’t be safe, shouldn’t be happy or comfortable or even alive - not when Tess didn’t get to be there too. Not when Sarah never had a chance to. You hadn’t said much about the things you’d been through or the people you’d lost, other than that you’d recently lost your nephew. But Joel knew from experience that while those devastating wounds never fully healed, they did become less raw when they were given some time.

I’d like it. But I don’t know if she’s ready for somethin’ like that. He swallowed and brought a hand up to wipe his mouth. Yet.

“Maybe when the weather’s nicer an’ we can cook outside.” He got up from the table and took his plate with him, setting it in the sink next to the two glasses.

The scrape of chair legs on the floor told him that Ellie had gotten up, too, the girl appearing at his elbow to stack her plate atop his. “What does the weather have to do with-” He shot her a look then and she rolled her eyes. “Alright, fine. But we’re circling back to this in June.”

Joel leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Speakin’ of circling back, you said somethin’ about your friends fightin’? You wanna talk about that?” He lifted one eyebrow as she shot him a look of her own.

“I do not.”

Joel snorted a laugh. “Alright, then. Just try not to go breakin’ too many hearts, yeah? You don’t-”

Without missing a beat, Ellie grabbed the dish towel that was hanging on the oven handle, balling it up and throwing it at his face. “Shut up.” She was laughing too, though, bending down to pick up the towel after Joel had batted it away. “So stupid.” Straightening back up with an exaggerated sigh, she whipped the towel onto the countertop. “On that note, I’m gonna get outta here.” She glanced at his arm, mouth dipping into a quick frown that was gone by the time she looked back up at his face. “I’m glad you’re home, Joel. Have a good night.”

He smiled, chest warming as he did. “G’night, kiddo. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that she turned and was nearly out the door when something caught her eye and she stopped in front of the refrigerator. “Hey, you got a new magnet.” She pointed at the note she’d left him, now stuck up with the square-ish shape of Wyoming. “I used the cowhead one but this one’s-” She looked over her shoulder, a smirk beginning to grow. “You brought home a souvenir from your trip, huh? So you could remember it? Any reason for that?”

Joel narrowed his eyes at her, but all it did was pull a laugh out of her. “Good night, Ellie.” She laughed all the way down the back porch steps but Joel didn’t mind. She ain’t wrong.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tags for this or any of my stories, please feel free to let me know! You can also fill out the form on my masterlist!

Tags: @something-tofightfor @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @amb11 @mindidjarin @jk7789 @tentacruels @cannedsoupsucks @harriedandharassed @marauderskeeper @joelmillerscoffee @woodlandmouth @swtaura @grfields @valkblue @stealyourblorbos @sleepylunarwolf @trickstersp8 @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @competentpotato @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @mumma-moonchild @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharine @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @Noisynightmarepoetry

#survivor blues interlude #survivor blues #tlou fic #joel miller #pedrostories #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #tlou joel #tlou ellie #ellie williams #tommy miller #the last of us #the last of us fic #tlou #pedro pascal character #survivor blues: joel pov #survivor blues: dead wood

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towine · 1 year

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[alhaitham/cyno] be sweet

~900 words / rated T

i was digging in my WIPs folder and found a ficlet i’d forgotten about. i remember the idea striking me on a long car ride a couple months ago, just one of those random things that i Had to start writing while the idea was in my head.

the idea was, simply, ‘what if cyno could tie a cherry stem with his tongue?’

- -

“Come now, you can’t tell me the General Mahamatra has not a single party trick up his sleeve.”

Alhaitham’s voice had taken a syrupy quality. It could be attributed to the wine he was nursing, though Cyno knew he hadn’t had more than half a glass. Alhaitham so rarely spoke without a point, and time had given Cyno more experience discerning what that point may be, in any given conversation.

In this case, he was trying to get a rise out of him. To what end—well. The what was always easier to figure out than the why.

“I don’t wear sleeves,” Cyno replied.

Alhaitham rolled his eyes. “Oh spare me, Cyno.”

Cyno hid a smile by taking a cherry from a bowl on the table and popping it in his mouth.

Around the cherry pit, he said, “I thought you wanted me to entertain you.”

“I don’t believe I’m the first to tell you your jokes are far from entertaining.”

“Allow me to explain—“

“No, no,” Alhaitham said with a wave of his hand. “Please forget I said anything.”

They went quiet after that, in their secluded corner of Alhaitham’s dining room. The rest of the attendants of that night’s group dinner were gathered in the living room, seated on the couches or on the rug and hotly debating different home rules for a game of mancala. Alhaitham and Cyno had elected to refrain from participating. Kaveh was making a heartfelt, if meandering, case for himself. Dehya was savagely denying him.

Cyno said, “If you’re so bored, you can join them, you know.”

“Not really where my interests lie.” Alhaitham set down his now empty glass. “You are a far more fascinating subject.”

Maybe he was drunk after all, Cyno thought. Alhaitham would not otherwise be so candid.

“You don’t prefer to read one of your books?” Cyno asked.

“No—no more books on dinner nights. I learned my lesson last time when Kaveh spilled wine on my lap. He was lucky it wasn’t one of my more prized books.”

“That was pretty funny, though.” Cyno nearly smiled recalling it. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so angry. Your face turned puce.”

“Puce,” Alhaitham said, wrinkling his nose. “Ugh.”

“Not much can crack the Scribe’s exterior,” Cyno continued. He plucked another cherry from the bowl. “At least, that’s what the rumors say.”

“And you believe them?” Alhaitham asked, tilting his head.

Cyno shrugged a shoulder. “There’s some truth to it. But I don’t think you’re as unflappable as people say.”

“Really? And what data do you have to support this hypothesis?”

Cyno regarded him for a moment, mouth closed but teeth still chewing on the cherry he’d eaten, its tartness flooding his tongue.

He spat the pit out, then twirled the stem between his thumb and forefinger.

“You wanted a party trick, right?” he said.

Alhaitham blinked. Before he could respond, Cyno stuck the stem into his mouth.

He made a point of locking eyes with Alhaitham. Alhaitham looked confused. Already he was proving Cyno’s point. Cyno would have grinned if his mouth weren’t preoccupied.

He hadn’t done this in a while, but the motions came back to him quickly enough. His jaw flexed slightly as he worked his tongue behind his closed mouth. Alhaitham’s gaze melted from confusion to something hazier, his eyes occasionally flitting down to Cyno’s mouth.

Finally, Cyno parted his lips and reached for the tip of the cherry stem, bitten between his teeth. He pulled it out.

The stem was now tied in a small knot.

“Ta-da,” Cyno said flatly. He allowed himself one smirk. “Impressive enough for you?”

Alhaitham grabbed him by the jaw.

It caught Cyno by surprise, prompting a small gasp. It was a sudden movement but not an ungentle one. Alhaitham’s palm was broad and warm, cupping Cyno’s chin easily. His thumb settled against the hinge of Cyno’s jaw and pushed, not hard, just applying enough pressure to encourage Cyno to part his lips. Cyno’s heartbeat pounded in his ears.

“How did you do that?” Alhaitham murmured, eyes fixed to Cyno’s lower lip. Perhaps the cherry had stained it.

“Practice,” Cyno breathed. He snuck a glance at the others in the living room. They were still focused on the game.

“That’s all?”

“I could show you.” Cyno’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Just not here.”

Alhaitham hummed. “What if I’d like to see it here?”

Cyno scoffed. Beneath the table, he moved his foot to brush along the inside of Alhaitham’s calf, then upwards, towards the bend of his knee. Alhaitham inhaled sharply through his nose.

“Trust me,” Cyno said, “I can show you more somewhere else.”

Alhaitham seemed to consider it. “Fine,” he said. “Your place?”

“My place. I’ll leave first. Follow in five minutes.”

Cyno rose from his seat, pulling himself out of Alhaitham’s grip. He swallowed against the sudden loss of warmth. He glanced at the others who continued to pay them no mind, then he looked at Alhaitham, staring up at him expectantly. Cyno supposed he deserved something to tide him over.

He bent down and pressed his mouth to Alhaitham’s in a quick, heated kiss. The taste of cherries mingled between them, sweet and heady, before Cyno pulled away. Alhaitham leaned in to chase his mouth.

“Don’t keep me waiting long,” Cyno murmured.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Alhaitham said. There: a hint of a smile. Too easy.

Cyno popped another cherry into his mouth before walking away, feeling the weight of Alhaitham’s gaze on him the entire time.

#cytham #haino #genshin impact #alhaitham #cyno #caiwrites #just trying to do some housekeeping and clean out da wips..... they are filling my home

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luketaluketa · 9 months

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i was organizing some files and found all the wip stuff from the previous secret samol for @/seamonsterart (go check out their work!), and these are two of my favorite illustrations ever, so here's some insight into how i made these!

for starters i already had a pretty much finished design for pickman that i had first drawn back in 2021

she has a completely wrong gun in this version because i did not remember how it was supposed to look like and couldn't find a description of it anywhere. she's wearing a hat because i forgot it was supposed to be a helm and so i ended up giving her the large hat just because the long horns coming through it are a fun image, though today i cannot imagine her wearing anything else. she already has the sword she takes from the lake skeletons, also. her armor is based on the armor the torumekian soldiers and kushana wear in nausicaa of the valley of the wind, with the incredible neck guard and long cape covering their entire body

i've always loved these designs and how the plates are evocative of insects, but also how mysterious they look with covered faces and bodies. matter of fact, at this point i had no fucking idea what pickman looked like below the cape.

the second inspiration is the young man from angel's egg.

