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tadpolesonalgae · 7 months

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Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader: Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 5

A/N: I’m trying something new here—been reading The Shining by Steven King and I like how the “thoughts” are presented :)

Warnings: general angst

Word count: 5,414

-Part 4- -Part 6-

Sharp, caramel eyes latch to your own from across the room.

Beneath his fingertips rest the planets of your solar system, whirring softly as they rotate, cogs clicking together. Your orrery.

Shoulders tense—it’s fine machinery, incredibly delicate. You don’t like the idea of him being so close to something so dear to you. He hasn’t proven to be particularly caring, or thoughtful. Anxiety closes around your throat. “Eris,” you greet, moving forward stiffly. “What are you doing here?” Why is he in the House of Wind, in the heart of the Night Court. Why is he in Velaris.

He taps against your world, the mechanical clicking coming to a stop, the system halting to his will. Retracts his hand. “You’re really kept out of the loop, aren’t you?” He asks, eyes gleaming, fingertips grazing the blade at his hip. Your brow narrows, “that’s not an answer.” You eye him warily, how close he is to that precious gift your sister had given you.

Lips lift into that familiar viper’s smile, “I’m here to have a meeting with your High Lord and Lady. I’m surprised they didn’t tell you. Surprised too you’re allowed near me at all after our last encounter—do they not particularly mind your safety?” He inquires, moving around the kitchen table. You shift in response, mirroring his movements, the opening steps to a dance you’re uninterested in.

“I live here,” you counter, “why should I yield my ground to you. It’s my home.” He quirks a neatly groomed brow, taking another step around the table, so you’ve switched positions. “You don’t live with the rest of your lovely family? Your younger sister has a home deeper within this city, but you choose to stay here, in this lonely place?”

“It’s my home,” you repeat, “and I like the quiet. Can you understand that?”

Eris’ brow narrows at the perceived insult, and you move closer to the table, to your orrery. “What sort of nonsense question is that?” He asks sharply.

“You live in a palace, don’t you? Big; spacious? Filled with people and riches?” You ask, narrowing your eyes on the male. His lips quirk, “more riches than you can even comprehend.” Eyes run over you, judgementally, “more beauty, too.”

“Filled with people, I’ll bet,” you say, ignoring the comment with practiced ease. At least Azriel’s helped with desensitising you to such things. “Servants, courtiers, maids. Does your home— Does your father’s palace ever sleep? Do you ever get any peace?”

“If you’re prying to see if there’s a single moment I might be vulnerable to an assassination attempt, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint. There isn’t a single person who steps foot in my palace without authorisation.” He replies smoothly, caramel eyes gleaming.

Your lips tilt quietly, “what a lovely cage you live in, Eris.”

He stiffens, then his mouth twists itself into something resembling a smile—too serpentine. “Is this your preferred battleground? Verbal warfare? You’re quite talented at it.” You don’t mistake it for a compliment. “Tell me: which of them taught you to speak like that?”

Your brow dips in confusion. “It’s not warfare—It’s observation. There’s nothing aggressive about it.”

“No? No animosity in your prying? I could have sworn I detected a bite back by the river. Where have your claws gone? Were they clipped just like the hell-cat’s were?” He smiles—unnerving to be faced with it. “Bring them out. We can have ourselves a sparring match.” A hand raises in mocking challenge, beckoning you forward.

Hairs raise at the back of your neck, skin prickling with that itch that lies just below the scratch of your nails. Burning your fingertips. Dangerous. Manipulative. Manipulative.

“And where did you learn?” You fire back. “Who taught you to be so insidious? Or do you know no different?”

Caramel burns into you, charring your insides. “An answer for an answer.”

He’s got you. Knows you won’t rise to his challenge. So you switch methods.

Eyes flick down to the machinery on the table, “it’s very beautiful, isn’t it?”

If he’s caught off guard, he doesn’t show it. Well-accustomed to being on the constant edge. “A waste of time. The tinkerer has simply welded a few cogs and screws together—basic metal work.”

Your gaze rises to his, a hint of amusement within as you take a seat to better peer at the orrery. “You’re trying so hard to make it seem insignificant, yet you were studying our planet, so you’re clearly familiar with its structure.” Fingertips graze across the gilded metal of the sphere, the only one occupying the habitable zone. “I doubt you’ll answer my question, so I can only presume you’re used to hiding your interests.”

“Presume away,” he drawls, “it’s no bother to me.”

“No bother,” you echo, spinning the orrery, cogs ticking, globes rotating smoothly. “You hide like there’s something to be embarrassed about. What’s wrong with being fascinated by the world?” You play with the system, again falling under its spell, admiring the intricate carvings, how the tinkerer has rendered texture into metal—made it appear soft.

“You speak as if you’re knowledgeable of it. How much can you know having only spent two years in our land, feeding off our history?” He counters, stepping toward the table, eyes flicking carelessly over the mechanism. With forced lightness. Your brow furrows as you peer at him, “what’s the meaning of having endless time to discover if you don’t use it? I know about the world because I’ve read about it, and I’ve read about it because I want to know. Two years isn’t long to study something as vast as this, but unlike you, I have time to myself, to do things for myself that I want. And this—” you gesture to the small solar system, “—is what I’m interested in.”

The corners of Eris’ mouth tilt down, stepping finally closer to the table, as if accepting a conversation is inevitable. “And you think it is wise to invest your time in something as academic as this? You think you’ll be allowed to study it? Pursue your interest in it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” You counter, absently tracing the rings of one of the planets—how beautiful they are! “I’m immortal now. Why shouldn’t I spend it doing things I like? Not all of us want to be sour and miserable.”

His lips quirk, “you maybe immortal, but you’re also detrimentally female. If you think your sex will not be an obstacle in your study, then you’re much more naive than I thought.”

Your brow dips, “and you’re awfully cynical. The library is filled with books, and is run by females, so no—I don’t think my sex will be an obstacle,” you snap. Take a breath in. He’s good at getting under your skin. You have to remember that’s his game. And you can’t fall for it. Otherwise Azriel will be right.

Eris opens his mouth, and you just know you don’t want to hear whatever rubbish he’s about to spit out. So you divert by returning to your wonderful orrery, “if you had to choose between these two planets to stand on for five minutes—” you point to the globes either side of your own, “—which would you go for? Air shortage aside?”

He rolls his eyes, irritated. “I do not have an interest in your childish device, and I did not come here to be lectured on how great the world is, nor anything beyond it. I have much more pressing things to concern myself with. The fact alone you choose to entertain yourself with knowledge that will never impact anyone is proof of your naiveté.”

You ignore the jab, even if it scratches its nails down your mental walls. “If you set foot on this one—” point to the one further from the centre, “—you would be crushed in seconds. Do you know why?”

The viper’s smile again, “as I have already said, I have no childish infatuation with things beyond my control. You’re wasting your time.”

“This planet,” you carry on, pointedly ignoring him, “spins nearly five times faster than our own, meaning gravity—the stuff that holds us to the—”

“I know what gravity is,” he snaps, fire lighting in his eyes.

You blink, startled by the outburst. He watches you silently. Doesn’t make a move to interrupt you again.

“Meaning the gravity,” you say slowly, waiting for him to jump again. He doesn’t. “…is stronger.” You blink again, but he makes no comment. “As a result, the days there last mere hours. How can that not fascinate you? How many other quirks are out there? Even limiting it to our own planet?”

His caramel eyes narrow. “Careful,” he warns. “People have been put to death for talking as you are.”

You look at him, confused. “People in your court? Why on earth would anyone be killed for this?”

“Regardless of court,” he drawls, as if it’s obvious. “For suggesting something other than the Mother. On grounds of blasphemy. The study of science is inherently rooted against her.”

