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javierpena-inatacvest · 3 months ago

Note

hi Madeline! it’s me ready to annoy you with more javi THOTS

I know that man goes feral seeing you pregnant , especially when you start to show because everyone will know that HE made you that way and that you belong to HIM and it just makes him feel so primal and feral

Cassidy oh my GOD 😩😭 (y'all gotta stop doing this to me (pls actually don't), my baby fever is already so bad and this is not helping 💀) You are 100000% correct and now I can't get this out of my head and what was supposed to be a little drabble has decided to turn into a full blown thing WHOOPS

Insatiable

Summary: Javi thought he couldn't love you anymore than he already did- that was until the two of you found out you were expecting. Now that your baby bump is finally starting to show, Javi can't get enough of you.

Word Count: 3.7k

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Pregnant Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v (listen... she can't get pregnant if she's already pregnant soooooo), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, breeding kink (bc this man will keep you barefoot and pregnant as long as you let him), creampie, Javi is literally obsessed with you and is foaming at the mouth 24/7 watching you carry his baby, Javi is so excited to be a dad, Javi loving his cute lil family so much it makes me wanna vomit

A/N: Me: Damn, I need to write about something other than babies and breeding kinks. Also me: .... No. Don't mind me while I run laps in frantic circles and howl at the moon thinking about this because good lord, you know this man's breeding kink is an unstoppable force of nature

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

"Well that look on your face definitely doesn't say nothing, Jav."

You couldn't help but giggle at the way Javi's eyes had been glued to you from the moment he had entered the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest and hip resting against the counter, admiring you like some sort of breathtaking piece of art as you worked on finishing up dinner.

Because truth be told, to him, that's what you were. Javi had no problem making it very clear to you that he was convinced you were the most beautiful woman to ever walk the face of this earth- beauty not just in the way that you appeared, but a beauty that came deep within your soul that had changed him in a way he would have never thought possible. A beauty that had given him a life he swore he would never deserve- that someway, somehow, you had wanted to spend the rest of your life loving him.

Even after over a year together, a new house, and a ring on your finger, Javi found himself falling harder and harder for you with every passing day. He was honestly convinced it was physically impossible to love you any more than he already did.

That was until four months ago, when the two of you found out that your love would no longer be spread between just the two of you- In a few months from now, it was soon going to be the three of you.

After watching you grow and carry his baby the past four months, Javi learned that despite all odds, he could love you more that he already thought possible.

"Your face says 'I'm thinking very dirty thoughts about my wife' or 'I'm really focusing on trying to hold in a fart' and if the second one's the case, I don't think it's very fair you still get to look that hot while you fart". You smirked, raising an eyebrow at Javi, reaching next to him to grab the dish towel you had been using to wipe your hands before mirroring his stance against the countertop.

"Luckily for you, it's not number two." Javi huffed, rolling his eyes at you before his gaze traveled down to your stomach.

Over the past few days, you had finally reached the point where you were starting to look pregnant, and not just like you had eaten 7 Thanksgiving dinners (as you lovingly liked to coin it). Your bump was now beginning to protrude out of your tighter fitting shirts, excited to see your belly starting to grow, giving your hand a new place to rest on top of the subtle curve, making you grin every time you placed it there.

You had also discovered that not only was Javi just excited about your adorable bump, your husband was ecstatic about it. Your pregnancy was now no longer the hardest secret he'd ever had to keep for the first 12 weeks of your baby's life, it was now an opportunity boast about the fact that you were his beautiful, pregnant wife, and that you and that baby were his.

At this point, there probably wasn't a soul in Laredo that didn't know you were pregnant, because everywhere Javi went, it was a chance to let anyone and everyone know he was going to be a dad, and you were the one carrying his baby.

"Hey, I have to leave our meeting early today because my wife has an ultrasound today for our baby."

"I know peanut butter and pickles is a weird combination, but my wife is pregnant, and what the baby wants, the baby gets."

"Just wanted to get the truck checked out since my wife and I have the baby to drive around in a few months."

And while maybe it was overkill, he just couldn't help it. There was something about becoming a dad, seeing you pregnant, knowing that he was the other half of your baby growing inside you that drove him absolutely feral.

If that gold, diamond band wrapped around your finger wasn't enough to prove that you were his, the baby he had put in your now barley bulging belly sure as fuck was.

Javi reached out his hand, fingers splayed across your stomach with an undeniable smile spread across his face as you rested your palm over his grasp, the two of you staring down stomach.

"Watchya thinkin' about, Jav?" You teased, speaking on behalf of both you and baby Peña as Javi stared at both his and your hands covering your bump, silently admiring the simple moment you were sharing.

"Can you believe we fucking made this?" Javi laughed quietly to himself, still in shock every time he really thought about how he was going to be a father. "That we're actually gonna have a baby?"

"Actually, I can, considering we were both there, and it was very fun." You giggled, lacing your fingers between Javi's and bringing his hand up to your mouth to plant a soft kiss on it, "It's crazy, Javi. I can't believe we're actually gonna be parents."

"Yeah? Fun, huh?" Javi smirked, bringing his other arm to wrap around your waist, fingers beginning to dig into your hips as he pulled you closer.

"Out of all the things I enjoy doing with you, Javier Peña, making babies is very high on that list."

Biting down on your lip, you leaned further into Javi's touch, your bump barley getting in the way of being chest to chest as he craned his neck down, engulfing your mouth in an electric kiss that had you feeling like you were floating.

"Fuck- I'd make 100 babies with you, Hermosa." Javi groaned, feeling the growing bulge in his pants starting to press against your thigh in between kisses.

"100?! Jesus, Jav, are we planning on running a circus?" You laughed, Javi too wrapped up in the thought of you carrying another one of his babies to even process your joke.

"I don't fuckin' care. I'll give you as many babies as you wanna have. You're so fucking sexy being pregnant."

Without your lips ever parting, Javi swung you around so that your back was pressed against the counter, caging your body under his before letting his kisses travel down your neck and collarbone, across your chest and south towards your stomach, until he was dropping to his knees in front of you.

"Javi, I've spent the past three months eating nothing but Hot Cheetos and pickles and complaining about how I need to throw up every thirty seconds, last time I checked, that's about as far from sexy as you can get." You tried your best to muster out some sort of laughter, but with the way that Javi was kissing you, letting his hands roam up to the waistband of your shorts, slowly beginning to tug your bottoms off your hips until you were in nothing but your underwear, Javi was making it very difficult to play into your joke.

Not that you were complaining.

"Nuh uh," Javi hummed, gently tracing his fingers over your covered folds, arousal seeping from your core into the dampening cotton, "Do you know how fucking sexy it is seeing you carry our baby? Knowing that you let me get you pregnant? Grow our kid and give us a family? Baby, if that's not the fucking sexiest thing I've ever heard, then I don't know what the fuck is."