OK, STAY WITH ME. i cannot explain this other that in my head pickman and him are VERY similar characters. the image of the half pulled cape while he holds his sword-cross-thing over his shoulder and the quiet demeanor are pretty fundamental to how i try to make pickman FEEL. i actually wanted her armor to have more piping, pulling from the biomechanical appearance of his sword-cross, but it didn't feel quite right

and the third inspiration is less inspiration and more reference work, the book "arms & armor, a pictorial archive" by carol grafton

it's a compilation of illustration works sourced from several books from the 19th century. VERY cool book to take a look at historical armor. it's on the internet archive for free!

there was also a fair ammount of looking at goats and sheep, but eventually i reached this after learning i suck at drawing furry designs. big shoutout to the furry community for making so many tutorials available btw. in highlight a very important study of the character.

now that i kinda knew what pickman looked like i entered the wonderful phase of "i don't know what the fuck i'm doing" which resulted in a bunch of bad doodles now sitting in a folder dubbed "dev hell". at this point i kinda had an idea for a relaxed scene based on one of the prompts, which i developed for a while on blender but eventually gave up on.

i then moved on to the second prompt, of pickman being badass. i decided on a low angle to make pickman look incredibly tall but the low angle of a goat's head legitimately kicked my ass so i eventually made a goat head on blender and used it to generate references with the help of designdoll. here i made her design a lot more muscular and fat, also, eventually coming to her final design.

the valve on her chestplate looks WRONG to me now, but at the time i was so tired i just rolled with it. the first pass of her armor was in a completely wrong color, which i corrected later on photoshop. i added the little metal forks pulling from her 2021 design, and the idea of little musical forks for atunning to the shape was cool to me. i also corrected her gun after actually learning what the fuck it was supposed to look like. i already knew i wanted her to be standing on the field of canola flowers, and the sky in the background was the last thing i added, also the time when i decided to really make the picture tall.

i liked the final result so much i went back and started working on the first prompt again. had a horrible time drawing the horns in the second image which led to this hell cage for building the perspective. im still not confident on the horns on the side of the head. i wanted to bring the atmosphere of a cold winter or fall morning in the second one, and to make pickman seem tired but relaxed. i overall like the second picture a lot more than the first and was very happy with how it came out.

AND THAT'S HOW THE SAUSAGE IS MADE I GUESS. if you read this whole thing then thank you for your time!

#fatt #f@tt #friendsatthetable #friends at the table #pickman #ernestina pickman #sangfielle #wip #breakdown #luketaart #brazilian artists

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jerzwriter · 9 months

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A Moment in Time... (Carolina's POV)

We don't know the ending to Crimes of Passion 2 yet, but I'm feeling angsty...

Book: Crimes of Passion 2 Pairing: M!Trystan Thorne x F!MC (Carolina Rose) Rating: Teen Category: AU / Angst Words: 3,500 Summary: What happens when you find the person you're destined to love forever, but you're forced to do it apart? Trystan & Carolina had a special love from the start, but when they couldn't find a way to bridge their two worlds, they were forced to go their separate ways. Two years have passed, and while Trystan will always have a piece of her heart, Carolina has found a way to move on. But when news from Drakovia brings everything crashing back to the surface, she's forced to relive the pain of losing him again - and this time - is it for good?

A/N: This will be two parts: this one is from Carolina's point of view, and the second part will be from Trystan's. Participating in @choicesmonthlychallenge - Past WIPS May 2023 - Breakup.

Tommy anxiously wiped the bar down for what felt like the hundredth time. It always upset him when business was slow on a Friday night, and he was ready to grumble about it when he caught a glimpse of Carolina sitting at the other end of the bar. Hunched over, with a dozen folders stacked around her, scribbling furiously in a weathered notebook, it took him back to another time. Perhaps things being slow wasn’t so bad, at least not tonight.

Carolina hadn't wilfully created a scene from the past, but Tommy adding to it was quite intentional. Filling a tall glass with crushed ice, he mixed one of Carolina’s old favorites and then placed the beverage before her. Absorbed in her work, she didn’t notice the caramel-colored concoction until her uncle was practically hovering over her. Then, she gazed up with the slightest smile, warming her uncle's heart.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“A cherry Coke. What else?”

“You haven’t made me a cherry Coke since I was sixteen.”

“Well, you haven’t asked for one,” he grinned. “But looking at you now... you look like the young girl who used to do her homework sitting right here. You were every bit as focused on your studies back then as you are on your work now.”

“Yeah,” she scoffed, shutting her notebook and resting on her elbows. “All that hard work led me to great success. I still live upstairs from your bar.”

“Well, New York is ridiculously expensive!” He smiled. “Besides, Carolina, a person is successful if they are doing what they love and their life has meaning. You have both of those things.”

“I know,” she whispered.

He gently squeezed his niece’s hand as they exchanged a knowing look. Looking for a diversion, Carolina lifted the sugary drink to her lips.

“I probably don’t tell you this enough, sobrina, but I’m so proud of you.”

Despite her sadness, her smile morphed into the real thing. “Te amo, tio.”

“Yo tambien te amo.”

The bells affixed to the front door jingled, welcoming Luke to the Drunk Tank. He sauntered over and sat beside his friend.

“I feel like I’m interrupting a moment,” he jested.

“That’s because you are,” Carolina confirmed.

“But don’t worry,” Tommy grinned, filling another glass with ice. “I’ve got plenty for you, too.”

“What is it?” Luke asked, his face crumpling as the sugary liquid coated his tongue.

“It’s a cherry Coke. And not the canned crap! This is the old-school fountain-made variety. My uncle makes it better than anyone.”

“What are we, sixteen?”

“No wonder you two are friends!” Tommy laughed.

Luke watched Tommy walk away to greet a newly arrived customer to ensure he and Carolina were alone before he brought up the topic he had been dreading.

“So, uh...," he nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "Are you doing all right? Seriously?”

The look of annoyance in Carolina's eyes was swift.

“I’m doing the same as I was two hours ago when we left the office. I was fine then, and I’m fine now.”

“OK,” he raised his hands in surrender. “I had to ask because you’re my friend, I care about you. Also...”

“... Ruby told you to.”

“She may have mentioned it,” he snickered, lifting his ringing phone from his pocket. “Speaking of Ruby...”

“Go, go,” Carolina waved him away. “Take the call and tell her I said hello.”

“Are you sure?”

Her patience tried, she shoved him from his stool. "GO!"

She shook her head with amusement as she watched him retreat to a quiet corner. She knew he meant well, so did Ruby, Mafalda, and Tommy... but none of them understood; fussing over her only made things worse.

“I knew I should have gone away this weekend,” she mumbled, massaging her sore temples with a wince.

Her headache wasn’t going away anytime soon. But seeing Luke grinning like a lovesick fool helped more than any painkiller ever could. She'd never get used to the way her curmudgeonly friend’s face still lit up when he spoke to her, even as they were approaching their second anniversary. She let out a shuddering breath... it would have been her second anniversary with Trystan, too, if...

No! She couldn’t allow her mind to go there. Nervously shuffling her papers, she returned to her work. Focus! She was not going to do this. She had come too far... she was doing too well. These days, most of her smiles were even real. There was no way she was allowing the next few days to undo the hard-earned progress she'd made. The past was in the past, and she was living in the present... exactly where she chose to be. She had her career, her friends, and her family... she had a wonderful life in New York, and that’s what mattered. This was her life, her real life and that didn't include runaway princes and would-be-kings... at least, not anymore.

The television had been humming along in the background all night, no more than soothing background noise, no one paid it any mind, Carolina least of all. But life had a way of bringing the things we hide from to the surface, and two sentences caught her attention.

Sticks and stones could break bones, but the old saying was wrong, words could absolutely ruin us. And the reporter's words were like knives, cutting through the ambient chatter as smoothly as a knife cuts through butter until they landed squarely in Carolina's heart.

She knew she should turn away. Walk across the room and grab a table with Luke. Retire to her bed for the evening. Anything but stand there and listen. But the trap had been set, a reporter bedecked in feather fascinator the bait. Her breath hitched, and the world went still.

“The crowds are already lining up for Sunday’s big event! People are willing to sleep in the street for two nights just to catch a glimpse of their king and his soon-to-be queen....”

Carolina could hear her breath, deep, slow, and measured. She could control that, unlike her rapidly beating heart. She had carefully avoided the coverage. Even as every reporter in the city vied for her comments. She and Trystan had become a media sensation after resolving the Hand of Mahra murders, and as his wedding approached, the public's curiosity was piqued.

She had become adept at sneaking in and out of side entrances and wearing her hood at the perfect angle to avoid recognition. Still, some managed to capture her, and she didn't know how many more plastered smiles she could offer when she said she wished him well. In recent days, she resorted to a terse, “No comment.” But that backfired horribly. The next day’s New York Post headline read: “Jilted Detective Bitter Over Ex-Partners Regal Fiance.” And now she found herself transfixed, still trying to comprehend how it could be. He was once her everything, and she was his; they'd live in each other's hearts forever. But today, she was just one of the nameless, faceless millions tuning in to watch the pageantry unfold.