Eyes widen as you stare at him.

“Is that what’s stopping you?” You ask, incredulously. “You’re a favoured heir to the throne, aren’t you? What good is that title if you’re unable to benefit from it?”

His brow narrows, “there are infinite ways I benefit from it. If you’re too ignorant to figure them out, then it speaks volumes to your wisdom.”

You ignore that, pushing forward. “But Rhys has one in his study—an orrery. It can’t be that serious?” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you’re doubting yourself. “Is it?”

“Hasn’t your sister witnessed first-hand how selective the world can be in who it favours? Did you not listen when I told you your sex would present difficulties?” He says sharply. “If you’re set on remaining ignorant, I see no point in continuing this conversation.”

Spine straightens as you stare at him, surprised.

“If I don’t know something, then explain it to me,” you say quietly. “How can I learn if I don’t know where I’m lacking?”

“It is not my responsibility to educate you,” he snaps. “Neither my responsibility to entertain you with conversation. If you prove to be dull, I have no reason to waste my time on you.”

“I agree it’s not your responsibility to educate me,” you say, frowning, “but if you have knowledge of something I don’t, and refuse to share it, how can you stand there and remain irritated with me? When you have the ability to change that?”

Eris’ lips twist again. “Like I said: it’s a waste of time.”

Your brows curve in frustration and disappointment. “You’d rather allow your irritation to fester than do something to prevent it? If you have a problem, and the means to repair it, but choose not to… Well, it speaks volumes to what sort of High Lord you might be.” As soon as the title leaves your tongue, it smacks back into you, the weight registering in your mind. The male before you really might become High Lord—inherit the power and responsibility that comes with it.

He’ll become responsible for his whole Court—yet prefers inactivity when faced with a problem that does not directly impact him.

“Why spend my energy on something so useless? You are only one person—why should I waste my breath? You clearly have no concept of how important and limited time is to someone in my position, in spite of immortality,” he states coldly, caramel darkening to something icy. “I prioritise matters I deem to be important; you waste your time flicking through old books that would better serve a fire.”

“I’m wasting my time on something I love.” You reply sharply, skin itching again, prickling at your fingertips. Sick of having it looked down on. Of being looked down on.

Lips twist in a faint, serpentine smile, eyes gleaming with predatory focus. He descends into the seat opposite you, moving with the grace of a spider, spiralling down into the centre of his web to meet his prey. Suck it dry; liquidate its insides. “Now that piques my interest.”

You don’t need to look down to know the colour your skin has changed to. You do anyway, eyes widening as you take in the faint, radiant green of your fingertips. You stare silently, noting the iridescence.

“I gather my brother’s mate is a seer, while the hell-cat yielded her power,” his smile is one crafted from centuries of cultivated misery, sharp edges created to keep himself safe. Carving his own bones into weaponry. “Could Rhysand have kept you secret because you have no control over it? Even after all this time?”

You bite down on the fear—it’s the second time it’s sparked up in broad daylight. Out in the open. Where anyone can see. “So persistent with the theory of secrecy,” you manage, voice coming out smooth, for the most part. “Maybe you didn’t know, because my power is nothing. It doesn’t heal, doesn’t hurt—nothing besides a dim light in the dark. It’s utterly useless.”

Eris doesn’t look convinced. “The cauldron wouldn’t give you a meaningless power. You haven’t tried hard enough.”

“Why is it so unbelievable?” You counter, in a hurry to end the conversation so you can return to the cover of your room. “Elain is the only one gifted with a real power. Nesta—” Are you allowed to tell him? He already knows she yielded it, so you see no point in hiding it. “Nesta took something. Ripped it away from the cauldron. Why would I be given anything meaningful?” You ask, and see the interest drain from his eyes. “Out of the four of us, Elain’s the only one with a working power.”

“And that’s why you’ve had so much time to yourself,” he drawls, malice again swimming in his whiskey eyes. “No training to do, nothing useful to preoccupy yourself with. Just steadily draining resources, and researching nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense,” you fire back weakly. “And it’s not heresy either. —nor blasphemy, or whatever name you want to give it to try and convince me it’s wrong.”

His eyes harden, “it denies the power of the Mother. Everything was made when she tipped out the cauldron. Science seeks to disprove that.”

“It shows the beauty of the world!” You insist, vaguely aware of the colour growing more intense as you press your hands into the surface of the table, rising to your feet. “It shows how intricate, and delicately woven it is! The only thing it does is prove there is something out there. How can you look up into the night sky, or gaze across the world, filled with magic, and life, and think any other way?” You argue, pushing the orrery across the table. “There are patterns in our world. Strange, and wonderful patterns, if you know how to spot them. The perfect rotations of our world around the great star, how everything intertwines with one another, like those cogs and screws you were trying to make light of. How can a world be so intricately faceted by chance? There has to be a designer—a creator. The one who set everything in motion to become as it is now.”

Your heart spikes as you think about it—how great she must be. The vastness of her capabilities.

“Science does not deny the existence of the Mother—it allows us to study the depth of her. Or something close to it.”

Eris’ eyes flick down to the solar system that you’ve pushed between his hands—now studying the details. His attention drags back up to you, noting how your pupils have dilated, heart beating quickly, nails digging into the surface of the table, gleaming with iridescence. A slow smile as he makes the connection between your emotions and the glow.

It would be a shame to tell you.

He’ll watch you figure it out for yourself—even if you have to stumble your way to the end.

“You’re skilled with words,” he says at last. “Has anyone told you that?”

You regard him silently, a little taken aback. Almost exhausted from the output of energy. Who knew it could be so tiring sharing an interest. How draining excitement is. “You’re just saying that,” you murmur quietly, fatigue weighing on your tongue from the outburst. You know he’s manipulative. You won’t fall for it.

His smile grows a little wider, into something vaguely normal. “You might even have avoided execution with a speech like that.”

Strangely, it doesn’t feel like he’s lying. It’s not much to go off, not much to rely on. He’s had centuries to perfect this act, would be flawless at it by now. And yet…

And yet. It’s enough for you to believe him. Trust your gut, and it’s telling you he’s being sincere.

Strange indeed.

————

Mor had interrupted almost immediately after, making you spring back from the table, seeing her blonde head appear in the kitchen, eyes hard when they landed on the Autumn Court male.

She’d promptly whisked him away to whichever room they were having their meeting in, and you’d hastily tucked your hands at your back, concealing glowing fingertips from her sharp gaze. You’d hated yourself a little in that moment, for hiding it from her. For not being brave enough to face them head on.

It was nothing compared to the sharp, stabbing laceration in your gut when Eris noted the movement. Offered you a slow, vulpine smile.

It’s been days since then, and every step seems to echo your doom. Every footfall in the hallway, every chirp of voices—you’re convinced they know. Because how much longer is he going to keep it a secret? How long before he asks something from you? Something you can’t give, because you don’t have access to them. To any of them. Not in the way he would like.

A series of knocks is landed to you door, and the book slides from your hands. Yelp when it nearly hits your foot. Feyre really needs to start walking a little louder so things like that don’t happen. You sigh heavily.

“Come in,” you call, hastily collecting up the book, plonking it down atop the precarious stack at your bedside. A small gust of dust motes shoot out from the pages, and you cough, turning to the window. Opening it to invite in the crisp, midday air. Open the curtains a little wider, too.

You turn to face her, here probably to ask you to another dinner. It’s been nearly a fortnight since the last one, when Elain had invited you to the…mortal lands. You really don’t know what to call that part, now.

Hazel cuts into you, air catches in your lungs—maybe it’s the dust.

You stare. Stare, and stare, but he doesn’t morph, or transfigure into your sister. Shadows crawl at his feet, slink over his wings, kept tight to his body. It’s strange to see him so tense.