Rubbing and forth, the pads of Javi's fingers applied more pressure to your clit, making you let out a whimper as he finally tended to the throbbing ache that had been rapidly building between your legs. At this point, your underwear was clinging to the outline of your cunt, swollen and puffy with anticipation as your slick soaked the fabric.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me already, baby girl." Javi tutted, hooking his fingers around the waistband of your panties and shuffling them down your legs, revealing the shiny mess smeared between your thighs from your weeping hole.

Scooting himself closer, Javi hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, wrapping his arm around your thigh to hold it in place and keep you balanced. His fingers slid through your folds, parting them with a V of his fingers to softly kiss your clit, big brown eyes looking up at you, pooling with lust as he watched you writhe under his touch.

"F-fuck, Javi, oh my god." You whined, noticing the shift in how your changing body and hormones made you even more responsive to Javi's touch, your pussy already beginning to clench around nothing with the way your stomach was swirling with arousal. "Please, baby, fuck."

"Please, what, Hermosa?" Javi smirked, peppering more soft kisses to your sensitive nub, knowingly driving you wild.

"T-touch me, baby, please. Please, don't fucking tease me, I just- Fuck-"

Before you could finish your plea, Javi had his head buried between your thighs, lapping you up like a man lost in the desert, finally finding his oasis. Long, flat strokes of his tongue swiped against your clit, already working at an unforgiving pace, ready to make you fall apart for him over and over.

Your hand shot down, digging your fingers through the thick, brown locks of Javi's hair, trying to find any way to brace yourself as an all too familiar tingle began to build in your spine as your sensitive bundle of nerves throbbed against his tongue.

You were convinced there wasn't a man on the face of this earth who loved eating you out more than Javi, riding a serotonin high every time he settled his mouth between your parted legs, worshiping your pussy until it wept for him like a dam finally breaking its seal and flooding him with your slick.

As if you weren't close enough already, Javi slid two of his fingers into your entrance bumping up perfectly against the sweet spot inside you, curling just enough to send you moments away from spiraling.

Without faltering his pace, Javi's lips latched around your clit, sucking intensely while his fingers pulsed at the perfect rhythm, feeling your pussy flutter around him.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck!" You threw your head back, orgasm rushing through you forcing your cunt to clamp down around Javi's fingers, slick gushing around them. Javi's strong grip held your legs in place, trembling with pleasure as you came, letting you catch your breath as your chest heaved while you came down from your high.

Javi placed a soft kiss on your sensitive clit before tossing your legs off his shoulders to stand, hands cupping your jaw to lock your lips in a passionate kiss, the tangy taste of you still fresh on his tongue.

"Turn around, mi amor." Javi cooed, gently letting his hands down your body, running over the swell of your stomach until he reached your hips, guiding you to face the edge of the counter until your forearms were resting on the ledge, bare ass pressed against the bulge straining against the denim of his jeans.

You craned your neck over your shoulder to see Javi frantically working at his belt, metal quietly clanging until a swift tug had his pants and boxers pooled around his ankles. You let out an audible moan as you felt his tip swipe through your folds, collecting your arousal to coat his cock, stroking himself with the mix of your slick and his precum.

"Fuck, you're so perfect," Javi whispered, pressing a kiss onto your shoulder and trailing the pecks of his lips up your back and neck, "So fucking beautiful carrying our baby." One of your hands shot back, grabbing at Javi's waist to brace yourself as he pushed into your heat, shaft filling you up inch by inch until he had bottomed out, hips flushed with your ass.

The sweet stretch and sting of Javi's length had you reeling, your sensitivity from your last orgasm on top of the already increased sensitivity from new waves of hormones, jaw going slack at the sensation of his fullness, greedily pushing your ass back into him to take as much as you could.

"Move, baby, fuck- please," You whimpered, bracing yourself against the counter, grinding your bottom half into his hips to do anything to ease your ache, "Javi, fuck me baby, please, I- oh fuck-"

Before you could finish your plea, Javi was beginning to pound into you at an already punishing pace, punching into you g-spot in a way that made your eyes nearly roll in the back of your head.

"You want me to fuck you, Momma? I'll fuck you, hermosa. Whatever you want, baby, you know I'll give it to you." Javi smirked, fingers digging into the curve of where your hips meet the meat of your ass, thrusting into you with thick drags of his cock, intoxicated by the warmth and wetness of your velvety walls.

Releasing the grip of one of his hands, he wrapped it around your front, splayed as it slid down the curve of your belly to reach between your legs, rubbing firm circles into your clit.

You couldn't help but buck back into him, feeling your stomach swirl with arousal and anticipation of your impending orgasm beginning to build, the combination of the snap of Javi's hips and pressure against your sensitive nub making you feel like you were melting under his touch.

"Fuck, Javi- Fuck, oh my god. Fuck, you feel so good. Oh shit- don't stop, baby." You moaned, feeling your pussy starting to flutter around his cock as he continued to fuck into you, your borderline incoherent babbling only egging him on more as his thrusts became faster.

"I won't stop, pretty girl. I won't stop until I fuck you so full of me, you'll be dripping out of me for days. Fuck- I won't stop until give you as many fucking babies as you want." Javi grunted, gritting his teeth as he rammed into you, feeling the knot beginning to tighten in his own stomach at the thought alone of being able to get you pregnant again.

With his one hand still rubbing your clit, his other arm scooped around your front, pulling you from resting your weight on your forearms against the counter to have you stand up straight, your back flushed against his chest. With you pressed against him, Javi couldn't help but suck and nip at your pulse point, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he pulled you in closer, holding you steady while your body began to tremble on the brink collapse.

"I know you're close, baby. It's alright, mi amor, I've got you. Wanna feel you soak me. Cum all over my cock before I fill you up." Javi groaned, his words hot against your skin between kisses along your neck and shoulder blade, shifting his grasp to cup one of your swollen breasts in his palm, fingers gently toying with the hardened buds of your nipples.

The added sensation was all it took to send you over the edge, orgasm crashing through your body with an unforgiving wave of intensity, pleasure radiating through every inch of you as your cunt clamped down around Javi's cock, gushing with your arousal as you came.

Knowing you had reached your end, Javi began to chase his own high, his thrusts becoming sloppier and more erratic as your body melded with his, nearly going limp in his grasp from how good he had made you feel.

"That's my girl. Fuck, I can't wait to get you pregnant again, let everyone see how you're all mine carrying our baby. Gonna be such a good Mom, giving us a family, making me a dad. Oh fuck- I love you so much. So fucking much. Te am- ahhhhhh, fuck!"

Before he could finish his thought, Javi was spilling inside you, the hot ropes of his spend coating your walls, a low groan humming deep in his chest as he filled you with every last drop he had to give. Javi's body slumped into yours, his head resting on your shoulder as both of your chests rose and fell with heavy breaths, hearts racing in sync as you came down from your highs.

Carefully slipping his softening cock out of your heat, you could feel the mix of your spend smearing between your thighs and dripping down your legs as Javi grabbed your waist, turning you to face him so your mouths could meet in a still messy dance of tongues and teeth.

"Holy fuck..." You huffed, finally managing to get a word out through your breathlessness and giggles, looking up at Javi, blissed out grins stretched across both your faces.