The reporter described the gilded carriage that would deliver Trystan to the cathedral and the delicate ivory roses his bride had selected for her bouquet. The guest list read like a who’s who of dignitaries from around the world... a list on which her name would never appear. Still, the more she saw, the more she was assured that she had made the right choice. That was a life she could never live.

“... while the details of Princess Jia’s gown are as closely guarded as a state secret, we have been told that it will be an eggshell silk creation made by none other than the groom’s sister, fashion designer Marguerite Thorne.”

Carolina lurched forward; the knife in her heart retreated and plunged into her once more, and she was now mortally wounded.

“.... that’s all for now, but don’t forget to tune in tomorrow! We won’t be leaving Drakovia until the wedding is over on Sunday! Now, back to you, Phil.”

With a loud click, the TV went dark, and she felt her uncle's presence behind her.

“Lo siento, mi nina; I should have changed the channel sooner.”

“It’s OK,” she shrugged. “It’s unavoidable. At least they didn’t mention his storied past in New York.”

“Why would they,” Luke sniffed, returning to her side. “His family wants to sweep that unfortunate chapter of his life under the rug like it never happened.”

“Yeah,” Carolina chuckled ruefully. “Unfortunately... it’s unforgettable for some of us.”

“Carolina,” Tommy muttered.

He reached for her hand, but she successfully dodged his touch. Pushing back from the bar, she announced she was heading to her room.

“Why don’t you let me....” Luke started, but he was quickly cut off.

“I’m going to my room... alone!”

“All right, but Ruby will be here shortly. Can I send her up when she arrives?”

Riddled with guilt, her face fell. Snapping at her loved ones, who were only trying to help her, wasn't something she liked to do, but they didn't understand how desperately she needed to escape.

“Just... just let me be for a little bit... can we do that? Please.”

“Of course,” Tommy asserted, his eyes landing on Luke's with a stern gaze. “But only if you promise to call us if you need us. We’re here for you.”

“I promise,” she replied with a melancholy smile, then she rushed up the stairs.

She was out of breath before she reached the first landing, even though she jogged five miles every day. It wasn't her body that was failing her, but her heart her mind who wouldn't set her free. It was two years ago, she reminded herself, and they didn’t come to their decision lightly. It was the best outcome, given the cards they were dealt. Trystan felt an obligation to his people and couldn’t leave; her life was in New York, and she couldn’t stay. A nation looked to him as a beacon of hope for the future, but with each day that passed, Carolina felt hers fading. Suffocating in a place that could never be her home.

The final word arrived the night of Trystan's coronation, and in many ways, she could have considered it a gift. After all, it gave her an easy out. Still, they wounded her soul, and even as they were spoken, she knew they were inflicting a pain from which she'd never recover.

“I tried,” King Father Maksim said gravely. “The session lasted into the early morning hours, but I was the only one backing the measure to change the Constitution. The future queen must be another royal or, at minimum, a Drakovian aristocrat. There is no way that....”

“That’s bullshit!” Trystan spat, his face twisted with rage, eyes glistening with tears. “I'm the king! I'm the goddamn king! I'll change it!”

“Son. It isn't that simple. You'll come to understand that the monarchy is more than just one man, more than any one person. We exist at the will of the people; we exist because of the traditions that are in place. If those ideals are eradicated, in time, so too will we.”

“Then let it be! If the monarchy is too weak to withstand the pressure of its king marrying the woman he loves, then it doesn’t deserve to stand.”

“Trystan,” his father sighed sympathetically. “I, of all people, understand.” He turned his attention to Carolina. “It’s nothing against you personally, dear. And you can remain here; no one would bat an eye. I spoke with Eveline, and she’d be delighted to speak with you. You and Trystan can still share a loving, happy....”

“No!” Carolina barked. “Absolutely not. No disrespect to you or Eveline, I understand you have your way of life, but I have mine, and I will never allow myself to be relegated to living in the shadows.”

Trystan’s eyes locked on hers, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “And I love you too much to ever ask you to do so."

Maksim stepped back and cautiously moved toward the door. “Then, it appears you have a decision to make,” he smiled. “I hope you’ll both choose wisely.”

She reached her bedroom and opened the window, hoping the cool evening air would quell the anxiety rising in her chest, but asking the night air to cure a broken heart was a tall order. She collapsed on her bed, clutching her pillow tightly against her chest. Time, she had been told, time would heal all wounds. Perhaps two years wasn't long enough? But as her eyes screwed shut and a single tear rolled down her cheek, she knew. Two years or two hundred, nothing would ever change. She’d have to make a place for the pain, the same way she had when she lost her father years before. It wouldn't be as raw in time, but any wound that cut this deep would still fester each time it was touched.

She could almost feel the gentle mist that fell on the cobblestone terrace. Drakvoia was always so cold and damp, but that night, it numbed her to her bones. The butler had just left her room with her luggage in tow, and a town car was waiting to whisk her to the airport. She wondered if Viktoria and the other Thornes, save two, had already popped the bubbly. An unwelcomed guest who had long outlived her stay. She was an impediment to using Trystan for their own whims, and they were as delighted to see her go as she would be leaving... if only he were by her side.

She knew she had already seen him for the last time. He had been conspicuously absent all day. Their discussions leading up to their decision were long and painful; riddled with anger at the situation, they managed to turn on each other. It was too cruel, too twisted. Fate couldn’t give you something this beautiful, this precious, only to rip it away... could it? They already knew that answer, as they had lived it before.

Resigned to accept that they weren’t exempt from having their heart destroyed a second time, their anger morphed into sorrow. Their pain into grief. They crumpled to the marble floor together, clinging to each other until they had no more tears to spare. Then Trystan lifted her and carried her to his bed to be together one last time. They prayed for time to stand still, but to their great dismay, it carried on. When the morning arrived, Carolina woke up alone, a note she would keep for the rest of time tacked to the pillow where Trystan's head had rested just hours before.

My dearest Carolina, I hope you’ll forgive me and not think of me as a coward, but I can’t bear to say goodbye. I want us to live with last night as our final memory of each other. One final, precious night when I was yours, and you were mine. Fate has been wicked to us, but please know, as I walk through this life, forever longing for your touch, my heartache will be consoled by one thing and one thing alone, knowing that despite our forced separation, I will always be yours. I hope, in some small way, you will always be mine as well. Please remember me, Carolina. For I will never forget you. Yours forever, Trystan.

Tears streamed down her face as the mist turned to rain, but she wiped them off before returning inside. She was not walking out of this cursed palace letting them know they had broken her. She could save the breakdown for the plane or when she was back in New York. When she was back in the arms of her family and friends who would help her glue her broken pieces back together, but the Thornes... she would never give them the satisfaction.

Marguerite was waiting for her when she stepped outside her bedroom door. They exchanged sad smiles before Marguerite pulled her into a warm embrace.

“You’re better than them,” she whispered. “I’m so proud of you for staying strong. Don’t let them see how much they’ve hurt you.”

“I won’t,” Carolina’s voice cracked.

Then, her dear friend accompanied her as she descended the grand staircase one last time. Carolina flatly ignored the few siblings who stood in dark corners. They hadn’t come to bid her farewell but to snicker and ensure her place in their family's history was done. She didn’t offer them the dignity of an acknowledgment as she exited through the castle doors.

Once outside, Carolina tugged at Marguerite’s wrist. “I’ve got it from here, Mags. I need to do this alone.”

“If you’re sure,” Marguerite began. “But I’m calling you the moment I’m back in New York. You’re not getting rid of me so easily.”

Carolina smiled politely, she didn't know if she could keep someone who reminded her so much of her lost love in her life. But her heart couldn't handle another goodbye.

“Yes,” she swallowed. “When you’re back in New York...”

Marguerite diverted her eyes, looking all around the now-dark entranceway. “I can’t believe he’s not here!”

“No!” Carolina interrupted. “No, Mags, it’s too hard for him... and for me... I’ll be... We’ll be fine. Somehow, we’ll be fine.”

The two women embraced for a long while, then Carolina turned and walked to the waiting car. With each step she took, her composure began to crumble. Blinded by tears, her body began to tremble. Just a few more steps, she coaxed herself, just a few more steps. Her hand was on the handle of the door when...

“Carolina!” Trystan’s voice echoed as he rushed down the stairs.

“Trystan?”

He took her face in his hands as he approached her, lovingly brushing her wet tendrils from her face.

“I had to... I had to see you one last time,” he cried. “I’m so sorry....”

“No,” Carolina choked, biting her lower lip in a feeble attempt to stop her tears. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Trystan. This isn’t... it’s neither of our faults.”

“I love you, Carolina Rose,” he said earnestly. “I swear I have loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you, and I will love you until the day I die.”

“And I love you,” she wept as they sealed the moment with a kiss. It wasn’t an ordinary kiss; it was wrapped with a love and an ache few would ever know. It wove a world of yesterdays, today, and a world of tomorrows that would never come to be into one precious moment. A solitary kiss that would need to sustain them for the rest of time.

Mustering up every ounce of strength within her, Carolina pulled back, her hand caressing Trytan’s moonlit face for one last time.

“Goodbye, Trystan,” she whispered as she jumped into the car. “Drive!” she ordered. “DRIVE NOW!”