“What are you…” you trail off, shaking your head slowly. “No.”

Azriel’s mouth purses. Remains in the doorway, not even one step away from the threshold. “We should— I would like to speak with you.” You stare longer; shake your head again.

(you are a proving to be a burden.)

“I don’t… No. I don’t want to,” you manage. “I’m in the middle of something right now.” His eyes flick about the room, and you shift to conceal the books at your bedside. “You don’t look busy,” he says slowly, aware how quickly things can turn sour. “That’s because I’m talking to you,” you reply, equally carefully.

He pauses, eyes once again scanning your room, then, “may I come in?”

Spine goes rigid; his pupils dilate. “I want to clear the air between us,” he supplies. “It would be better to do so in private.” He has a point. Feyre’s added a sound barrier to your room after the mess of last time, but… It’s midday, no one should be here. The only people who occasionally dip in are Elain and Feyre. Nesta doesn’t really…the two of you aren’t as close. “Okay,” you find yourself saying, dipping your head, “but I need to—” you gesture to the clothes on your floor. The general mess.

He nods, throat bobbing before he steps inside, the door clicking behind him as he keeps to the clear spaces on the floor. Few and far between.

You swallow, prying your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “What did you want to… Where do you want to start?” You ask, returning to the far end of your room to push the windows wider—as far as they can go. The breeze plays with strands of your hair, cleaning out the stuffy room, smelling slightly of mildew and parchment. Mostly dust, though.

“Your feelings for me…” he begins quietly, the words blaring throughout the room. “How long have you—”

“You know. Start somewhere else,” you interrupt, nails digging into the wooden frame, nudging the fabric of the curtains with your foot. He pauses, and you remain turned away from him, heart spiking. But he acquiesces.

“Okay…” he breathes heavily, followed by the faint stretch of leather as he folds his arms. Flexes his fingers before doing so. Still, you don’t look at him. “The talk with Eris.” It’s your turn to sigh, shifting on your feet to face him, wind blowing in gently from behind, soothing the heat between your shoulder blades, wrapping your cardigan a little tighter.

You don’t question how he knows about that short chat. Maybe Mor mentioned it—she’s the only one who saw, anyway. And you can’t imagine Azriel would have allowed it to go on that long if his shadows were aware. There’s a sour taste at the back of your throat.

“He just asked why I lived up here, instead of with the rest of you,” you mumble, scanning hastily for something to do. “I just said I liked the quiet, and that’s it.” Fingers grip the hem of a top, carrying it to your bed to fold away. The first of many.

Silence stretches between you, taut and tenuous. Hairs rise at the back of your neck, skin prickling.

“You didn’t mention that last time,” he says slowly, neutrally. Too controlled to be calm.

Your brows draw together. “I didn’t,” you confirm, picking up another top, folding it. It’s slightly out of place, the seams not lining up, and you redo it. Set it above the other. “Why not?” He asks tentatively. “It helps to know exactly things like that.” You stand straighter, looking at him—he does indeed have his arms crossed. Uncrosses them when you face him. Also straightens.

“We haven’t spoken since then,” you say slowly.

Eyes lock briefly when you both connect the dots.

“You’ve spoken with him since?” It’s phrased as a question, but…

Throat rolls, eyes turn away, body following shortly after, grabbing a pile of three garments. Set them on the bed. Hands moving like clockwork.

Head dips in confirmation.

Silence digs deeper. A shovel in a grave mound.

“When we had a meeting?” He asks, voice again taking on that controlled tone. Body coiled tight. Features neutral. “Yeah,” you murmur, “when you had that meeting.” Set the skirt atop the pile.

“And he asked why you live alone?” There’s an implication there. What is it? So many different angles to study it from—not a pleasing thought. “Not directly,” you mumble, “he said it was interesting I chose to live here when Feyre had a house deeper in the city. I think.”

“What you do you mean, you think?” He asks steadily, remaining statue-like in your peripherals.

“It was a few days ago,” you supply. “It didn’t stick with me.” That part didn’t, at least. He nods, reasoning it out in his head. Understandable.

“Was there anything else?” He asks instead. You know he marks the way your shoulders tense, even if you operate otherwise normally. “No,” you mumble, turning away from him, “nothing important.”

“We’ve been over this,” he reminds. “You don’t—…” Sighs. “Just tell me everything, and I’ll decide what’s important.” Why does this keep happening?

“You can’t trust him,” he adds gently, a touch softer than before.

You nod your head quickly, “I know.” Quiet reigns again, and he’s debating something. “Just say it,” you murmur, straightening the stack of books, skittish fingers fumbling with some of the loose papers. You should probably separate them out into a neater pile—they’ll only get more crinkled otherwise.

“I don’t want you to take it the wrong way,” he supplies carefully.

“Okay.” Nod once. “I won’t.”

Picture the way his throat rolls, fingers flex at his sides. “Do you really understand why you can’t trust him?”

You pick up a few books from the stack, depositing them on your desk, moving to sort through which ones can be returned to the library. Mentally cataloguing their numbers and titles that correlate with set aisles. “I do,” you say, seeing how that would have been misinterpreted. He does you the courtesy of not asking you to explain it. “So you understand why you have to be careful about what you say. What you let him know,” he reasons softly.

Something heavy settles in your gut at the reminder, but you keep your lips shut.

“Eris is a snake,” he continues. “I can’t stress enough how wary you should be around him. And certainly never by yourself.” Eyes briefly meet over that last part, then your own dart away, returning to organising the catastrophe on your desk. Shifting through papers and diagrams. Charts and catalogues. Star formations and little doodles. “If you give him something, he will find a way to use it. It’s imperative you never let him know anything important.” You look at him over your shoulder, temporarily removing your focus from the lovely books, “what counts as important?”

Azriel sighs, leans against the tall frame of your bed, one shoulder propped against it calmly. He looks relaxed—it’s intentional. A distortion to make things seem fine; to keep you calm.

He raises one hand, gestures between you and him. “Us,” he says, reluctantly. “Things like this—they’re private. Emotional problems, and squabbles or…complications,” he expands. “You can’t let him know about anything like that. If he thinks there’s weakness, or a rift he can exploit, he will.”

Breath catches in your chest, and you snap you attention off him, forcefully reattaching it to the books you’ve laid out. Which pile means what?

“I don’t…” you begin. Swallow. Unstick your tongue. “I don’t know about any of your relations. Within…within Rhys’…” You fumble, unsure how to describe them all.

(Us.)

“Family?” He supplies. “Within your family?”

“No,” you sigh. “Beyond my sisters. I don’t—…I mean, I don’t know what’s going on with Cassian, or Mor, or Amren, either. I don’t—… There’s nothing he can get from me.”

Azriel watches you silently, skin prickling beneath the weight of his focus. “They’re your family, too,” he says gently. Almost tenderly. “Not just Rhys’, or Feyre’s. You’re her older sister, so you’re a part of it all, too.”

(A single pair of pearl earrings.)

Hazel locks with your own, and you release a soft laugh, beams of amusements finally lighting your eyes, mirth building on your mouth. How long has it been since you’ve laughed because of him?

Azriel narrows his eyes, and the laughter dies on your tongue. “Oh.” The word whispers out on an exhale, subconsciously taking a step backward. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, “I thought—” You shake your head. “You’re just saying that.” He remains silent, watching you intently.

“They don’t—,” you fumble. Trying to find the words. “I mean, they—… We’re separate. Me, I mean. I’m not—”

“Yes you are.”

You shake your head, not accepting it. “You can’t expect me to believe that,” you mutter. “I’m not that naive.”

Azriel’s brow furrows. “Granted, you don’t make it easy. But you’re still part of it all.”