"Holy fuck..." Javi parroted, the two of you happily giggling half naked in your kitchen, the both of you staring down at your stomach as Javi rested his hands to cradle your bump.

"This one's not even here yet, and you're already thinking about number two?" You snickered, raising an eyebrow at your husband, gently tracing circles with his thumb around your stomach.

"Huh?"

"Don't think I didn't hear what you said. Let's get this one first, then we can think about another one." You teased, giving Javi a little nudge as his cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment, sheepishly darting his eyes towards the ground.

"Sorry, I- I just, God, something about you being pregnant- drives me fucking crazy. I love both of you so fucking much, I swear." Javi sighed, soft smile spread between his cheeks, eyes glancing back and forth between your bump and equally happy grin stretched across your face.

"We love you too, Javi." Pressing up on your toes, you planted a soft kiss on Javi's cheek, draping your hand across his, resting happily on your stomach. "Listen, if you want baby number two, you gotta help me finish cookin' baby number one. And baby number one is hungry. Do we have anymore sour-"

"Sour gummy worms? I picked some more up on the way home from work yesterday."

"Oh thank God, I was about to go drive to the store pantsless to get some if we didn't. Fuck, I wonder if we still have-"

"Watermelon? Got that and green grapes too, just in case." Javi chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss into your messy hair.

"God, I love you." You beamed, making your way towards the pantry, "You keep this up and we're makin' baby number two on an expedited timeline there, Jav."

"Sour gummy worms and watermelon is all it's gonna take?"

"Like I really needed that much convincing anyways? I told you earlier, making babies with you is one of my favorite things to do. Sour gummy worms and watermelon is just a nice bonus."

Taglist:

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @purpleprincess75 @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

@purpleprincess75

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netherfeildren · 7 months ago

Text

FABLE OF THE DOG : 1. The Two Headed Calf

Series Masterlist;

Pairing: Joel Miller x FMC

Summary: Welcome home and buck up, cowgirl.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Cowboy/Heiress AU; Slowburn(ish); Original Characters; Alcohol & Drug Use; Discussions of Grief; Daddy Issues; Graphic Descriptions of Vomiting; Description of a Dead Body; Death of a Parent; Parental Neglect; Older Man/Younger Woman; Jealousy; Past Teenage Crush; Unrequited Pinning; Yearning and Longing Galore; Boss’s Daughter; Complicated Family Relationships; A Home is a Place but ALSO a Person!; Found Family

A/N: Disclaimer, I know nothing about Wyoming and it’s geography, ranching, or being a cowboy and just made all this up. Any and all misrepresentations are fallacy of my laziness.

The FMC tag was decided because she has a last name. It was just too difficult for me to speak in depth about her father without giving him a name, and thus her one too. After that decision was made, she kind of went away from me and devolved into her own person who I have come to be quite obsessed with. It’s still written in ‘you’ format, anyhow.

I’ve been having a whole lot of fun with this, I hope you do too.

Word Count: 10K

Read on AO3

1: The Two Headed Calf

“She’s been shut up in that house goin’ on three days now, Joel,” Tommy says as the two brothers make their way across the lawn.

The ride had been long and hard, and Joel is tired—he levels a dark look at him. “Just sayin’. Nothin’ you find in there’s gonna be pretty to look at.” He raises his hands in surrender at the brooding glare, that non-confrontational shrug that’s set Joel on edge since they were boys.

“One of you’s should’a gone in there. Made sure she’s okay.”

“The housekeepers’ve been keepin’ an eye. And Frank tried to go in there and check on her himself, but she’s angry as a barn cat. Hissin’ ‘nd yowlin’, and just bein’ downright scary as hell, to be honest. You should be prepared is all I’m tryin’ to say.”

“Her father just died, Tommy. I’m not expectin’ pretty sights right now,” Joel gruffs, trying to swallow the panic that flutters in his throat as they crest the final hill up to the big house.

The beautiful stone, oak, glass monstrosity that’s stood as monument to this place, this home that is not truly his, for over a decade now. The Kelly Ranch. The sky above is still a sultry, yawning blue, deep and tired, basking in the throes of dawn as the sun just now makes its way over the crest of the Tetons in the distance so that the house sits for just a moment longer in its pool of shadowed blues.

Joel pauses on the border of that somber darkness, afraid suddenly of what awaits him inside; boots glued to the ground with the gum of cowardice. He doesn’t want to see her broken. He doesn’t want to see her hurting. But there’s no other recourse, he knows this. The death of the estranged father she’d fought with all her life, the inheritance of this world that seems suddenly too big for just one orphaned girl, all alone now.

He’s afraid that he’ll walk into that house he’s always seen as other and home all wrapped into one—that Olympus that was so far removed and out of reach even when he walked through it’s halls to the man who’d given him sanctuary and salvation, to the man he knew mistreated her sometimes, didn’t love her enough—and not have the capacity to recognize her, this girl who’d always been familiar and stranger all in one also.

Joel Miller suddenly feels afraid of the memory she exists as in his mind, in the face of the woman he knows she is now.

When he lets himself in the back kitchen door, it’s still nighttime within. The cool dryness of the AC cranked up to inhuman temperatures makes him shiver once while sprouting a damp sweat along his nape. He should’ve showered before coming, should’ve washed the ride and the days of camp off his skin before walking into her presence, but all he’d managed were his hands and face. There’d been panic to make sure she was well, if not then alive, at least. But he should be more presentable for her.

Hell, he should’ve been here for her when she came home for the first time in two years to the house where her father had died. He should’ve been here when the man died.

But the herd had needed moving. He hadn’t thought it’d all happen so quickly, thought he had more time, that they all had more time. He’d hoped she wouldn’t return at all, if he was being honest. There was nothing here for her. Nothing except memories of a gilded and loveless, already motherless childhood. The reality of all she was set to inherit. The truth of an aloneness Joel didn’t know if she was prepared for.

He moves through the house slowly, afraid to disturb the ghosts and the silence. The interior, immaculate and beautiful and solemn. Something out of a movie picture or the gloss of a magazine. Something covered not in dust but in sadness. The stairs are silent as his spinning mind makes up for the creak, the boots she’d sent him on his last birthday hit the richly piled rug at the top, and the hallway to the bedrooms yawns long and frightening in front of him. Two grand a pop, the boots—Lucchese, he’d looked them up on the iPhone she’d sent him the year before. A gift giver, generous to a fault, kind to a detriment. She sent something to all the ranch hands that’d worked for her father since she was a girl. Something for the entire ranch at Christmas. And all he managed each time was a perfunctory thank you card, like he did every year because he remembered, years ago, in her little voice, polite people send thank you notes, Joel, my grandmother told me so. Last year he’d written that they were too much, that she shouldn’t have, that he was grateful. There wasn’t much else to say.

That was the extent of their communication, familiar and stranger in one, the far removed golden child of the Kelly. They’d all called him that, the Kelly, for as long as he’d known the man. As if he was some Scottish laird of old, ruling over his clan and half the world. Egotistical, was what it really was. He’d thought himself a god among men, in the face of his only child. Ridiculous was what Joel saw it all for, a put on play, a farce.