She wasn’t as strong as she appeared, and if she had stayed another second, she knew she would have crumbled. She would have done something stupid - agreed to anything if it would keep him in her life, even if she knew it would destroy her in the end. The driver followed her orders, but as the car rolled toward the exit gates, Carolina turned back once more, only to find a bereft Trystan standing in the rain, watching everything that had given his life meaning disappear into the night, taking her back to a place that was no longer his home.

Since that night, Trystan reached out to Carolina only once. Unable to imagine a life without her presence, he hoped they attempt to be friends. Carolina politely declined, telling him that perhaps one day, as soon as she fell out of love with him. It would be far too painful now. But as the days marched on, he realized she would never call, for falling out of love with each other was never an option.

And now... he was getting married. The palace’s public relations team wove together a fairy tale that most of the world had fallen for. It was so convincing that even Carolina occasionally wondered if it was true. Perhaps he moved on, and Jia was real love. But it only took one glimpse of Trystan on TV tonight to erase all doubt.

“My Trystan,” she sobbed into her pillow.

It was so unfair. Both forced to serve life sentences for crimes they did not commit.

Hours passed, and Carolina cried all the tears she had to give. Convinced that wallowing in self-pity had to end, she texted her friends and let them know she was doing better. She could order a pizza and some ice cream; maybe she’d be all right with one person joining her. She called Ruby and asked if she would spend the night, and she agreed at once. She was already halfway home but insisted she’d turn around and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Caroline dragged herself into the bathroom washed her face and put on her softest, flannel pajamas... the ones she saved for when self-care was not an option. Her hands shook as she sipped a cup of chamomile tea, eagerly waiting for Ruby's arrival. She knew she’d be all right. She had no idea when or even how, but she knew she’d feel better one day. She had to, it couldn't always feel like this.

Several minutes passed and, lost in thought, Carolina was startled by a knock on her door. Wiping her eyes, she jumped to her feet, eager to fall into Ruby's warm embrace. She pulled the door open.

“Wow, that was fast!” she exclaimed, then the world did what she had hoped for that night back in Drakovia... it stopped on its axis, and all time stood still. “It’s... it’s you.”

Yeah... I left you hanging there. :) I hope you enjoyed it!

@choicesficwriterscreations @choicesbookclub

Tagging separately.

Part Two: Trystan's POV

#choices fanfic #crimes of passion #crimes of passion 2 #trystan thorne #trystan thorne x f!mc #choices the stories you play #playchoices #playchoices fanfic #cfwc fics of the week

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dispatchvampire · 4 months

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Accidentally in Love (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x FemaleOC

Warnings: Potentially lethal levels of fluffiness right now, potential for smut later. A little blood, canon levels of violence potentially. Plus size female OC, body descriptions.

Rating: PG-13 (right now for language, but look for this to change)

WC: 1800-ish.

Summary:

Echo's living a normal life in NYC, a 911 dispatcher, the most excitement she gets is from the calls she takes. And then love comes crashing in one day when she's riding her bike through Central Park.

Steve and Bucky weren't looking for anything on their daily run around the park besides fresh air and exercise. The streak of purple eye candy on a bike that lapped them pretty regularly was a nice addition but not mandatory, at least until some impromptu roughhousing results in some civilian casualties in the form of the most beautiful woman either of them had seen in a long, long time.

A/N: AU, Post CACW, Bucky’s Chill and we have always lived in the Tower. Just call this a throwback to the found family, everyone lives in Stark Tower fics.

This is supposed to be a super-fluffy love story. Still undecided if I'm gonna keep this one going but posting now for giggles and grins. It's got some CSI:NY characters crossing over because why not.

I'm just messing about and playing in my WIPs folder. Not Beta'd: we die like men! (honestly, I tried but if you catch something I missed, let me know)

Chapter 3

One Week Later

“Is he hot in person?”

“Who?” Echo slipped her lunch into the breakroom fridge and pulled out the two cold bottles of caffeinated water she’d left in there the previous night. Late afternoon as it slipped into evening was always a busy time and she needed the fortification.

“Spongebob Squarepants,” Kalenda, her work bestie, scoffed as she crossed her arms with an impatient frown. The curvy brunette was Echo’s age, about two inches shorter but making up for it with feistiness. “Who do you think? Bucky freaking Barnes! Christ, it’s like you don’t even know me at all.”

“Lord…” she rolled her eyes as she held the door to the break room open for her friend to pass in front of her on their way into the main center. “Yes. Yes, he is just as beautiful in person, and he and Captain Rogers together are, in fact, as kind and stupidly hot as advertised.” After the visit at the hospital where they’d returned her replaced or repaired belongings—including her bike—Echo had traded numbers with Steve and Bucky, and the guys had texted her a few times in the intervening days to check on her and chatting a little, but it felt weird reaching out to contact them just because. It wasn’t like they were friends or anything.

Not that she wouldn’t have minded being their friend, or… well, or. They were gorgeous, sweet, funny so far as she could tell, and of course heroic and selfless as hell. The way they smiled at her made her knees weak and her pussy may never recover. What’s not to like? But who was she kidding, really. They were the objects of desire for over half the planet, she guessed, and she was a dispatcher for the NYPD. In no way were those worlds truly related, outside of the most superficial ways, much less were compatible.

“The hair and those eyes, I’d get so fucking lost in them you’d never find me again. And all those muscles,” she sighed lustily. “Fuck me, that’s before we even talk about that metal arm,” Kalenda carried on, now in full swoon as they made their way out to their stations. “Gods, the things I would let him do to me…”

Echo snorted at her friend’s obvious heart-eyes in regards to the Winter Soldier. She didn’t blame her at all, but still, their coworkers didn’t need to be privy to their depraved bestie conversations. That’s what the chat was for. “Annnnnnd that is how we end up back at the supervisor’s office for inappropriate work conversations.”

Kalenda scoffed, waving off her concern with a dismissive hand-wave. “Oh, like you’ve never said anything filthy.” Her wicked grin should have been the warning. “Something something ‘star-spangled cock could split you open any time he wanted’? Something something ‘break him down to the frame’... any of that sound familiar?”

Her leering green gaze as she slipped on her headset made Echo giggle even as heat rushed to her cheeks. “You could shut up any time now.”

The laughter was shortlived, though, as they settled into their workday. Having a headset on meant that it was time to serve the citizens of NYC and the officers of NYPD to the best of their abilities. They were one of, if not the, largest comm center in the country and Echo was proud of the work she did, contributing to the safety of her town.

It was easy to get lost in the work, one call at a time, one radio run at a time. Her focus, scattered as it could be at any other time, easily fell into the rhythm of call and response, action and reaction, hours slipping by unnoticed.

Voices behind her and down at the end of her row drew her attention, their familiarity abruptly yanking her out of the zone.

One pair of eyes zeroed in on her immediately. “Well, if it isn’t the crash test dummy.”

Boisterously loud for the locale, Tony Stark was the walking definition of ‘all eyes on me’. He may have been in a crazy expensive suit and tie, looking all prim and proper and what have you, but the curve of his lips promised the most interesting kinds of mischief.

Echo swallowed hard as she made herself unavailable for calls, her eyes quickly darting left and right to the unabashed gawking of her coworkers. Oh, they were still busy as hell, but the nosy bastards were never above a good spectacle. “Mr. Stark.”

“Did the phone meet your standards?” he demanded with a smirk that seemed a little too knowing. He stopped behind her chair, spinning her around to face him.

She nodded hesitantly. “It did, thank you. I mailed you a thank you note. Did you not get it?”

Yes, it had been an old school touch, but sending him an email seemed a little impersonal, especially since he’d gone to the trouble of transferring all her stuff over in addition to giving her a top of the line bit of tech. And it wasn’t like she could just show up on his doorstep with a casserole.

He snorted, his billion dollar smile on full display as his eyes crinkled at the edges. “I did, but then, I expected nothing less considering you hang out with the geriatric set.”

She was about to ask what he meant when another voice cut her off. “Tony, Jesus, man. Quiet down, people are working here—oh, hey Echo.”

She sincerely hoped the whimpering squeak as she spun quickly to face him she heard was just in her head, though Kalenda’s snort behind her indicated no such luck. “Hi. James. I-I mean Bucky. Um…” her eyes met her bestie’s just behind him for some help, but only found the kind of mocking encouragement born from years of friendship. “Nice to see you. Here. At my job.”

“Um yeah, about that…” The brunet smoothed his long bangs back out of his face behind his ears and grinned bashfully as he rubbed the back of his neck. Under other circumstances, she and Kalenda would be ogling him for the way the seams of his deep blue henley were barely clinging to life across his shoulders and around his massive arms and the skinny jeans that were all but wrecking her concentration. “Cap and Tony had a meeting at 1PP and Stevie wanted me to tag along.”

“I’m glad he did.” The way her compliment made his cheeks flush felt like winning an award, even if the normal filter she kept up at work slipped a bit.

“Me too.” The tiny shy grin that danced at the corners of his lips was killing her slowly, even as the somewhat awkward silence stretched out between them.

Kalenda’s obvious throat-clearing seemed to startle her back into herself, reminding her acutely of both their location and their audience.