“So you—” You’re not sure if you can say it. “You don’t… You see me as family?”

It’s his turn to falter, coming up short. You shake your head in disbelief. “Azriel…”

His eyes narrow as he stares at you. Opens his mouth.

“Don’t,” you murmur. “Let’s just… Let’s stay on track.” Otherwise it’s going to get ugly.

(you are a proving to be a burden.)

Lower lip trembles; you bite it, turning your attention to your desk. He’s quiet for a few moments, and the energy begins to settle.

“Why does family bother you so much?” He asks, quietly.

Breath whooshes from your lungs, and you place both your palms flat on the desk, so tired. “Because,” you sigh, eyelids weighing heavy. Massage the bridge of your nose with both your middle and forth fingers. “The feelings I have for you…those don’t belong to a family member.” Shame heats your cheeks, fingers covering you eyes. How many times do you have to say it?

“Why do you insist on targeting everything I’m uncomfortable talking about?” You ask, softly, hands remaining over your features, muffling you. Because if you don’t divert, he’ll target that, too. “You did the same in the air,” you whisper, “you get hung up on these tiny points and you can’t let them go and it’s…” You don’t know.

“It’s what?” He asks, coldly. Lip trembles at the tone, pushing away the dampness, lowering your hands. “Why do you do it?”

“It’s my job to get the details right,” he replies.

(Is this your preferred battleground? Verbal warfare?)

“I’m not your job, Azriel.”

“You are when you run off and have unmonitored chats with that male.”

“Eris, or Bas?” You ask quietly.

(You’re quite talented at it.)

He falters, then his jaw ticks, the muscle feathering. “We’ll talk about Bas in a minute,” he says. “For now, we’re talking about how you behave around Eris.” You stare at him. Blink. “I don’t know how to make it clearer,” he continues, watching the ceiling, head tipped upward slightly. Eyes flick down, looking as though you’re below him.

Lowers his head.

“Eris prefers verbal warfare,” he begins, repeating the same old things he’s already told you. Fingertips begin to itch.

Hazel pierces into you, muscle in his jaw tensing. “He’s good at it, too. Good enough to make all of us wary. Doesn’t that show enough?”

(You’re skilled with words, has anyone told you that?)

“I got that impression.”

He nods, no more than a gentle dip of his chin. “That’s good,” he sighs. “It’s a good start.” Something twists in your gut at the words.

“Just don’t go near him,” Azriel continues, unaware of the numbness that’s slowly spreading down your back. “Okay.” Hands move automatically, and you watch distantly as they go.

He sighs, “so tell me what happened most recently. All of it. Then I can tell you what’s good and what’s not.”

“I don’t remember all of it,” you mumble.

Why are you so tired? It’s not the same fatigue as after talking with Eris. That was pleasant. Your mind was tired from working. Now… You’re just tired of resisting.

“You said he asked about you living alone,” he prompts. You want to go to bed. Want to close the curtains and crawl deep under the sheets.

You nod distantly. “And you said you liked the quiet.”

Nod again.

“So what happened after that?” He’s gotten quieter, sensing your disengagement.

You shrug weakly. “We just talked.”

“This is what I mean,” he says gently, attempting to soften the words that need to be said. “Eris doesn’t do idle chatter. You have to start understanding that.”

You shake your head, denying, “he didn’t ask anything else.”

“But you were talking?” He asks pointedly, doubt clear.

You go quiet. Shoulders slope.

Azriel sighs, standing upright. There’s no use talking to you like this.

“Let’s try this another time. When you’re more… When you’re feeling better.” He waits a little for a response. Feel the weight of his gaze on your hands. You don’t respond, and he dips his head in acknowledgement. Allowing your peace.

But still, when he leaves, you’re torn between crying, and wanting to run after him.

Nothing’s gotten better.

You still crave his attention, even though it’s begun to hurt.

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zepskies · 1 month

Text

Take Me Home - Part 5

Pairing: Beau Arlen x F. Reader

Summary: You are another lost soul at Sunny Day Excursions. You’re aiming to settle in Helena, Montana, where Beau Arlen is the new sheriff in town. But you’ve both got a past you’re running from.

AN: Welcome back, friends! We’re gonna start ramping up from here on out.

Word Count: 5K

Tags/Warnings: Angst and tension, a bit of heartbreak, a little Shakespeare, and another small cliffhanger…

❤️ Series Masterlist

Part 5: Not That Simple

“I’m keeping close tabs on Carla and Emily just to be safe,” Beau admitted.

Your face became the picture of concern. But before you could respond, a man approached the table, tall and lean, with a shaggy cut of dark blonde hair. He wore a pair of faded jeans, boots, and a gray Chicago FD t-shirt.

Your face paled, and your mouth parted in surprise.

“Hey there, stranger,” he said with a smile.

“Michael?” you gasped. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Beau’s eyes widened. Michael was younger than him, closer to your age. And cocky too.

“Hey, baby,” Michael said. His smile quirked with charm, but his next words were anything but charming.

“We need to talk,” he said, raising his brows.

“We actually don’t,” you retorted in a firmer voice. Cold even. You straightened in your seat.

Beau saw none of your softness and good humor from earlier. This was a different woman, and he was actually proud of you for standing your ground. Though he realized then that he’d never gotten on your bad side. (He hoped he never did.)

Michael frowned, sighing through his nose. He seemed to expect your reaction, to an extent, but was still disappointed. His gaze slid to Beau.

Seeming to realize his manners were lacking, he reached out his hand.

“Sorry for interrupting. Michael Hadley,” he greeted.

Beau stared at the other man’s hand for a moment. Instead of shaking it, he held all his true thoughts inside and flashed the newcomer an easy grin, as well as the badge on his belt.

“Sheriff Arlen,” he replied, raising a brow. “So you’re Michael.”

Michael met your eyes briefly, then Beau’s again. Michael’s hand lowered back to his side.

“So she’s talked about me,” he said.

Beau’s eyes were sharper when they took the other man in.

“Oh, believe you me, that’s not something to brag about, Mike.”

You had to bite your lip so you wouldn’t smile. Michael’s politeness thinned, but just as his mouth opened to offer a retort, Cassie and Jenny returned with the drinks.

“Hi, there,” Jenny said with civility (sort of), but her blue eyes raked over Michael in an assessing way. She’d clocked your surprise and discomfort from across the room.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to stop the party,” Michael said, making you want to scoff.

Of course you did, you thought.

“I’m Michael, her fiancé,” he tried to introduce himself with an outstretched hand. Jenny also ignored that hand in order to set down the drinks.

It gave you the opportunity to interject with some reality.

“You’re missing an ex in there. As in no longer, and wish we’d never been,” you said. You crossed your arms and met Michael’s annoyed look with your firm one.

He eventually sighed and rested a hand on the back of the booth, behind your seat. You twisted to face him, but you were purposeful in leaning away from him.

Beau had to just watch the scene unfold. He didn’t like the way Michael leaned in, crowding your personal space when you were clearly trying to create distance.

“Can we talk?” Michael asked you. “Please?”

For a moment, you paused with indecision. You didn’t want to make a scene here in the middle of a bar. Not in front of your friends, where half of them were police officers. You didn’t want to stop them from having a good time either.

You met Cassie and Jenny’s eyes, and finally Beau’s. Despite the controlled, almost lazy way he’d handled Michael, you could see he didn’t look happy. You sighed.

“Sorry. Give me a minute,” you said. You got up out of the booth and went with Michael to a somewhat private corner across the restaurant.

Meanwhile, Beau tried not to seem like he was keeping an eye on you two. Cassie and Jenny were too, while sipping on their respective drinks.

“What’s the story there?” Cassie asked.

“Cheating ex,” Beau supplied.