And wonder of wonders, she was entirely unlike him because of course she would be. Of course a man ruled by nothing more than ego and narcissism had been sent his polar opposite in the form of his only child. Kind hearted, was what she was—sending him a birthday gift every year. Remembering them all here always no matter how far she’d gone. He sent her a thank you note for each benevolence in return, a word of respectful gratitude for the fact that a person like her could ever remember a dog like him.

Sometimes, Joel had wanted to go to him, the old man, Oswald Kelly, and ask him where his daughter was, why he wasn’t looking for her, keeping her closer, caring for her. He wasn’t the sort of man that could’ve ever understood such callous behavior towards one’s child.

The last time she’d been here, over two years ago: less than forty eight hours that had ended in screaming so terrible they’d all heard it down from the barn, sitting in uncomfortable, swollen silence, the spinning of tires ringing as she yelled at her father that he was never going to see her again, the man’s echoing laugh as she’d fled him.

Joel hadn’t seen her on that visit, it’d been so quick and angry. Flying down on the jet from New Haven for her father’s seventieth birthday and not even making it long enough for the festivities. This was what her life was, as he’d observed it from a distance for all these years, the singular daughter of this great house, coming to her father, attempting joy and finding nothing but disappointment at the end of him.

She’d been right, a knowing streak running through her. Kelly had never seen her again, and Joel didn’t know if the old man had regretted it or not, the anger and the estrangement and the lack of love. But the last time he’d spoken to him, hours before setting off on their move, the herd always came before everything else, the ranch was all that mattered is what the man had always said, with death scratching at the window, his frail and withered body licked down to almost nothing from the austere and imposing figure Joel had always known him as, he’d asked for her. His only child. Do you think she’ll come, Joel? The dying man had asked him. My girl, do you think she’ll come see me? Joel had lied a lie he hadn’t known was one, said she would, that he’d call her as soon as he was back.

In the end, he hadn’t even afforded her that decency, a personal call.

He comes to her open bedroom door now, pitch dark as grief within, and the stench of sorrow and liquor seeping from the living grave. He looks down the long and empty hall for a brief second, wishing it didn’t have to be him, that again, he didn't have to see her any way other than okay. And he realizes that there’s something about her, as she will exist now, that makes him cowardly. Something about this house without the man who’d granted him the absolution of a hiding place all those years ago, who’d understood and sheltered Joel in the midst of his own past grief, that makes him cowardly. The house feels wrong without Kelly within it, wrong with only her as its holder now.

Joel steps into her dark, and it’s a battleground—

—You are silent and motionless in the blue room.

Nothing of the gleaming splendor that dresses the rest of the home sleeps in here. There are clothes everywhere, an exploded suitcase lies open and massacred in the middle of the plush white rug, a turned over bottle of red wine bleeding into your clothes. Shredded pages with scratched on writing slashed across them, the dusted white mounds of crushed pills, as if you’d smashed each one individually beneath the thumb of your grief. The sight makes him more afraid, the scent of weed and cigarettes heavy in the air, as he takes the final step towards the wrecked bed, and a single small foot hangs limply from the edge.

He stares at it long and hard for a second, afraid, afraid again, still, of what he’ll find. He says your name once, short and gruff like a dog’s bark. It’s what he feels like. Animal, bestial, lacking any sort of cognizance amidst this minefield. His heart beats against his spine, and he thinks he should do something else, shake you, check for a pulse, his bones throb inside his skin. He needs to fucking move, but the smell of smoke is so cloying he’s choking on his own tongue.

Your ankle twitches.

And Joel sucks in a sigh of relieved air without panic, saying your name again. His voice is level now, maybe gentle, no more barking dog. His eyes move up the length of one pretty leg, and then quickly, he averts his gaze when he gets high up enough he’s met with soft-creased asscheek covered in silk. Swallowing his tongue, his eyes roll in their sockets, looking for anything else to look at besides the sight of panty clad ass. He steps closer again, gripping the edge of the sheet to pull it over your scantily clad body, eyes flitting to the silver spun clock on the nightstand, the warm glow of the hall light shows that they have two hours to get you sober and presentable before the funeral.

Joel should have been here. He does not feel that he is even here now. And the guilt eats at him like acid. The fear too.

“Darlin’, you’ve gotta get up now,” he says softly, taking hold of your shoulder, scalded by the feel of fragile skin, realizing with the suddenness of a gunshot that you’ll be the Kelly now. He gives you a gentle shake, “We’ve gotta get you ready,” and his heart pumps blood like a machine. The sight of the dry liquor bottle toppled on the nightstand, the shattered glass glittering the floor in crystal, the empty pill bottles, it all taunts him. His guilt is a cacophony in his mind. He knows he’s going to have to stick his fingers down your throat, make you spit it all up, that you’ll hate him for all of this afterwards, but when his gaze meets streaked rust, dark and shocking against the white sheets, he’s kicked into terrified action.

He turns you over, your head lolling sickeningly in unconscious stupor, hair a tangled mess strewn about your face so that he has to dig for your eyes, parting the curtains of your fringe to uncover you. He focuses on your closed eyes, the too long lashes clumped together, lips cracked and parched.

He should’ve fucking been here.

Smoothing his fingers along the lengths of your arms, he keeps his eyes on your face and averted from all the skin that keeps peeking out below, searching the divots and slopes of your arms for hurts. When he gets to your right hand, battleground of a long ago broken hurt, he finds the drying crust of blood, the ragged split in the soft, small palm, thankfully shallow.

His eyes smart, looking down at the broken glass, feeling the tear in you.

Gripping you gently below the elbows he pulls you into his arms, cradled like a child, light as loss. Your head lolls again, neck crooked at an unnatural angle as he carries you into the restroom, careful of your head, knocking the lights on and putting you down in front of the toilet bowl. He pulls your camisole to rights, making sure everything is covered, and gathers your mess of hair as carefully as he can, trying his best to not snag the fragile strands in his too rough hands, but gripping you firmly in position. And ignoring the sound of your awakening cry, he sticks two fingers into your slack jawed mouth and down your throat until he feels the hot rush of vomit.

Crouching behind you, his thighs bracket you, keeping your form from slumping over as you empty the poison from your belly, flushing the alcohol soaked bile as you struggle. He wipes his messy hand on the leg of his jeans and rubs soothing circles on your back, his fingers woven through the soft silk of your hair to keep your head in place and your face clear. His heart thumps in rhythm with your heaves, your too quick, panicked breathing. There seems to be not enough oxygen for the two of you and your grief in the too small room of the commode, and Joel gasps like a dying fish, trying to swallow calm breaths.

When you finally stop your heaving, you rest your arms at the edge of the gleaming porcelain, head hung low, defeated, wracked with shivers or silent sobs, he isn’t sure, a strange and horrible keening noise, so small he barely catches it, held in your throat. There’s the finest down of peach fuzz that covers the tender slope of your vulnerable nape, and it makes Joel feel suddenly, just as vulnerable, just as unprotected. At a complete loss for how to help you.