“Well, it’s always good to see you.” The platitude was automatic, off her tongue and into the space between them before she even thought about it, her nerves robbing her mind of anything but decent manners. Good gods, she was never gonna live this down.

“You look good.” His eyes widened a moment later as he flushed bright red, clearly that hadn’t been what he’d meant to come out of his mouth. “I mean, that is… you look better than when I saw you last time.”

“Hard not to,” she conceded, her mind bordering on hysterical the longer this conversation went on. It felt like the whole world was watching this junior-high level farce and she was stumbling through it, quite badly.

“Well, on the upside, you’re wearing more clothes this time,” Tony interjected oh-so-helpfully, looking like he was avidly watching the best telenovela ever and doing nothing to quell the likely overheating rumor mill that had just kicked into gear around them. “And there’s less blood.”

“Alright, thank you, Mr. Stark,” Shelly, the floor supervisor’s breathlessly cheerful voice sounded like she’d rather eat broken glass than let that conversation continue as she rushed across the room to join them. “Echo, Mr. Stark, Sergeant Barnes, and Captain Rogers—”

“Hello, Echo.”

She was almost afraid to look, though Kalenda’s dreamy sigh left her no other choice. Sure enough, the gods of horniness were testing her and pretty much every woman in the five boroughs with these three Avengers out together. In a black t-shirt under a green button-down and jeans that gave her the most impure thoughts possible about his thighs, the blond Avenger with the pink cheeks grinned at her warmly from his spot behind Tony. The fact her panties didn’t burst into flames right there was a miracle of modern physics.

“Hey Steve.”

“As I was saying,” her supervisor huffed, bringing all of the attention back to her, “they’re here to tour the center, so we should really be on our way.”

Sounded reasonable to her, so long as they were there, Echo doubted there’d be much work done anyway. “Alright then.” Echo turned back to her console to take stock of her district. “It was good to see you. Be safe out there.”

“Before we go though…” Buck’s half-grin as he met her eye over her shoulder warmed her to her toes. “You out of here soon?”

“A few hours. Why?”

“Wanna meet up for a late dinner?”

His hopeful expression tugged at her heart. It was the kind of thing that made her want to give him the world, even if she didn’t know him like that. “It’ll be after ten,” she hedged, perched on the fence between really wanting to spend time with them because who wouldn’t, really, and knowing that she’s no one special and didn’t have any business tagging along with them.

“Then we’ll leave a light on for ya,” Steve replied cheerfully as he and Bucky were led further into the center and away from her desk. “See you tonight.”

“Always a pleasure, Crash,” Tony called, following behind him.

Echo sat blinking at her console as she watched the group retreat, only spurred to action when she caught Steve’s eye as he winked at her before leaving the room.

“What just happened?” she asked the Universe at large as she typed in the login code for her phone from muscle memory.

“Looks to me,” Kalenda replied lightly dropping off a new bottle of caffeinated water, “like you have a date after work.”

“Huh.” The very idea was mindblowing. Quickly, her mind was shaken from its haze by a bank robbery that required both her and Kalenda’s attention for quite a while.

“And had the nerve not to introduce me.”

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roseandgold137 · 14 days

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wip preview:

The day started like any other day. Bernard woke up, squinted against the bright sunlight – great, he’d forgotten to close his curtains – and stretched. He basked in the coziness for a few more moments. It wasn’t like he had anything to do today, right? …Right?

Bernard shot up – shit, school, his stupid alarm hadn’t gone off – and tugged his pyjama shirt off. Pants – where were his stupid pants gone – he snatched the nearest pair of cargo pants and stumbled into them. Socks – under the dresser – his shoes were downstairs, he’d grab them in a second. Bernard pulled the first t-shirt he found over his head and swung a jacket over his shoulders.

His phone was ringing, music blaring – Do You Believe in Magic? on full blast. Bernard answered the call, balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder while he shoved copybooks into his bag. “Darla, this better be quick, because I’m running so unbelievably late right now – ”

“Well, you’d better still be on your way, because Tim just bailed on us.” Darla’s voice practically assaulted his ear – shit, he’d pressed speaker, ow – Bernard dropped his phone back onto his bed while he wrangled his chemistry worksheet into his folder. “He said it was, like, an appointment? But then he didn’t say he was coming back later, so I think I’m just stuck with you now.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Bernard said. Okay – the bag zip wasn’t too happy with the sheer amount of things that were haphazardly packed in, but Bernard managed to close it without breaking the zipper. “Hang on, I gotta run downstairs.”

Darla clearly hadn’t heard him, or she just wanted someone to complain to regardless of whether or not they were listening, because Bernard could still hear her talking while he swung around the banister. He practically burst into the kitchen – no worries about being loud, his parents left for work early anyways – and grabbed a handful of fruit – apple, apple, banana – fuck, they were out of oranges. He found a pack of crisps in the cupboard – not the healthiest option, but beggars can’t be choosers. It wasn’t enough for a full lunch – he could get something else from the cafeteria, that was fine.

Bernard snatched his earbuds from the counter and slid them in, and Darla’s voice came in through after a second’s delay. “ – and, frankly, I’m not really in the mood to take advice from someone who almost named their dog after fertility bank – ”

“What?” Bernard asked – okay, clothes, books, lunch – he had to have breakfast, what was he doing? “Who are we talking about right now?”

“Chris? From – fuck, what class was it - don’t you have bio with him? The tall guy, with the bad frosted tips.”

“Oh, that guy. He got a dog?”

“He has three, Bernard. He’s had two of them since before you even met him.”

Bernard settled on the granola in the fridge – hey, it was healthy, and it came in a tub, so he could take it with him on the bus –

“Oh, are you kidding me.”

“About the dogs? Why would I possibly do that?”

“My bus is like, definitely gone by now.” If he made it to the other end of the street, he might make the other bus – but that was if it was running today, and he’d probably still be about five minutes late. Great, great, grand. “What class do we have first?”

“I have music. You have… home ec?”

“Okay. Okay, that’s okay. Ms Howell won’t mind if I’m a couple of minutes late. I’ve gotta bounce, I’ll call you back – wait, no, I won’t, I’ll see you in English.” Darla hung up on him before he got the chance, and Bernard ran out, granola and spoon in hand.

#bernard dowd #darla aquista #Tim’s only mentioned in this but he’ll play a bigger part later #Does anyone want to guess the plot 👁️👁️

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chronically-ghosted · 2 months

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WIP wednesday

thanks for the tag @noxturnalpascal @burntheedges @wannab-urs! @nerdieforpedro *cracks open WIP folder and a puff of dust and an Old Man Groan leaks out*

Step one: post snippets of the fics you're working on (can be a summary if there's no snippet)

Step two: put them in a poll and let people vote on which one you should work on

Step three: every vote is one minute you put on a timer to work on that fic (ex. 15 votes = 15 minutes of writing)

feel free to send me asks about any of these!

snippets and poll under the cut!

i know these folks are gonna have more interesting wips than me! @ezrasbirdie @morallyinept @sp00kymulderr @schnarfer @haylzcyon

lsyr part ii - joel miller:

It’ll be small. Just a latch. Your fingers brush his wrist, eyes downcast, lashes soft against the curve of your cheek. There’s a smear of something green on the sleeve of your dress. Fresh grass, maybe? Herbs from your garden? The light behind you illuminates the thin skin of your ear, the supple drop of your earlobe. He knows he should be listening, you’ve worked hard to make this supply run as quick and easy as possible for him and yet –

le petite mort - dirtbag!dieter:

It’s arousing. It’s elicit. You swallow, drink in hand entirely forgotten. All this time, for all these years, your mother had proudly displayed artistic pornography for everyone to see. Two people fucking, right under your nose.

riders of the purple sapir - din djarin

For as long as he lived, he’d never forget the look on your face the morning after, when he walked back into the shack and found you curled up under stiff blankets, a blade in your hand and panic in your eyes. Bloody, tear-stained, and trembling, you were going to use the last of your strength to kill him, had he been a stranger. But the instant your eyes recognized him, you dropped the blade and fresh tears ran down your face.

summary: twelfth night with dieter bravo bc i want to play with my favorite screaming bisexual

#taylor tags #feels weird leaving it open for a week but guess who is not on the same time as most of the mutuuuals!

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rockingrobin69 · 1 year

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In celebration of joy

This is actually a snip from a wip (700 words) and also a ‘hey I’m alive’ and most of all, it’s a (humble!!) present for my pride and joy @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm who is out there being the best in us etc. etc. Joy, I love you, I love you, I love you. And so does this special lil guy.

The coffee machine went on a strike on a Tuesday, roughly around nine. A big notice all over the screen, CHANGE FILTER that didn’t relent no matter what Draco attempted. He changed the damn filter, three times. Changed the water. Emptied and reloaded the bean tray. Nothing worked: the notice remained, and the smell of coffee pervaded the kitchenette, made his eyes water.

The manual was in Italian, which, according to his CV, shouldn’t be a problem. Apparently there was a world of difference between chatting up pretty boys in the Piazza and fine mechanics. Apparently, Draco was equally rubbish at both. And the coffee machine, blast it to high hell, kept at its pouty, childish rebellion.