“Great,” Jenny said wryly. Her lips pursed as she met Cassie’s knowing frown. They’d been there before.

Cassie turned to Beau and bumped his shoulder with her own.

“You okay there, Sheriff?” Cassie asked him. Beau flashed her a look that showed he was unsettled.

“I’ve got another one to add to the punch list,” he replied.

“I can’t believe you’d ambush me like this!” you whisper-yelled.

Michael crossed his arms in defense. The two of you ducked a server who was coming in hot with a plate of buffalo chicken wings.

“You came all the way to Montana? For what?” you continued. “I already said everything I had to say to you last year. And at Mary’s funeral. Thanks again for that, asshole.”

“That’s such a lie! You wouldn’t even talk to me at the funeral,” Michael shot back. “And you haven’t been answering my calls, my emails. What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“You’re supposed to respect me,” you snapped. Though you couldn’t help the emotion making your voice shake, just a little. “You’re supposed to respect me, and my choices. That’s what you’re supposed to do. But I don’t why I should expect you to start now."

You started to walk away from him, but he grabbed at your hand. You turned back around and jerked your hand out of his grasp.

“It’s over. It’s been over for months. Damn near a year,” you said. “What do you want?”

He looked down at you through sad eyes under his furrowed brows.

“I never wanted it to be over,” he said quietly.

“Well, you pretty much made that decision for us,” you said, crossing your arms. You didn’t know whether it was to stand firm, or to shield yourself. “And I’m done. Quite frankly, I could live the rest of my life without seeing you again.”

“Come on. You don’t mean that,” he said.

He genuinely looked gutted, which was the confusing part. You shook your head and tried to blink the frustrated tears out of your eyes.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” you said.

“I want to say I’m sorry. And I am, more than you know. I want…I want to ask if you can forgive me,” he all but pleaded. He touched your arms, not quite grasping. For the first time since you’d known him, he seemed desperate. “Look, you know how hard it was for me to come out here and beg like a dog, but here I am…because I still love you.”

You were shocked into silence for a moment, but not out of happiness.

Then, you had to sigh. You held up a hand against his chest, a subtle move at pushing him away.

“I can’t give that to you. Even your apology is hollow. Because what you did…” you said, on a halting breath. “You did it to me for years, Michael. Pretty much from the beginning of our relationship, if it ever was one.”

You shook your head as a tear made its way down your cheek.

“And if you could do that, then you never really loved me,” you said.

Michael’s eyes fell away, to hide the emotion stinging in them.

“So…just go home,” you told him. “Be with Kate if you want. I could really give a shit.”

Once again, Michael held your wrist when you tried to leave, this time more gently. He met you with frustrated blue eyes. Those eyes you used to drown in.

“She’s not you,” he said.

You slipped out of his grip and uttered a laugh devoid of all humor.

“That, you should’ve known from the beginning,” you said.

He was hurt.

And when he was hurt, he tended to cover it up with anger. His jaw began to work with frustration.

“What, so you’re just going to run away? Live in this dusty piece of shit town until you die?” he said, with the derision you’d come to expect from him when he didn’t get what he wanted.

“Go home, Michael,” you repeated. “I’m not going back.”

“Everything okay?” Beau asked, when you finally returned to the table. He didn’t tell you that he, Jenny, and Cassie had been watching on standby, in case Michael tried to press his luck and get more grabby. It had taken everything within Beau to stay in his seat for the past ten minutes.

You gave him a smile and took up the shot of tequila Cassie had brought for you. You downed it and grimaced at the burn.

“I’m good,” you said, with a bit of difficulty. Part of you felt accomplished, that you’d faced Michael and hadn’t let him soften your resolve. Yet there was a big part of you—not so deep down—that felt like utter crap.

“Sorry for the unnecessary drama,” you muttered.

Jenny gave you a more serious look. One that said she had no problem stepping in if she needed to.

“If you ever feel unsafe, just let one of us know,” she said.

“That’s right. If he doesn’t leave it alone, all you need to do is call,” Beau added. Cassie echoed that sentiment with a nod. You met Beau’s gaze, despite the uncertainty inside you.

If you need me, call me, his eyes said.

You nodded then, with a thankful smile.

Beau couldn’t help it. He felt protective of you. It welled up in his chest and simultaneously felt heavy like a stone. And he could admit, if just to himself, that it was in the personal sense.

He tried to remember that his life was complicated right now. Too complicated probably, for all of that…but he cared about you. And he didn’t want to see you hurt.

Out of the corner of his eye, Beau spotted Michael Hadley at the bar. He was drinking a beer with an angry frown, and no good written all over his face.

Carla called Beau in a tizzy yesterday morning.

Not only had Avery bought a gun, but he’d given her some unhinged, quasi- “If I die” speech that had freaked her the hell out.

In searching Avery’s vacant hotel room, Beau found the missing pages of Paige’s journal. Pages that contained a seed phrase passcode to unlock the $15 million crypto account she and Luke had stolen.

If Avery had those pages, then it only confirmed that Avery had made a play for the money in order to save his failing business. He was attempting to break the encrypted code to unlock the account, likely for the shady-ass people Paige stole the money from in the first place.

Naturally, Beau had gone looking to bring the man in for questioning. He’d found Avery at a different, much seedier hotel, being led away by another man who walked and talked like a killer. Beau rightly assumed he was a hitman, gunning for Avery, and quite literally about to take out the trash.

Maybe the people he was working with were tired of waiting on him to unlock the account. Or maybe he’d already done it, and now they’d decided they didn’t need him anymore.

Beau was able to save Avery’s life, shooting the hitman. Then he’d arrested Avery. In return for that save, Avery had been giving Beau the runaround all night, with a side helping of audacity.

“What’s your plan here, man?” Beau asked. He leaned forward in his chair across from Avery’s. A narrow table lied in between them within the small holding cell for questioning.

“New identity? Thailand? Or maybe you’re not into the whole heat thing. Maybe Winnipeg,” Beau posed, with all due sarcasm. “You see, these people don’t forgive. And they don’t forget. And the ones that steal from them rarely die alone, which means you have put Carla, and you’ve put my daughter into danger. Did you even think about that?”

Right about now, Beau himself was beyond forgive and forget. In fact, he was irate. But he held it all down beneath a thin line of professionalism, despite the fire in his eyes.

Avery rested his elbows on the table as well.

“Everything I’ve done has been to protect my family. That’s all you need to know,” he said. “You on the other hand. You’ve made quite the mess, haven’t you? Killing that man put us all in more danger.”

He then leaned back in his chair, as if he held all the cards, and Beau was just a monkey wrench in his plans. It was a good front, but Beau saw right through it all. Avery was bluffing through his ass.

Still, he put on a good show.

“And now I’d very much like to speak to my lawyer,” he said.

It took everything within the sheriff to stop himself from reaching across the table, grabbing the other man by the collar, and yanking him down hard on the table, face-first.

Instead, he got up from his seat, deceptively calm. The only explosion of his rage came when he kicked his chair hard on his way out, making it slide across the room and hit the wall. He yanked the cell door open and closed it firm behind him.

He knew he couldn’t hold Avery, not even on Paige’s journal pages. As Avery had so cleverly pointed out, the money hadn’t been reported stolen (why would criminals drop a dime on themselves?). So Beau would let Avery go, for now. All he could do was wait for the cocky son of a bitch to mess up, even more than he already had.

Beau hated waiting.

But his next step was returning to his office and calling Carla. He asked her to join Emily in staying with him, until this thing with Avery blew over. Likely the people he was working with knew where he lived, knew how to find Carla and Emily.

Carla sounded shaken even on the phone, but she agreed.

“Is Emily at work right now?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’ll tell her,” Carla said, releasing a breath. “I’ll take her to your place again tonight, and I’ll bring an overnight bag for myself.”