“Finally decided to show your face,” you croak, voice ragged with your sick.

His fingers tighten once around your shoulder, a panicked tick of reminder that he’s here now, that he’s him. “I was moving the herd. It had to be done. Your father, he—” he stutters, trying explain, tripping over his own guilt ridden words. “I didn’t think it’d happen now, so fast, that you’d get here so soon. I thought we had more time.”

We.

Your skin seems to cool by the second beneath his fingertips, and then you’re shrugging his touch away, huddling closer to the porcelain bowl, further away from him.

“Get out.”

“Let me explain. I—” And he’s begging now. He can hear the note of it in his voice. Begging for forgiveness. For a chance.

“I don’t want to see you.” You don’t say his name. “Get out.” It feels worse than anything.

“I’m here now. I didn’t know— I didn’t think.” He reaches to grab for you again, but you turn to face him suddenly. Wiping the back of your hand against your mouth, pushing your heels at his shins to kick him away. Your eyes are red rimmed, the hollows beneath bruised with lack of sleep. But fire spits from the deep color, all anger and hurt.

“Go deal with your fucking ranch,” you fling the words at him. “It’s all you care about anyways.” And they weren’t shivers, he sees now, they’re tears tracked as proof of all his guilt, all his lacking, along the slopes of your fine grained cheeks.

Your, you say. As if this place and anything in it has ever been his. He’s never wanted any of it like that, only ever seen a thing that needed taking care of, and him, with the ability to care for it.

“I needed you,” you whisper as if the thought comes along on a second wind of anger, a realization that sends your voice breaking, hitching, your chest caving in on itself as the tears come faster and faster now. “He’s dead, and I needed you.”

“I’m sorry,” he begs. “I’m so sorry.” His voice breaks now too. He thinks he’ll cry now too, for the man who he also lost, who despite it all meant something to him, as well. For you, who’s lost even more. For Joel’s own guilt.

But he doesn’t think you see any of that, not his apology, not his regret, not his own grief. You turn away from him again, laying your temple down again on your forearm. “Get out. I’ll be ready soon.”

And so he goes.

Your father is made small and withered in death.

One of the wealthiest men in the entire world. A stranger, a titan, a nightmare of a man.

It wasn’t something you’d ever considered, that a human body could look so colorless and frigid and not alive. Like a shock or a ringing bell, it’s a realization that you’re an orphan now. That you’re all alone.

You feel something like a memory of regret. Or something that’s like the idea that you should feel regret, that you should feel guilt for how it was between the two of you. But all that is overshadowed by the reality of what you weren’t. All you feel even more, or in actual reality, is the old loss of what you’d never been to each other. That, you realize, is the seed of your grief. That long ago wound, that child’s understanding that he wasn’t like all the other fathers, that he’d never care for you the way other children were cared for.

Looking down at the frozen face that looks nothing like the one he’d worn the last time you’d seen him, the wispy thatch of hair that hadn’t been so jarringly white before sickness had ravaged his body, you realize that this is no new loss, it is only a continuation, a reopening of a very old one.

The cavernous cathedral at your back is silent, vacated by the sea of people that had congregated here earlier. And with sickening curiosity, you uncoil an arm from where you’ve got it wrapped around yourself, reaching out to press a finger against the ice cold back of his hand. Shockingly not alive; he feels made of rubber.

Everyone that’d been here to bid farewell to this behemoth turned slip of a man, to catch a glimpse of you, packed like teeth into Jackson’s grandest cathedral; business men and heads of state from around the world, the oldest family names in the country, figures of the highest echelons of wealth and society, vipers circling the barrel—half the world here to see this person who was supposed to have been your father but was really only a stranger.

You take your hand back, and you don’t say goodbye as you turn away from his body. There’s no farewell to really tell.

And at the back of the church, hiding in a bright ream of sunlight, Joel stands propped against the face of a saint. Dark and silent and maybe even more far removed than your dead dad. Watching sentinel. Oswald Kelly’s hovering man—come to watch over him one last time.

The silk of your stockings slide against each other at the junction of your thighs, the hiss of your skirt around your calves as your reed thin heels click against the stone, and you pull your armor as tightly around yourself as you can. There’s a hollow echo inside of everywhere and everything, your mind like a gong, reverberating, and his gaze is so steady, hazel bright, deeply shaded by the lip of his dark hat, beckoning you towards him from beneath the brim.

Large and strong and steadfast, your heart gives a painful, longing thump—stupid, writhing thing—and you can only bear to look him in the eye for a second, and if you were to really think about saying goodbye to that father that never really was, lying behind you, slipping further and further away, you’d say it to the man that always stood as his shadow before the world, before you ever said it to the man himself.

The drive back home is cast in frigid silence and made all the more uncomfortable because you can practically hear Joel’s brain clicking and ticking away with worry.

He’d sent your car and driver away with a harsh word while you collected your final goodbyes and words of respect from the last smattering of people congregated and waiting for the newly birthed heir to one of the greatest fortunes in the world.

Hovering over your shoulder, he’d kept anyone from stepping too close or getting too friendly, so close you could feel the heat of his chest through the silk of your blouse, and then going suddenly full on aggressive when a reporter from the New York Times had approached, fishing for a quote on the future of the Kelly empire. Ushering you away with a hovering hand at the small of your back before the man could get half a question out, he’s opening the truck’s door for you as a haze descends over your eyes, the distant shutter and flash of cameras bursting in your peripherals, a latent hangover and sleep deprivation and not enough to eat in the last forty eight hours causing you to sag in his hold. Then it’s only his big fist wrapping around the span of your wrist as he lifts you into the truck, your eyes downcast and unable to take in sight or sound, vision all a blur. You murmur a barely there thank you with his hand fitting at the dip of your waist, big body blocking yours entirely from prying eyes trying to catch a glimpse or a stumble, and for a single second, your entire weight is suspended in his hold, allowing you to bypass the struggle of balancing your high heel on the step up, and then you’re sliding onto the leather of the seat, the whisper of your cashmere and silk rustling around you as he handles you like a child being spirited away from the scene of a crime.

The door shuts gently behind you, face turned away from the flashing lights, the watchful eyes of the whole world, and worst of all, the assessment of his concerned gaze. All you’re afforded are thirty seconds of privacy to let out a single gasping sob.

And now, an hour and a half of silent purgatory.

You slip your heels off, flexing your smarting toes against the damp of your stockings and tuck your folded legs beneath you on the seat. Paying the frantic energy of his anxiety and lodged words no mind, you consider instead: your new reality. The burden of it all means very little to you now. The last of your worries is being readied for entombing as the two of you speed down the eighty nine, zinging past the bright Wyoming green. The thrum of his truck drowns out your thoughts, brand new, probably over a hundred grand, only the best for your father’s right hand man, and the Kelly Ranch insignia emblazoned proudly on the sides. A brand for the whole world to see just who exactly is being whisked away to her old home turned brand spanking new grave.