He didn’t even like coffee. Did have an espresso every once in a while, half in punishment, half-reward. Drowned it in sugar until no flavour was discernible, went on a glucose-fuelled paperwork rampage, terrorising the office till the inevitable crash. But he liked making coffees for some of the others—liked being trusted with a task he could perform. The coffee machine was tricky, needed a gentle touch: the frothing settings, the roast, all had to be perfectly calibrated. Usually he had it. And now, change filter, and no coffee in sight.

He's going to have to go back to Harry empty-handed.

Going to have to look him in the eye and say, hey, so, remember when you hired me, all that long month ago, and I promised I’d do my very best? Right. Yes, failed at the most basic of tasks today, what else could you expect. Also, please don’t fire me.

Draco rubbed his eyes a little harsher than recommended. Bore the angry flashes behind his eyelids, tried to breathe. Why must everything be a panic, why couldn’t he just. Be normal about this. Be a man, not a muppet, for a change.

Opened his eyes, grit his teeth till the world un-blurried itself. Took a deep breath. Went back to the manual, skimmed till he found the right place, and tried again.

In the end he ran down to the Costa across the street. Took him exactly forty minutes and twenty-three seconds to get back at Harry’s office door, red-faced and soaking wet, but with the flat white he’s promised. Tried not to look too smug about it as he sauntered through, gently laid the cup (still hot, he thought, he hoped) next to Harry’s computer screen.

“Thanks,” murmured Harry, not even looking up from the folder open on his desk. “Mm, that smells nice.”

Draco allowed himself a little smile. “No problem, Mr. Potter.”

As he knew, that zapped Harry’s attention back to him. He flushed so easily, and so sweetly too, fixing his glasses on the bridge of his nose for an excuse to use his hands. Calling Harry Mr. Potter always had the same effect—sometimes, when Draco was feeling rather cheeky, he even threw in a Sir, just to watch him flail.

“Erm. Yes. Thank you, Draco. Are—why are you wet?”

“Hmm?” looked down, remembered. “Oh. It’s raining again.”

Harry turned his head to the window, stared for a moment. “Yes,” he said, chewing on a poor lower lip. “Yes, it is indeed.”

Winding Harry up sure was one of the biggest perks of the job, but Draco actually had work to do. “Anything else, Mr. Potter?” (couldn’t help himself, he just couldn’t). “If you wouldn’t mind, the paperwork for Mr. Dougherty’s case requires further attention.”

More of the fidgeting. “No, no, that’s quite all right. Certainly, er, important that you get to it.” Draco nodded, and was already at the door when he heard, “Wait, why does the cup say Costa?”

Rushed out of Harry’s office without closing the door behind him. The prat never did anyway. Went back to the kitchenette, opened the manual, and a pocket dictionary from the shop right next door to blasted Costa. (The Dougherty dossier was compiled and completed two days ago. Not his fault he was good at his job). Stared the machine down until it bowed before him, spilled its mechanical guts.

He’ll get it, eventually. He thought. He hoped.

#drarry wip #office draco for the win #rockingrobin69 #everything is for joy always but this one is also.

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marinaiguess · 1 year

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cant wait to write this one and properly share it with you:) (sonic and tails fic wip)

Tails barges into the living room with a folder in his hands. Despite the noise, the hedgehog who sits on the couch with one leg propped up, laid back as he strums on his acoustic guitar, doesn’t pay any mind to him and continues playing. Tails is determined to find the truth though, so he walks to his older brother to get the answers he’s looking for.

“Hey, birthday boy, what’s going—”

“Why did Eggman leave without attacking?” Tails cuts him off.

Sonic stops playing the guitar, moving his head to look at him with a cocked eyebrow. “First off, rude. Second, you mean about today?”

“Yes,” he sighs, “today, at my birthday party.”

“Right.” Sonic squints. “I have no idea buddy.” He shrugs as he goes back to strumming chords.

“You don’t know?”

“No?” Sonic slightly smiles at Tails’s persistence, eyes still focused on the way his fingers played. “Why would I?”

“A look at this,” Tails slaps the folder on the table in front of them, “might change your mind.”

The sound disrupts Sonic’s playing again but he only briefly glances at the papers before resuming. “What’s this?”

“Files I found in Eggman’s database.”

The last chord he plucked sounded too harsh, as if it was too close to breaking.

“You what?!” Sonic inquires, whipping his head around to look at him.

Tails knows it is kind of ‘off limits’ to go through Eggman’s personal database, especially for selfish reasons. But he made sure to cover his tracks and next time he’s going to save dealing with this danger for a more threatening case. But right now? He didn’t find to mind his actions at all.

“Read what it says.”

“Tails, I don’t care what old rotten’s files say—”

“You say you don’t know, though.”

“Don’t know wh—You know what?” Sonic waves his hand off. “I don’t wanna know.”

“Just read it.” Tails insists, pointing at the table with his open palm.

Sonic frowns, disbelief written all over his face. He rolls his eyes when he gives up, clearly struggling to keep himself from groaning as he hunches forward to take the folder in his hands. His eyes skim the first page quickly.

“‘Detrimental to my plans.’...” He throws the papers on the table as he sits back on the couch. “Wow Tails, we’re making Egghead’s life harder, who would have known?”

Tails blinks, letting his brother’s sarcastic tone set in. “You don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what, Tails?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“This file dates back to eight years.” He emphasizes as he gets a hold of it.

“So?” Sonic raises a brow.

“That’s before we met.”

“…So?”

“Ughh.” Tails throws his head backwards as he groans. “Why does Eggman have files about me before he knew—before I knew who he was?”

Sonic regards him for a moment. “Beats me.”

“Stop your lying.”

#the girls are fighting<3 #the initial idea is so old #but it's sorta branching out #anyway too many thoughts #sonic and tails #wip #fanfic #sth fanfic #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower

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drabbles-mc · 1 month

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Titles alone these all sound amazing! What can you tell us about Honest with me- Juice x OC?

That's actually so reassuring because there is nothing that's more of a struggle for me than titling fics! 😂 Titles and coming up with summaries. It all kills me lmao

But anyway! Believe it or not Honest With Me is actually the very first SOA fic I ever started writing way way back when I first finished watching the series. (To put it in perspective my first watch of SOA was during lockdown back in 2020 lmao) I started writing it because I really just wanted the chance to explore facets of Juice that we never got to see in the show. To this day I mourn the fact that we never got to see him in a romantic relationship the way we got to see almost all of the other guys at one point or another.

The story really took on a life of its own the more time that went by. What was going to start off as a simple little romance story suddenly got much more layered and complicated the more that I built out the backstory for my OC, all of the secrets that she tried to keep from Juice about where she really came from and all of his dealings with the club that he doesn't want to admit to her took this from being a quick little 3 or 4 part story to the absolute behemoth of a fic that it's currently existing as in my wip folder 😂

A little snippet! Because I can and I have no self control! 😂

She laughed and shook her head as she climbed back into her car. She waved one last time before peeling out of the parking lot, leaving Juice standing there chuckling to himself. He took another sip of his drink before heading back towards the garage. He wished that things were just a little bit different. He wished that she knew just enough about his life so that she could stay with him at the compound while the guys were on a run without him. It’d be nice to have her company in increments that weren’t measured in minutes but rather in hours, or days. “She’s cute.” The tone in Gemma’s voice made it painfully obvious that she was fishing for something. “Yeah.” He sounded like he was a million miles away. “She doesn’t know you, does she?” She waited for a response and when he simply shook his head she offered, “Either clue her in, or cut the cord. Anything else is just mean for the both of you.” “I know.” He tapped his fingers on the sides of his cup. “I know. It’s just…nice to be someone else sometimes.” Gemma sympathized with what he was saying. He had always been a couple beats off from the rest of the guys. She couldn’t always put her finger on it, but she had found it interesting when he was patched in. He was clamoring for acceptance and could take direction well because of it. But there were times when she would look into his eyes and she could see that there were a million other things going on inside his head.

I have so many pages in so many docs dedicated to this boy. And there will probably be more to come lmao

Pick a wip and ask a question!

#ask #asks #wip game #ravennaortiz

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 1 year

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The Light I Need (ao3)

Set mid-ACOSF, Cassian finally notices Nesta's aversion to fires. Wanting nothing more than to help the woman he loves, he turns to the brother who he knows has faced similar trauma in the past. Soft two-part Nessriel fic. (Paging @thesistersarcheron & @highladyofillyria because both of you encouraged me to write this fic, and it's been sitting in my wips folder for a whole month. Merry Christmas!)

Hold me close, in winter’s weather, I’m too weak to pull myself together. I’ve tried so hard to grow, in a place without your warmth and now there’s no place left for me unless its safe between your arms.

“I didn’t realise we were so short on chairs,” Cassian drawled, his words punctuated by the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Sprawled casually in a chair of his own, one fitted for wings and crafted with Illyrians in mind, he cast a wry glance at his High Lord and Lady. Violet eyes winking in the dim light of the riverhouse sitting room, Rhys sat nestled against the cushions of his own chair, Feyre draped over his lap as though there were, indeed, no other place she’d rather sit. Cassian smirked. “Will Az and I have to share, too?”

Feyre raised a delicate middle finger, the elegance of the movement undercut by the vulgarity of the gesture. Rhys didn’t deign to supply an answer or a retort of his own, only snaked a hand about Feyre’s waist and brought her closer, as though he relied on her touch. Like it was intrinsic, somehow. Feyre slung her arm around Rhys’ shoulder, and despite the teasing, Cassian felt his heart stutter at the sight of it, at the fact that they were here at all.