“Good,” he said. “Thank you.”

After hanging up, Beau leaned back in his office chair and covered his bearded face with his hands. He rubbed at his tired eyes. What the hell do I do now?

The answer eluded him, especially when a knock sounded against his door, disturbing his thoughts. He sighed.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me,” you answered from behind the door. “I come bearing baked goods.”

Beau’s eyes widened in surprise. He beckoned you to come in, and so you did.

“Working hard, or hardly working?” you teased.

The sight of you was a balm to his frayed mind. Your familiar face, your pretty yellow sundress, the way you’d done your hair. It all managed to kick up his smile at seeing yours. Not to mention the delicious smelling basket you carried on your arm. The top was covered with a red checkered cloth.

“Hey, there. How’re you doin’?” he greeted, trying to hide the brunt of his former frustration and worry behind a more upbeat attitude.

He knew he hadn’t done well enough when your smile began to fall.

“Sorry, did I come at a bad time?” you asked in concern. “Deputy Poppernak told me I could stop in real quick…”

Beau shook his head and waved you in. “It’s all right. Come in, please.”

He stood and walked around his desk to sit on its edge.

“I have a feeling I’m gonna want whatever’s in that basket,” he added, nodding at the whicker you carried. You offered it to him, and your warm hand brushed his on the exchange.

“Just a little something,” you said. “And an apology for making a scene at the bar last night.”

Beau frowned. “You’re not really blaming yourself for that, are you?”

Though he soon brightened, whistling lowly when he found a half dozen chocolate chip muffins under the checkered cloth. A smile grew across his face when it dawned on him. The first thing you offered him when he met you was this very same treat.

He had a feeling your muffins would be even better. (...And he tried not to think about the potential double meaning there.)

“Damn, between you and your aunt Denise, I’m gonna have to start running again,” he quipped. His eyes met yours in amusement. “And between you and me, I freakin’ hate running.”

You chuckled at that. “I’m more of a yoga girl, myself.”

Beau’s brows rose in interest, but again, he tried not to picture you in some tight-ass yoga pants.

“Thank you for this,” he said, instead, waving the basket of muffins. He set it down beside him on the desk. “I definitely needed a pick-me-up today.”

You searched his face and began to frown at what you saw there. He both looked and sounded…tired, down. Not himself.

You drew closer and chanced resting a hand on his arm. “Hey, are you okay?”

Beau glanced down at your hand. He took in a deep breath through his nose before he met your gaze again.

“Yeah, don’t you worry. Everything’s fine,” he said. You gave him a somewhat chiding look.

“Beau, you don’t have to tell me it’s okay when it’s not,” you said.

He considered you ruefully. He should’ve known you were perceptive enough to see right through him. Or maybe he was just a shit actor.

He blew out a breath and nodded. “I asked Carla and Emily to stay with me for the next few days. At least until this investigation of Avery plays out.”

Your patient expression melted into worry. You had a feeling he wouldn’t do that unless things were truly dangerous.

“See, that’s what I didn’t wanna see,” he said, lightly bumping a curled finger under your chin. Despite yourself, you smiled a little. “I just want them where I can see them, is all.”

He was putting on a good front, but you weren’t convinced. And Beau could see that. He nodded at you to change the subject.

“Has Mike tried to contact you?” he asked. It was your turn to let out a sigh.

“Only two calls and eleven texts before lunch, but I’m not answering. He’ll get the hint and go home soon,” you said.

But Beau was perceptive too. He knew you well enough to read your added thoughts as you frowned and looked away. It said, At least, you hope he will.

Beau wanted to reassure you, not just to help make you feel safe, but because his gut churned with both unease and anger at the thought of that guy harassing you.

Beau reached out and gave into the temptation to stroke a thumb across your cheek, earning not just your attention, but your widening eyes.

“Hey. No more worrying, huh?” he said. His voice was quieter, warmer. He gave you a smile, along with an assured look.

“If anything happens—” he started to say, but you actually beat him to it. You held his hand to your cheek, surprising him this time.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve got the sheriff on speed dial,” you said. Your smile was sweet and teasing.

Beau had to smile back. His gaze roamed your face. Then your eyes dipped down to his lips. There was heat between you, prickling across your skin and zipping up his spine. It was an inevitable, raw kind of feeling.

He wanted, more than anything, to lean in those precious few inches and find out what you tasted like… He wanted nothing more than to haul you up on this desk, hands sliding up the skirt of that sundress.

But he held himself back with more self-control than he thought himself capable of. His hand fell away from your cheek. You looked up at him in confusion, and a bit of hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he said, in a lowered voice. “My life is…complicated.”

“And mine’s not?” you countered.

“Not the same,” Beau said. “Trust me. I uh, I’ve got some things in my past that I’m not proud of. Let’s just say you’re better off steering clear.”

“Let’s just say?” you repeated. Your brows drew together in frustration. “Why don’t you just say it? God knows you know everything about my messy life.”

Beau sighed. His gaze fell away from yours.

“It’s not that simple, darlin’,” he said.

He saw your disappointment, tinged with disbelief. As much as he didn’t want to hurt you, he also didn’t really have time to explain things properly to you. The truth was, he didn’t have time for this.

“Look—” he tried, but you cut him off.

“No. It’s fine, I guess,” you said. You looked down at your shoes and muttered, mostly to yourself. “Em was right. You are an old clam.”

“What?” Beau asked in confusion.

You shook your head and withdrew from him.

“Okay, sorry. I just…you know what? I need to go,” you stumbled over your words a bit, and you backed away.

It had Beau feeling at a loss already, not to mention the lance of guilt hitting him between the ribs. He stretched out a hand to you.

“Wait—”

You were too quick for him to stop, however. He watched you leave his office in a hurry, and mentally kicked himself all the while. He sighed and looked over at what you’d left behind—the damn basket of muffins. They smelled heavenly. Torturing him.

Damn it all, he thought, until he played back the reel of what you’d said in his mind.

“Old clam?” he repeated.

Once again, a knock on his office door disturbed his thoughts. Except this time, it was Deputy Poppernak.

He stopped short, seeing the furrowed look of confused, guilty frustration on the sheriff’s face.

“Everything okay, boss?”

“Fine,” Beau said, shaking his head. “What d’you got?”

Poppernak hesitated for a second, but he held up a file that he passed along.

“Here’s everything I could dig up on the guy from the hotel shooting,” he said.

Good, Beau thought. A worthy distraction.

You gave Poppernak a belated wave on your way out. You didn’t want to answer any questions or talk to anyone else. You just wanted to escape to your car, where you covered your face with your hands and tried to breathe through the tears stinging in your eyes.

Once again, you felt stupid. Your heart was racing in the worst of ways.

So you peeled out of the police station and headed home…

Or rather, you almost headed home. When you saw Dewell & Hoyt P.I. coming up on the right side of the road, you turned into the parking lot and went inside to see if your aunt was working.

Cassie wasn’t in, but Denise and Emily were. You greeted them both with warm hugs (and you tried to hide your frustrations from the latter, especially).

“What brought you in, hun?” Denise asked.

“Nothing really. I was just in the area and decided to pop in,” you replied with a shrug. Denise smiled and rubbed your arm.

“Well good. Em’s actually going on a coffee run for us. You want anything?”

“No, no, I’m good,” you said.

“You sure?” said Emily. “I can get you a banana bread or something.”

You smiled and shook your head, touching her arm in thanks. “It’s okay, honey. I just had lunch not too long ago.”

“Okay. Oh hey! Did you ask Dad about being on the podcast?” Emily asked.

You blinked as you went blank for a moment. The last thing you wanted to do right now was see that man (even if your heart called you a liar). You narrowly kept yourself from lying to Emily as well.