You might be feeling a little bit dramatic. But then again— you’d just put your last remaining parent in an actual grave, surely that provides you some allowances.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his big paw gripping the leathered steering wheel in a death clutch, knuckles white with his frustration at the dilemma you pose, his own discomfort. You’re sure if he thought you wouldn’t catch him, he’d be squirming in his seat.

You do something to him sometimes, you know this. Not in any way you’d like, not in any interesting way, that of a woman affecting a man, but something respectfully harrowing. Maybe something a little bit like fear.

There has existed between the two of you, always, that strange intimacy of two people who’ve known each other for a very long time, and yet, have always remained at a far removed, arms length distance from one another.

A professional intimacy of sorts. Your father’s foreman, shadow, fixer. The man who guarded that treasure trove you’d inherit one day, today; the thing your father loved most in the world. Two people who’ve known each other a long time, and yet, don’t really know each other at all.

There has always been, however, the fact of the birthday.

The birthday. Your birthday.

The way you’d latched onto that small, immense, detail when you’d first discovered it at fourteen, when he’d newly arrived at the ranch and the true weight of your first real crush had really hit you, it was probably not entirely healthy. But you’d thought yourself in love with your father’s man, the first figure of the male species who’d ever drawn your attention in such a way.

He’d never paid you any mind; you were the boss's daughter, a figurehead or a responsibility, maybe a nuisance, although he’d never ever treated you as one. But the day someone had let slip it was his birthday, on the same day as yours, your teenage heart had swelled with the naive hope of fate. It was meant to be, the two of you were connected, so on and so forth, swallowed by girlish innocence and made buoyant by fantasy.

But you’d had something to share with someone, which was what really mattered. Something tangible, even if only in your inexperienced little mind, something to wield as comfort so that the first time your father had forgotten your special day, fifteen, and what a tender age it had been, you’d had something to cling to. That's when your gifts to him had started. It was your way of making sure there was at least one person in the whole world who’d remember that was your day too. That you were alive, that you mattered. A reminder of yourself. And as the years and birthdays passed, sometimes, when he sent those coldly gracious notes of his, you’d wished you could’ve written back with honesty. Said something like, I’m so lonely, wish you were here, wherever it was in the world you’d found yourself at the time.

And of course, he was gorgeous and older, strong and patient and capable, entirely unattainable. Impossible to forget. You’d gone so far, traveled wide, gotten yourself an overpriced education that would probably serve you for nothing, had lovers and parties and splendor, and always, you remembered your gifts for him, you remembered him. It was the single most important detail of your birthday every year.

The leather creaks beneath his fist again, chapped knuckles set to burst before he flexes his fingers out, long and straight. Thickly built hands, strong, made for working or hurting, on a man who you’ve never seen be anything but stoically patient.

He was strange in that way, neither wholly impulsive nor precisely intentional in his mannerisms. More so, it was that there was something extremely neutral about him, a middle buoyancy of personality. Strict with the cowboys, exacting, wielding his title as ranch foreman with an iron fist and your father’s blessing, and yet still, quiet, serious, with that patient gentleness about him. You’d seen it in the way he’d handled Ellie when she’d first come to the ranch, young and skinny with that hollow look of trauma kids who’d seen things they shouldn’t have shamed adults with. She’d been a little older than you, and with an air you’d not understood, a sort of lived past you’d been naive to the existence of, frightened when confronted by it, and yet inevitably, the two of you’d become fast friends eventually.

You’d even experienced it yourself, on two treasured occasions, that gentleness that you’d held onto for years. Nurturing the memory of him in your mind like a delusional bloom.

He stretches his hand again, wheel caught between his thumb and forefinger, cinching it there, back and forth. His nails are meticulously clean, cut to the quick, and you imagine he must spend a great deal of time cleaning himself up when he works so hard at getting himself so dirty most days.

You can see him sneaking glances at you, and he coughs once, a clearing of his nervous throat. Averting your gaze, you turn your face away so that you’ll be able to watch him through the reflection in the window. He monopolizes the space in the cabin of the truck, broad shoulders and hulking form, all the fine leather smell washed away in the scent of him. That bay rum aftershave he’s always worn, the one with the distinctive notes of bay leaf, cloves and citrus. An old fashioned scent, masculine and crisp.

You’d snuck into the bunk once with Ellie, before he’d moved into the foreman’s cabin, before Switzerland, when the two of you were still girls running rampant and free through the ranch, clutching desperately at the last vestiges of any sort of happy childhood you could scrounge up for one another. You’d peeked in his things, found a whole world of Joel shaped curiosities. The glass etched bottle of aftershave, a hole spotted t-shirt with a burnt orange longhorn across the front, Flannery O’Connor’s The Complete Stories—something you found comforting, knowing he could read about the small, the freakish, real life; thinking that perhaps he was homesick for the comfort of the South, hungering for a taste of the life he’d had then, through books. And then, in a spine cracked copy of Suttree, the pages almost falling apart beneath your fingertips, dog eared and well loved, her picture tucked between the pages.

It had been the first time you’d done something you knew you shouldn’t have and actually regretted it, looking down at that green eyed photograph.

You’d run back to your room after that, ashamed and something a little bit like jealous, desperate to know who she was, desperate for someone to keep a picture of you like that—as if they loved you. And years later, you’d found the scent for yourself. The little molasses glass bottle you still have and pull out on occasion, when you’re feeling extra bad, extra lonesome, extra far away from the whole world, just for a reminding of home.

Beside you, he sighs again, coughs again, brings you back to himself and the present. Just spit it out already, you think exasperatedly, say something, anything else besides how sorry you are.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he starts, and you roll your eyes, scoffing quietly.

“You already said that.” Sullen. Mullish. You wish you were a child who could still throw a tantrum and get away with it. Letting your eyes go unfocused from his reflection in the window, you brood at the sight of everything that’s yours now as he turns off the highway, passing below the iron eave of the Kelly Ranch entrance. Eight hundred thousand acres of pristine Wyoming land nestled into the deep valley surrounded by the Grand Tetons mountain range.

“Well, I’m sayin’ it again.” He’s driving too fast, and you refuse to turn and look at his face. Your heart beats blood in your ears, and you screw your eyes shut to the dizzying blur of green legacy, not wanting to see any of it—him.

Your belly swoops, going slightly nauseous and gurgling.

“I didn’t think you’d get here so quick.” He swallows, “Hell, I didn’t think it’d all happen so damn fast.”

“I was already in New York,” you tell him, voice clipped with breathlessness. “I left Paris last week.”

“What? I didn’t know— I—”

“Why would you?”

“I would’ve called you. I would’ve gotten you out here quicker.”

“Ellie called. It’s better like this, Joel.” Finally letting yourself say his name out loud, it feels wrong and molten on your tongue, a heaviness being spit up from the depths of your stomach. “We don’t have to pretend anymore. He’s dead now.”

“There’s no pretending. He wanted to see you—”

“Please, stop.”