Rhys had died.

On that battlefield, Cassian had watched as his brother’s chest had stopped rising, had heard his last, gasping, breath. Was it any wonder that neither Rhys nor Feyre could bear any distance between them now? That neither would suffer an unnecessary parting?

Even if it earned them his teasing, they wouldn’t part, not even to sit in separate chairs as their family gathered around the hearth. Drinks were poured and candles lit, and Cassian felt gratitude and relief swelling in his veins. Lucky— so lucky, all of them, that they could have this moment, this night. Lucky that he was there to tease them at all.

He’d almost died too. Had felt his own breath rattle in his chest as Nesta’s hand had entwined with his, their fingers slick with blood.

Months ago, now. And yet as he looked about at those gathered in the sitting room and found the joke reflected, good-natured, in Azriel’s eyes, and in Elain’s too, the spectre of war still lurked. It was a shadow that remained even now, lingering even in the inability of the High Lord and Lady to part.

Feyre stuck out her tongue and crossed her legs over the arm of the chair, whilst Rhys’ hand came to rest on her knee. It was a touch that was as proprietary as it was devotional, his fingers curling about her as though it was a promise, a declaration, that they wouldn’t ever be separated again.

Gods, as much as Cassian teased… He looked at that touch and longed for it.

He couldn’t hep it— As Rhys whispered something in Feyre’s ear that made her blush, Cassian’s gaze shifted to his left. To Nesta, sitting in a chair of her own.

She wasn’t his.

Not yet.

No matter what promise he’d made to her on that battlefield, no matter what he’d tried to convey with that last, desperate kiss… She wasn’t his. But staying at the House of Wind and training with him every day had started something, and every time he saw her lately, he felt his heart almost beat right out of his chest. Whenever she touched him, he had to remind himself that it was real, that he hadn’t fallen into some fantasy. She was everything he wanted, everything he dreamed of, but he didn’t dare hope that she’d one day drape herself over him the way her sister did his brother.

Still, though. He lived to see that spark in her eyes, the one that had been missing for so, so long as she drowned in her grief. A spark that had only recently returned, a glimmer in silver irises that he spent every single day trying to coax, trying to cultivate. He wanted to see that spark now. Wanted to hear her hiss his name as she glared at him, so he raised an eyebrow and looked again at where Feyre sat in Rhys’ lap, their limbs tangled together.

“At least I know what to buy you for Solstice,” he said drolly, nodding to that single armchair, to the carved legs that supported both crowned heads of the Night Court. “Chairs.”

Rhys muttered under his breath, something that sounded a lot like fuck off, Cassian. As Elain giggled in the corner, Cassian felt a grin spread across his face, his lips splitting as he kept it going.

“So that Az and I don’t have to share,” he continued. “Because unless Nes wants to wrap herself around me like a scarf, I don’t really have much interest in sharing seats.”

He thought she’d tell him to piss off. That she’d turn and glare at him with those magnificent eyes. That she’d hiss his name the way she did when he kissed her and held back. Cassian— irritated and demanding and absolutely intoxicating. He yearned for it— every moment of every day, he longed to hear his name coming from her lips. Whispered or murmured or sang, he wanted it. Wanted her breathing it as he kissed her, screaming it as he—

Az cleared his throat pointedly in the wake of whatever scent that thought had elicited, stopping Cassian in his tracks. He offered the spymaster a small, smug, smile before turning his head, searching for her, in the way that he was always searching for her these days.

Beside him, in a chair of her own, Cassian looked to Nesta and expected to find a reluctant smile. Expected to see silver-blue eyes gleaming but… He saw nothing. There was nothing— Nesta didn’t smile, didn’t laugh, didn’t look as though she were there at all. Her eyes were fixed on the wall, as distant as she’d been in the days right after the war.

She didn’t lounge in her chair like he did, didn’t look comfortable like Elain. Didn’t even look casual, like Azriel. She looked empty and troubled, and Cassian searched in vain for the trigger. For what had caused her to pull away, when only an hour ago, she’d been seated beside him at dinner, her fingers crawling over his thigh beneath the table.

It had been Feyre’s idea, this dinner.

With Mor on the continent and Amren with Varian, it was a night for Nesta and her sisters. For Cassian and his brothers. Just the six of them, and after weeks in the House of Wind, it was Nesta’s first time back in the city proper. Cassian had expected her to be nervous, expected her to be wary, but she’d smiled at Elain at dinner. Had spoken with Az about the book she was reading, about the priestesses she’d invited to training. She was… better. Healing, and her touch had been searching beneath the table. Daring and curious, a promise of what was to come when they returned to the House later.

But as his joke died away and the conversation moved on without him, he didn’t think it was a promise either of them would be honouring. He didn’t pull his eyes away from her, and he watched as she seemed to fold in on herself, her shoulders dropping as though she wanted to make herself as small as possible. Those formidable, ferocious eyes were fixed on the hearth and the flames burning within, and he longed to know what she was seeing, what thoughts were running through her head.

Distantly, he heard Rhys’ laughter, heard Azriel’s low voice poking fun at something else now, but all of it faded as he looked at her. The woman who held his heart so completely in her hands, shirking away from something he couldn’t see, couldn’t fight off.

Secret by secret, Cassian had coaxed all manner of truths from Nesta’s lips.

From the man she had almost married to the cruelty of her mother, there wasn’t much about her life before the Cauldron he didn’t know. In the hallways of the House of Wind, or whispered and hushed when she came to his bed, slowly he had learned all of the things she kept hidden— learned her, all of her soft sounds and sharp edges. All of the things she guarded, kept close to her chest, buried beneath scowls and sarcasm.

And he loved her.

Loved her relentlessly, even though he wasn’t sure what it meant, that they met in the darkened hallways of the House and kissed and touched and fucked— but she never asked him to stay in her bed afterwards, and he never said the words that were so readily balanced on the tip of his tongue.

No, there wasn’t much about her life before the Cauldron that Cassian didn’t know.

But after—

Her life after the Cauldron was closed to him, a door locked and bolted. He could only guess at what kept her from sleep at night, at what it was that had driven her to all those bars in the city, into the arms of all those other men. He was in the dark, and as he sat in the sitting room of Rhys and Feyre’s newly built house, the smell of fresh paint still clinging to newly-upholstered furniture, he watched as Nesta flinched.

A log cracked, burning merrily in the grate, and Cassian didn’t miss how her skin turned even paler, her eyes even more distant. It cracked again, embers drifting up the chimney, burning bright and golden— and his heart stopped, because Nesta had blanched. He forgot how to listen, forgot how to move, how to breathe, as she shied away from that fire. Another log cracked, louder this time, and Cassian knew then… He knew what was wrong.

Not the fire, not the heat, but the sound.

The crack, the snap. The ruthless, vicious crack that echoed through the room every time a log broke beneath the flames. He could do nothing but sit there and wonder what horrors she was seeing. What sounds she was hearing with each snap of burning wood, what nightmare she was living in. What nightmare he’d brought her to, when he’d insisted that tonight was a good idea.

Guilt lined his stomach, curdled in his gut as he forgot about the rest of the room entirely. All fragments of his teasing crumbled away to dust, and all he could do was suddenly feign exhaustion, lean over, and ask if she wanted to go home.

“Nes?” he murmured when she didn’t seem to hear his question. Gently, so gently, so as not to startle her, he placed his hand on her forearm. “Do you want to go home?”

The chasm of grief and pain and anguish in her eyes almost killed him. Almost knocked him over, and when Nesta nodded, he saw a glimmer of gratitude at the edges. “Please,” she whispered, as though it pained her just to speak.

So Cassian made their excuses, and spirited her away, back to the House of Wind.

But for the first time in his life… Cassian didn’t know what to do.

Didn’t know how to help her, and didn’t know how to fix it.

***

For days, Cassian agonised.

The morning after, he’d asked her what was wrong. What had set her off. She’d gone quiet, and said it was nothing— nothing had happened, she was just tired, and even though he knew it was a lie… He couldn’t push. Wouldn’t push. Not if she wasn’t ready.

So every time he kissed her, he only held her tighter. Kissed her fiercer, to remind her without using words that she was still here— safe, that they made it through. That there was still breath in his lungs despite his brush with death on that battlefield, and that whatever she heard in the cracking logs, saw in the flames… She had survived, too.

He couldn’t concentrate.

Not on anything. Sitting in the House’s library, looking at a pile of papers and reports from Windhaven, he twirled a pen between his fingers. He’d read the same damn missive three times now. The pen spun over his middle finger and around his thumb, around and around and around, as his mind strayed from the pile of reports and found its way back to Nesta. So many feet below him, in the cavernous depths of the library beneath his feet, he thought of her, with the priestesses she’d come to view as friends. Had she told them, he wondered? Had she told anybody, what she heard in a burning hearth?

He was looking at the sofa, at the cushions that were still dented from where she’d sat, when Azriel opened the door and strode across the floor to another desk sitting by the windows. His arms piled with papers, shadows trailing, the spymaster gave him a brief hello, but Cassian couldn’t give any kind of greeting of his own— he was too busy still looking at that sofa, at the cushions that still smelled like her. Like a phantom, he could see her, curled against the arm, legs tucked up beneath her and a book in her lap. He could have almost convinced himself that he could hear the sound of her pages turning, her fingers soft and quiet against the paper. But it was a mirage— one that was shattered as Azriel walked past, his shadows brushing against the cushions as if they, too, could sense her. Could feel the absence of her like a wound.