“Uh, yeah, we did talk about it. He’s on board with the idea,” you said, trying to give her a smile. Maybe it didn’t reach your eyes, but Emily seemed to buy it. She smiled back in triumph.

“Yes! Okay, this is good. Now I just gotta start thinking of some questions and we’ll set a date to record the first episode,” she said, doing a little fist pump into the air.

You tried to match her enthusiasm, but you knew you were falling short. Denise could see it too. Lucky for you, Emily ran off to get to the nearby bakery, the excitement keeping her face bright all the while.

Denise turned to you knowingly.

“Okay, grab a seat. I’ll make us some tea, and you can tell me what’s got you looking white as a sheet,” she said.

You sighed and sat down in the lounge area—a seating of couches and a chaise. You sat on the couch while Denise took the chaise. And between mugs of jasmine tea, you told her everything that happened at the precinct when you went to visit Beau.

When you were done explaining, Denise looked contemplative and sympathetic. However, you knew there was more to that look.

“Okay. Honey, I know you don’t want to hear this, but he’s in a complex situation right now,” she said. “Between investigating Avery, and how it’s falling back on Carla and Emily—”

“I know. He told me about that,” you said. You were worried about them too. While you didn’t know Carla all that well, your friendship with Emily meant something to you. And not just because you had some…unnamed feelings for her father.

Your bond with Emily had started at that damned camp, and solidified the night of Mary’s murder. “Trauma bonding” was a thing for a reason. But besides that experience, you genuinely enjoyed the girl’s company, hearing her talk about her interests in school, careers she was considering after college, and even helping her explore her creative side. She was young, but she was bright and mature for her age.

You cared about what all this was putting her through…though you finally realized that Emily might not be comfortable with the thought of “you and Beau.”

“I don’t want to upset Emily with all this either,” you admitted. “I don’t even know what she thinks of her dad possibly dating again.”

And something else you hadn’t considered. Could all this shakeup between Avery and Carla, not to mention her and Emily staying at Beau’s place now…

“God. Maybe he wants to get back together with his ex-wife,” you realized, with some small shock.

It wasn’t inconceivable, and it had tears welling up in your eyes for a whole different reason.

"Oh, honey, you don't know that," Denise started to say. You shook your head and set down your tea.

“You know what? I’m just gonna go home,” you said, but Denise tried to keep you with gentle hands on your arms.

“Come on. You don’t have to go,” she said.

You shook your head and eased out of her grasp.

“Sorry. I just…it’s his choice, and if he’s already made it…” you trailed. You didn’t want to even acknowledge that your heart was fracturing. “Well, if that’s the case, then I have to respect that.”

Denise didn’t know what else to say to you. But that was just as well.

“Tell Em I’m sorry, but I had to go,” you said.

Denise protested, but you left Dewell & Hoyt before your tears could fall in earnest.

When you actually got home, you were exhausted. It was a case of emotional stress weighing down your body as you forced yourself up the stairs to your second-floor apartment.

You didn’t bother changing. Instead, you grabbed a familiar book of plays from your desk and dropped yourself onto the couch. You got comfortable with Much Ado About Nothing. You hadn’t finished reading it while at the camp, and you needed to brush up on it if you were going to be mentally prepared for the coming school year.

It felt like a world away, but at least with the characters in Much Ado, you had familiar ground. In the scene you were reading, the main characters, Beatrice and Benedick, were already at each other’s throats:

BENEDICK: What, my dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living?

BEATRICE: Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain if you come in her presence.

BENEDICK: Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted; and I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart, for truly I love none.

BEATRICE: A dear happiness to women. They would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood I am of your humor for that. I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.

It was hard to believe that these two were supposed to fall in love. Actually, their later “epiphanies” would lead them to realize that the sniping and the arguments and the misunderstandings between them had been love all along…

But you’d come to realize that there was no “Benedick” for you in real life. Sometimes, the angry sniping wasn’t sexual tension. It was just a man who’d never truly respect you.

And sometimes, the arguments and misunderstandings were just two people in the right place at the wrong time, never quite meant to be.

Thankfully, a knock at your door interrupted your romantic musings.

Releasing a sigh, you set Much Ado on the glass coffee table in front of you. You got up from the couch and went to the front door, where you looked in the peephole. Your lips drew into a frown, but your disbelief had you unlocking the door before you could think better of it.

“Michael?! What are you doing here?” you asked.

He stood there with determination set across his face.

“We really need to talk.”

AN: *Sigh.* This guy just doesn't learn, does he? And I'm not just talking about Michael.

Next Time:

“If you give me one more chance, I promise I won’t mess it up again. I’ll be the man you deserve,” Michael said, taking your hand and uncrossing your arms in the process.

“Believe it or not, I took a week off without pay, just to be here and get a chance to say this to you: I love you. I love you. And I know now that it’s meant to be you.”

You hesitated, and even made the mistake of looking up into his eyes.

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#Not That Simple #Take Me Home #Part 5 #Beau Arlen series #big sky #beau arlen #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x female reader #Emily Arlen #beau arlen x you #Jensen Ackles characters #big sky season 3 #Denise Brisbane #Jenny Hoyt #Cassie Dewell #zepskies writes

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gojonanami · 2 months

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prof geto (4) tomorrow at 8 PM EST!

…there is gonna be a part 5

#sab speaks #sab series [prof suguru]#part 5 will be the last part though #aside from the extra credit fics lol #I just hit 10k in the fic #I have like four to six more scenes left #I also may have some tweaking to do depending on Hannah feels

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beatleswings · 3 months

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THE BEATLES performing "She Loves You" on THE ED SULLIVAN SHOW. February 9, 1964.

#part 3/5 of the beatles' first apperance performances on ed sullivan gifset series!#precious bug boys #i just want to put them in my pocket :3 #the beatles #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #the ed sullivan show #1960s #60s #1964 #my gifs #beatlesedit #thebeatlesedit

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pharawee · 5 months

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It's been a week already, so here I am with the third part of my Pit Babe novel commentary.

(You can find the first two parts here and here.)

First things first, though. North is an omega. Do with that information what you will. 🤡

Meanwhile, Charlie and Babe are back at it again (because of course they are) and this time they're not taking any prisoners. Poor Way is on the phone with Babe as Charlie does his best to please~ him. In various ways. Way is very confused. All he wants is for Babe to tell him which car he wants him to buy. You know, if this is Way's villain origin story then I'm not even mad.

Charlie mercifully ends the call before things can get a bit too obvious, only for Babe to pick up the phone again to make an x-rated recording of them going at it like bunnies. Keep this in mind for later.

But anyway. It's finally time for Charlie's initiation into Team X-Hunter - that is, if he manages to pass Alan's test: compete against Pit Babe himself. As if Charlie wasn't nervous enough about it already. Naturally, he loses, and he's really upset about it too - not because he failed the test but because he failed his friends. Aw. But no one really expected him to win against Babe anyway, Alan merely wanted to test his determination, and so he's welcomed as the newest member of the team. Competitive racing really is that easy, I guess.

One almost-love confession later (Babe can't quite bring himself to say it but he doesn't need to. Charlie knows.) they're back to actually teaching Charlie how to race. Since Babe is still healing from his injuries, he can only (very stylishly) watch from the sidelines as the other members of X-Hunter take over as Charlie's teachers. Today it's North's turn and remember? He's the only omega on the team. Naturally, Babe is jealous. They (dirty-)talk it out. Charlie can now smell Babe's emotions, while Babe has all but lost his heightened senses. Hm.