But he urges on unheeded: “He told me so before I left. Told me—”

“Stop,” you snap. Finally turning to look at him and hating him for it. For how gorgeous he is, for all the things he’s always made you feel for as long as you can remember what it was to feel something for a man, for all he did or did not have with your father when you had none of it or so much of an entirely different thing. “Stop. I don’t want to hear any of it. It doesn't matter anymore, Joel.”

“But you should know. You deserve to know that—”

“What?” Because that one hurts. “I deserve to know what?” That he actually had loved you but had just never been able to show it? That now it was too late? That the only person the great Oswald Kelly had ever been able to speak to of the supposed care he had for his only daughter was the hired help? You’d read once that one should never let their parents anywhere near their real humiliations. You’d tried your damndest to follow that as soon as you’d grown up. “It’s not your place,” you seethe with teeth bared, an animal shoved into a corner and made to fight for its life, deciding you won’t ever let Joel near them either.

He spits a cursing, growled sound of frustration, but doesn’t continue. The two of you find yourselves at an impasse, and you turn back to your windowed mirror of him, eyes pinching hot, filling with tears. One of the things your father disliked most about you, your easy tears, and a single salt marred inadequacy tracks down the slope of your cheek, dripping off the edge of your jaw into the bandaged cup of your palm, and you breathe slow and measured through your open mouth, watching the fog cloud grow and shrink against the glass obscuring your vision of him.

The last time you’d missed your mother, the one you’d never known, in any sort of real and true way, you’d been eighteen. Returning to an empty house after celebrating your high school graduation in a far off school, alone.

In the midst of your sophomore year, you’d been sent away to a Swiss boarding school. It had been something worse than devastating, losing your life in Wyoming, the only home you’d ever know, Ellie, the other people on the ranch… But it was far removed enough that you couldn’t bother, where you couldn’t ask for things like attention or consideration. The education had been excellent, the upbringing desperately lonely ending on a whimpering sigh despite your many accomplishments. You’d wanted her very badly then indeed, your mother. To have been there, to have helped you pick your dress, kissed your cheek after watching you walk across the stage. To have wiped your tears when she told you that your father wasn’t there because he was busy managing the whole world, but that he was proud of you, that he’d have been there if he could. You’d wished she could’ve been there to lie to you so that you wouldn’t have needed to lie to yourself.

Peering down from your balanced perch atop the deck’s bannister, you survey the deep bed of Lily of the Valley, destroyed beneath the vindictive soles of your bare feet. He’d planted them for her all around the house after she’d died, her favorite flower.

You’d always hated them.

And that was the thing of it all, which you’d learned when you grew old enough to recognize such things like disdain. He couldn't stand you because you reminded him of her. Clichéd and old and tired. An excuse for being a neglectful father. The daughter who was too much like her dead mother, and thus did not deserve to be loved.

You tip your head back, nursing at the lip of fine aged Macallan, and the sky is a glass mirror of blackened silver streaks. You’re almost positive that all the stars in the Milky Way are visible from right here at this very spot in the heart of Wyoming. The sight makes your broken heart feel full and falsely mended.

You’re certain you’re painting a pretty picture right now: tipsy on a bottle of your dead dad’s sacredly hoarded whiskey that probably cost as much as someone’s house, staring up at the stars in your newly inherited home with a whole unappreciated life full of possibilities ahead of you. Basking in the title of your newly minted— orphan-hood? Orphan-ness? A peer of the orphans.

You snort softly, sucking on the bottle again, letting the heat of it settle in your belly, smolder in your heart. Your head feels full of bubbles and sugar and sad.

There’s a part of you that feels a little ridiculous, despite the circumstances. You’re good at compartmentalizing, good at being objective of your realities. Obviously: sad because your father is now dead, and it’d been nine months and eleven days since you’d last spoken to him. Sad because he’d never given a shit about you. Sad because you’re alone, dumped by the stupid French jockey boyfriend who you’d not even liked very much, just a few days before this whole pathetic ordeal of acquiring your orphan-hood, yeah, that’s what you’re sticking with, had occurred. Not to mention the army of looming lawyers and financial advisors and various heads of business vying for your attention, waiting for the what next?

And Joel.

A one man army of looming Joel.

So you’re feeling morose, blue, maybe a little spoiled, but brought low and cut short. Depressed and unsatisfied with your life thus far.

Poor little rich girl. Poor little orphan. Poor little me.

What you want?

Someone to care.

Someone to love you.

Hard to come by. Impossible to buy.

The stars gleam purple silver, winking at you. The bracketing black so dark it swallows the eye. Another taste of the nutty bouquet of smoked apple oranges, and soon you’ll be tipsy enough you won’t be able to balance your butt on the bannister’s ledge anymore. Maybe you’ll go humpty dumpty over the edge and crack your skull against your mother’s valley of destroyed Lily’s.

You laugh again with sound now, not crazy, only an orphan, ha, but you think that it’s only that it feels shockingly as if you’ve fallen through the surface of your life. As if you are still falling with nothing and no one to grab on to, to help stabilize you. A really terrible, shit-out-of-luck feeling.

Your eyes continue their infernal leaking, and you blow your nose loudly on the inside of your sweater. You’ve given yourself three days to do whatever the hell you want, be as disgusting as you may. When the three days are up you’ll plan to get your act together, take responsibility and hold of your life and become the woman you should be.

Who that is? Still being decided.

You think that maybe you’ll buy another jet before that time’s up. Or an island. Something ridiculous. Maybe you’ll sell the goddamn ranch.

You eye the dark rolling hills of the valley with seething suspicion. Let’s see what Joel says about that. You, marching up to the highway entrance and spearing a For Sale sign in the dirt of the largest privately owned cattle ranch in the continental United States. Way more than that God forsaken surly frown is what you’d get.

So long, Joel, it’s been swell. I’m done with this place. It’s time to pack it up and find some new hunk of land to care about more than you care about me or anything else.

Maybe you’ll be real funny and put up a Craigslist ad.

And it isn’t that you don’t love this place, the only home you’ve ever known. You do. In a way that is passionate and consuming and irreconcilable. Everything about it, the serenity, the guarding mountains and the deep woods, the home you’d been born in, that both your parents had died in. You do love it in your way.

It’s only that every man you’ve ever loved—loved—had always cared more about the place than he’d ever cared about you.

For the longest time, most of your youth until you’d decided that you officially felt an adult, you’d thought you’d hated your father. There was just so much anger and resentment and the resound of his ever furious words and insults and endless disappointment. The echo of no mother ringing so loudly in your ears that the confounding feelings had all been mistaken for hatred. But with age and distance and life, you’d realized you didn't hate him. You never had. You thought, actually, and this was a very good and mature thought of yours, that you were the only person in the whole world that had ever seen him as only a man and not a god.

He was only a man, full of greed and grief and missing the mother of the child he’d probably never wanted. Nothing more or less.

Maybe it was that you felt sorry for him. Not in the way of pity, but in the way of one person feeling empathy for another in a clinical and helpless sort of manner. And a numb, detached sort of sadness. A longing for something that you’d never had and had always wanted but eventually learned to live without.