Az dumped the pile of papers onto the desk, but didn’t sit at the waiting chair. He turned, dark hair gilded by the afternoon sun streaming through the windows, and frowned as one of those shadows moved by his ear, writhing across the shadowsinger’s skin. After a moment, Az tilted his head and leaned back against the edge of that desk.

With arms folded across his chest, he merely said, “What’s with you?”

Cassian dropped his gaze back down to the missive from Windhaven. “Nothing,” he said, letting the tip of his pen touch the blank sheet of paper he’d pulled out to compose a reply. He shrugged, but even he was unconvinced by it. His pen hesitated, and he realised that he still didn’t know what the missive was really about, and would need to read it a fourth time. He sighed, and Azriel raised one elegant, perfect eyebrow.

“You’ve been off since Feyre’s dinner,” he said casually, crossing his ankles as he leaned effortlessly against the edge of that smooth wooden desk. His eyes were sharp, and Cassian knew he couldn’t hide from that piercing gaze— he’d never been able to, in all the centuries they’d been brothers.

So he groaned, and let his head drop onto the surface of his own desk. “It’s Nesta,” he admitted roughly, his voice muffled by the papers pushing against his face.

Az was quiet for a long moment, and Cassian sighed again, turning his head to the side to look his brother in the eye. The missive he had been trying to read for the past hour stuck to his cheek as he did so, and he wanted nothing more than to rip it in half and toss it away. He had bigger things to deal with. More important things.

Like Nesta.

“It’s the fire, Az,” Cassian said quietly, keeping his head on that desk, utterly defeated and downtrodden. “She won’t sit near it. I don’t know why— what happened or what changed it for her, but she flinched from it at Rhys and Feyre’s that night and I…” he paused, trailed off. He raised his head at last, only to drag his siphoned hands down his face. “I don’t know what to do. She won’t tell me, she won’t talk to me and I…” He shook his head and said, again, “I don’t know what to do.”

His blood was screaming at him. Help her, with every pulse through his veins. Helpherhelpherhelpher— but how? When he didn’t know what set her off, what triggered her or why? How could he do anything, when she’d shut him out?

Az was silent. Cassian looked up at him warily, glancing briefly at his scarred hands. Azriel was the only one of them who had faced similar trauma and conquered it. The only one who might understand, who might just know what it was that Nesta feared. Azriel’s face was unreadable, but he looked down at his hands too, as if he’d reached the same conclusion. Different wounds inflicted by different hands, yes— but only Azriel knew what it was to sit before a fire and tremble, to stand at a hearth and not feel the warmth, too overcome by fear.

“Help me,” Cassian breathed.

A request— a plea, from one brother to another. From a man desperately, desperately in love with a woman, to the only other soul who might have once shared similar pain. Cassian couldn’t do it on his own. Couldn’t help her alone, but with Azriel… Together, they might.

Azriel’s face softened. He let out a gentle breath, his eyes flitting to the door, as if looking for Nesta. Cassian’s eyes followed, as if he were looking for her too. He was— he always was.

His heartbeat stuttered as he waited for Azriel’s answer. He was balanced on a precipice, teetering on the edge, feeling so utterly, utterly helpless that this was all he could think to do. He had helped her face so many things, and every time she stepped into that ring with him on the House roof, he felt a pride so violent it damn near knocked him to his knees. But this couldn’t be solved by training or shelving books in a library.

This… This needed an altogether different approach.

And after a long and painstaking wait…

Azriel nodded.

#nessriel #nesta x cassian x azriel #nesta archeron #acotar fic #title and quote at the beginning are both from the song Winter's Weather by As It Is

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forevamark · 2 years

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Preview: Looking for Attention (l.jn)

I’M BACK! What it do cookie boos ★~(◡﹏◕✿)

ATTENTION: FULL LENGTH FIC IS NOW LIVE! CLICK LINK TO READ IT BELOW :)

(If that dont work lol im sorry but its the latest post on my blog lmao)

looking for attention (l.jn)

After a couple months of hiatus, I finally found the inspiration to finish all these drafts of fics I have in my WIP folder... sorry for the wait, I want quality out here.

Here’s a delulu scene that I have had rotting in my brain the past couple of months starring no other than the man of the hour: Lee Jeno. I started fully flesh out writing this fic at around 11:45pm and its currently 6:25am and I’m still not done with it LOL shooting for 10k words with this to make it worth while to read! Enjoy this teaser/preview, after my beta readers do a read through and make edits, I’ll post the full length fic hopefully tomorrow! <3

Pairing: Jeno ft the ‘00 line dreamies x fem! reader insert

Tags: gamer idol au, secret girlfriend reader, slice of life, needy reader, jeno is a nerdy hard head, substantial amount of plot leading up to the nasty, possessive jeno, lowkey the ‘00 line wants you so bad, jeno knows everyone wants you so bad, y’all can look but not touch vibes, camera voyeurism

Warnings: teasing, voyeurism, exhibitionism, oral fem reader and male receiving, masturbation, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), mentions of potential five way, multiple partners (not directly), possessive domination, degradation, reader is a simpy subby sub sub, dumbification/bimbo kink, mentions of referring to reader as ‘pet’/’kitten’, (probably more knowing me... I’ve been brewing on this one for a WHILE)

Word Count: final product: ~10k, teaser: 640

** I haven’t proof read this yet, and this may not make the final cut, please be aware of that !

Summary: Between Jeno being an idol and you being a current nursing school student, it’s hard to find time to be there for each other and actually feel like you two are dating. So when Jeno makes time to spend a whole day with you but actually spends the whole time playing with the boys online instead of helping you study for your exam, you decide it’s time to play some games of your own.

“Are you kidding me? Hyuck open your fucking eyes!” Jeno screamed at his screen while throwing his hands in the air, “I’m tired of us not moving on because of you!”

It’s been three hours since you have arrived at Jeno’s apartment. You’ve been insisting on spending more quality time with him and he finally promised to put more effort in by agreeing to spend the day with you.

—

Maybe you should have seen it coming when Jeno insisted on you bringing your study materials for your upcoming exam, mentioning that he will help you study. When he opened the door you were expected to be bombarded with warm hugs and maybe even some cuddles and suggestions to bake cookies. Would it be so presumptuous to even be looking forward to being savagely ravished in some long awaited sexy time? The thought of having uninterrupted alone time with Jeno bounced around your mind as you anticipatingly waited for him to answer the door.

However much to your chagrin, you were begrudgingly and briefly greeted with a breathy irritated Jeno that barely made eye contact before running back to the room shouting,

“I swear I’m here! I’m here! Just had to open the door for y/n! I’m back! I’m back!” leaving you confused and rooted to the welcome mat of his front door.

Sighing, you slowly removed your shoes and made your way to his kitchen to grab some water and place your stuff on his table. Making your way to Jeno’s room, the volume of his excited shouting elevated and as you rounded the corner you saw him slouched over staring at the screen with intent eyes and hands frantically moving.

“Hey babe,” you knock while leaning against his desk, his eyes not meeting yours once again.

“Just go towards the back Jaem that way they won’t see you,” he called out adjusting his mic.

“Babe,” you raised your voice.

“No Hyuck, stay there, we need you later,” he replied while checking his second monitor briefly then shooting you a quick smile before clicking repeatedly, “hey babe sorry I’ll be done with this game soon, one sec.”

“Will you really be done soon? It’s fine if it won't just let me know so I’m not just waiting around.”

“Yeah, yeah swear,” he nodded while playing.

You made your way back to the table in the living room and placed all your textbooks down and opened up your laptop to finish a lecture that you needed to finish taking notes on.

Fifteen minutes passed and your feet were tucked under your body in the seat and highlighters were scattered around. As you cracked your knuckles closing the lecture video tab, Jeno walked out of his room shirtless, sporting a pair of gray sweatpants and his gaming headset on, making his way to the fridge. Jeno was a dream. Only he could look so insanely attractive while having the personality of the biggest nerd you’ve ever met.

“Let’s fucking go!” he hollered while rummaging through the shelves to find a carton of banana milk and drinking it, “can’t believe we made it out of there, Hyuck fucking sucks at stealth missions, so it must have been a miracle for them to not see him,” he laughs while heading towards you. Jeno flicked his hair to the side and tucked a hand into his pocket making his arms slightly flex, effortlessly gorgeous as always.

Straightening your back you leaned forward awaiting him to finally sit with you, lips sitting prettily puckered awaiting your overdue kiss. Excitement erupts and you can barely sit still as you think how you will escalate this further today. A long list of positions and roleplay fill your head excitingly. However Jeno wasn’t nearly on the same page as he walked straight past and into the pantry to take out a bag of chips and jog back into the room. Disappointment -and a bit of sexual frustration- sets in as you hear a faint, “hell yeah I’m down for another round lemme log back in really quick!”

You have got to be kidding me.

#nct smut #nct fanfiction #nct fanfic #nct jeno #nct jeno smut #jeno hard hours #jeno smut #jeno drabbles #jeno x y/n #jenosmut

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