Later, in the locker room while Charlie is busy racing, Babe comes across Way. Or is it the other way around? It seems like Way really wants to talk to him - or rather, talk him out of being with Charlie. Something's really fishy about the way he phrases things. Manipulate, mansplain, malewife. Or something. But the thing is? For some strange reason it's working, even on someone as headstrong and stubborn as Babe (and the only reason why Babe isn't immediately giving in to Way's weirdly cruel love confession is because his heart is full of Charlie). All these moments when Way and he seemed so flirty and close? Suddenly they've become very, very creepy. Hmm.

Anyway. It's time for Charlie to pay another visit to his mysterious clients and/or family. He never really says (but we now know better). But, oh no! He's left his wallet! Luckily, he's got the world's best not-quite-boyfriend to try and catch up with him before it's too late.

And here's where things go very, very wrong.

(I'm putting the rest of this post under a cut because of major spoilers and a content warning for SA and grooming. Please take care.💜)

Because that's not a taxi Babe sees Charlie getting into. It's one of his "father's" limousines, along with some of his men. Preparing for the worst, Babe follows.

Meanwhile, Charlie is meeting up with his adopted father. Their coversation goes about as expected, with Charlie refusing to return home and bring Babe with him while he's at it, because they've indeed been adopted by the same man. Charming.

This is the moment when Babe barges into the room, thinking that he's here to save Charlie before very quickly realising the truth: that he's been manipulated and played and lied to.

I need you to realise how much of a nightmare this is for Babe. He's spent over a decade running from an adoptive father who wants to trap and abuse him, and now the only person he trusts (and loves, but we don't talk about that) has led him straight back into that trap.

So basically, Babe's sanity is slowly unravelling at the seams. He immediately takes off, with Charlie following him outside and into the rain (because of course it's raining - it's much more dramatic that way). When Charlie attempts to stop him and explain, Babe (understandably) lashes out. He punches Charlie's glasses right off his face, failing to understand why he's the one who's hurting when it's Charlie who should be feeling guilty.

Oh, and then there's this bit:

"I thought you liked racing…" Babe's voice was trembling and soft, completely different from before, "…I thought you loved me."

I barely survived reading this. I'm here for fun omegaverse shenanigans dammit!!

So, yeah, Babe returns home alone, and even though he doesn't want to, he forces himself to remember what happened with his adoptive father, because as it turns out Charlie's betrayal has the most horrifying of implications:

You see, Babe was adopted because he was an alpha with special abilities. But he wasn't the only one, there were other adopted alpha children with special abilities that Babe was never allowed to meet. Eventually, Babe learned about the existence of enigmas who stand above even alphas and are so strong (and thankfully rare) that they can turn any alpha they have sex with into omegas and impregnate them. Children from these unions have a 99% chance to be alphas with special abilities. See where this is going?

Let me spell it out for you - because clearly this isn't wtf-inducing enough: Babe is essentially the main ingredient in his adoptive father's breeding program.

But wait! It gets even worse! 🤡🤡

Babe, alone and at his lowest, deduces that Charlie must the enigma that was sent to lure him back.

And if that's true, then maybe he's already been changed from an alpha into an omega (because his heightened senses are gone, remember?). Maybe he's already pregnant.

And this is what sends Babe completely over the edge (same here, Babe, same here...) because he is positively traumatised by the thought of having children and fulfilling his adoptive father's sick wishes. He doesn't want children. The very thought makes him sick. He values his autonomy above all else. He never even has sex with omegas because he refuses to get anyone pregnant.

Only now he's about to get a pregnancy test because he was stupid enough to fall for a cute, innocent boy with glasses.

Enter Charlie who of course still knows the code to Babe's condo. Babe barricades himself in his bedroom while Charlie tells him his side of the story. How he was adopted by the same man, and how he was quite content with his life until he learned about his father's plan to get one of his other adoptive children pregnant - by force if necessary. Charlie felt sorry for this older adoptive brother but since he only knew his name - Babe - he bid his time until he heard about a racer named Pit Babe. Charlie started hanging out at the races and in turn fell in love with racing (and with Babe).

Fast forward to now, only of course Babe doesn't believe him because he must be the enigma, right?

Nope, turns out Charlie is an alpha after all, only his special ability is stealing other alphas' special abilities.

And his grand plan? To take away what makes Babe special so their adoptive father will no longer be interested in breeding (ugh...) him.

Which leaves us (and Babe) with one problem: Wtf Charlie, you don't just steal people's abilities without their consent - especially not when you claim to love them.

So yeah, their whole relationship is based on lies and manipulation, and Charlie essentially stole Babe's heightened senses by having sex with him.

Babe starts crying, Charlie starts crying, then they start having hatesex (which usually ends all their arguments). This fixes things for about five minutes until Babe starts sobbing for real. He wants Charlie to leave. He can't even stand to look at him.

And so Charlie leaves and moves in with his other adoptive brother, Jeff. We'd already established that Jeff is an omega. However, he's a special omega (because why else would he have been adopted too?).

Jeff can see the future. 🤡🤡🤡

He was incredibly valuable to their adoptive father until he probably realised what that meant for him, so one day Jeff took a stroll outside and let himself get hit by a car, claiming that this had him lose his abilities. Naturally, he was promptly discarded, but he seems to live a comfortable life protected by Charlie. He's exactly as aloof as Pon plays him in the series. I love Jeff, ok?

Meanwhile, Babe's back to his old habits, trying to chase away his thoughts of Charlie by getting it on with other alphas. Only it doesn't work. He blames their scent, of course, but he's clearly still hung up on Charlie. Drunk and miserable, he rediscovers the spicy video of Charlie and him that he recorded on his phone and promptly starts masturbating (as you do). When Charlie calls him, he picks up out of habit. Babe is angry (and horny) and Charlie is sad (and horny) so they have phone sex (and they're still really into calling each other papa and daddy - which, you know, there might be better pet names considering who's their adoptive father but ok).

Babe still doesn't want to see Charlie, and as Charlie later aptly puts it:

"Because I chose the starting point myself without asking him. So now I have to let him choose the ending he is most comfortable with."

Much, much later, the racing season picks back up again. Turns out the whole race track had to shut down for an investigation into Babe's accident. It's Charlie's first race and there's some kind of qualifying for future rounds. But, surprise! Babe will be racing too. He's too stubborn to let Charlie win the title. To the surprise of absolutely no one (except for Charlie who's worried about Babe's barely-healed injuries) Babe easily wins, with Charlie (who's overwhelmed by his new heightened senses) coming in fourth place. Plot twist (but really actually not...): Babe doesn't need to rely on his senses to win because he has years of experience to draw from.

After the race, Charlie follows Babe into the locker room. They talk it out. This somehow involves a blowjob but I'm not judging. Babe still won't forgive Charlie, saying:

"You think I love you more than I love myself?"

Which is an incredibly powerful thing to say and I hope they keep this for the series.

Later that night, Babe meets up with Way because he doesn't want to be alone. Things with him have been awkward since that day in the locker room when Way basically confessed, but for some reason Babe won't hold it against him. Way is right, after all (Hmmm.). Only, Way won't let things be and somehow, without Babe noticing, they're suddenly kissing.

And then Babe goes motionless and still as Way starts undressing him. He's stopped just in time by a very panicky Charlie. When Babe comes to he doesn't know what's going on until Charlie tells him.

Way is their adoptive brother and he can hypnotise alphas.

Because DUN DUN DUN! Way is the enigma.

To be continued. 🤡🤡🤡🤡

#pit babe #pit babe the series #bl meta #pit babe meta #jane watches stuff #this is so long i'm so sorry lmao #but a lot happened in only 5 chapters so #i actually really liked babe and charlie talking it out after the big reveal #they're both such interesting characters and so well written #i started reading this novel out of curiosity but now i'm really invested #not really with the omegaverse part because that's not my cup of tea but

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