Ultimately, his disappointment had turned on him, and now it was all you felt you had for him at the end of it all.

But, for some reason, and an annoying one at that, you do think that, if you try very, very hard, you could bring yourself to hate Joel Miller. There’s satisfaction in that possibility, vindication—resentment that even now, as practically strangers, you know he’d be able to pull that sort of feeling out of you which could result in hatred. Something strong and overwhelming and not easily escaped.

Your stomach rumbles, and you smile blithely at all your inherited legacy, filling the hollow with more drink. Three days to behave very badly, as badly as you can. The whiskey is so good, and swishing it around in your mouth, you tip your head back further, gurgling it loudly at the back of your throat.

“What the hell are you doing?”

You jerk, scrambling to keep your balance, choking a little on smokey apples and your own spit. A trickle of the golden amber liquor drips out of the corner of your mouth as you find him hiding in the dark across the deck. Accustomed to drooling over him, you wipe it away with the back of your hand.

“Having a party. Would you like to join?”

“Are you drunk again?”

Tough crowd. Ugh. “Never mind. You’re not invited. Go away.”

“You need to go inside and go to bed.”

You tip your chin at him, putting on doe eyes. “Alright. And are you going to be my new daddy also?” You say in a baby voice.

Fucking Christ, you hear him whisper under his breath, turning away to run an exasperated palm over his mouth. Frustration seethes off of him like sulfur. He’s tired. Of you maybe. Of the whole circus this place has become in the past few days—and rightfully so.

“What do you want? I’m extremely busy, if you can’t tell.”

“Just thought I’d check on ya.” Courteous, always the gentleman, bullshit. You roll your eyes at him.

“I don’t need you to check on me.” And you, ever the child. One day you swear you’ll grow up.

But it can’t be said that you’re entirely selfish either. You have considered the fact of Joel’s own grief at the loss of your father. After all, they’d been much closer than you’d ever been to him for many years. And maybe, in his own cold and removed and superior way, your father had seen this man who you’ve thought yourself in love with since you were a teenager, as something like a son.

Probably, that’s just your own wishful thinking: that Oswald Kelly had ever been capable of such tender feelings.

Maybe the fact of Joel’s own grief is the thorn beneath your nail bed that’s making you so angry with him, so needing of his attention. Maybe it’s that he’d failed to fulfill your silly and girlish fantasy that upon receiving the news of your only remaining parents death, he’d have been here waiting for you, at this home he’d guarded for you for so long, ready to take you into his arms and console and care for you.

When instead, he’d been off doing what he’d always done for as long as you’d known him. Protecting your father’s interests, his legacy.

“Is this how it’s going to be?”

“How?”

“You, being difficult.” Driving me fuckin’ crazy— he adds again under his breath.

“I’m an orphan now, Joel.” You’re becoming quickly addicted to the word. “I think I should be afforded a tiny bit of leeway to drive people fuckin’ crazy,” you mock his Southern drawl. Enough of your time had been spent in Europe over the past two years, kissing Europeans, that you’d sloughed off the last of your American twang; something of a vaguely European lilt peppering your words every now and then that Ellie likes to tease you for whenever the two of you speak on occasion.

A muscle under his left eye twitches at the jab, and you take another deep swig of the bottle, provoking him with your gaze. Wishing you had whatever it is a woman needs to entice this man. Like the fucking vet. Fucking world renowned, brilliant, highly coveted, beautiful veterinarian. You know about her. You’re sure he thinks he’s been discreet over the years with their whatever they’ve had, Tess, but you know.

Maybe you’ll be insane and irrational and possessive, taking advantage of your three crazy days, and fire her with your new found power. See what he has to say about that. Ha.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Obviously not.

Despite your current hysteria, your goal is not to send the ranch head over heels into a tailspin.

But the imagining is soothing.

“Want some?” You hold the heavy crystal out towards him in a peace offering, held precariously between two sweaty knuckles. “It’s probably worth as much as your truck. Would be a waste for me to finish on my own.” You eye what’s left of it, about half, and give him a sheepish grin. It really is very good.

He looks at you for one long, solemn moment, always so silent and pensive, this strange enigma of a man. You get to watch in real time as he loses whatever fight it is he’s trying to fight against you, victorious when he shrugs and comes over slowly, resting his butt against the bannister—a carefully respectful distance away from you.

When he takes the bottle from your swinging clutch, gripped from the base, careful not to touch you in any way, you see the real sad in his eyes. The dim lights bleeding out through the big windows of the family room without a family shine on his face in strips and bursts. A shadow here, golden warmth there. He’s got more lines around his eyes than you remember from the last time you’d been this close to him. Smile lines made bright white in the center and gold burnished at the edges from too much sun. There’s little bursts of silver threaded at his temples now too, a gleam here and there in his dark beard. Forty four years old, he’d turned on your last birthday.

You dig your nails into the soft meat of your palms, and your belly smolders as he brings the bottle to his lips, tasting the exact place your own mouth had just been moments ago. You press your knees together as hard as you can, head a little woozy with the color of his eyes; the most gorgeous green, caramel hazel.

You’d graduated two years ago with a degree in art history and had done absolutely nothing with it since. It was just that everything appeared boring and pointless and shallow. Your whole life had one day suddenly seemed just a little silly. Useless, overpriced degree, nothing to be done with extensive knowledge in color theory when your world is expecting such different things from you now.

But you sure as hell can appreciate the color of his eyes in extensive and meticulous detail. There is that.

Watching the slow slide of the amber liquor down the bottle-neck, the long pull of his lush mouth, the ripple of his strong throat, and the way his eyes go a little wider, shocked at how good it is. You laugh soft: “I know, right.”

He takes another pull, another swallow. That’s what you want to be—swallowed just like that. “Damn, that’s good.” His mouth is a little wet, bottom lip shiny with thousands of dollars worth of your father’s favorite whiskey, and his eyes are sad.

You’d said you were going to be bad, but you don’t want to be bad to him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He swallows again, tipping his head towards you, trying to catch your too soft words—he’s got a bad ear, you know why—and turns to peer at you from beneath his low pulled brow, the tip of his tongue peeking out to swipe at the drop of liquor you wish you could suck off his tongue.

“You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for.”

The first time he’d shown you that gentleness of his: You’d fallen from your horse at school in your junior year. Something had frightened the beast, and she’d bucked you, sent you flying ten feet in the air, ragdoll-like, before you’d landed badly on your right arm, a comminuted fracture in your radius that you’d needed surgery to fix. At your insistence, and with only a few weeks left to spare, you’d been sent home for the remainder of the semester. Your father had been incensed but eventually allowed it. He’d been away from the ranch on business, after all, at no risk of being truly disturbed by you. But when you’d been readying to return to Switzerland at the end of the summer, arm healed, courage not, you’d not been able to get back on a horse no matter what you tried. Joel had helped you, before they’d shipped you off again. Trotted the corral with you for hours and hours before you’d finally been able to relax and sit on your own without tears and vertigo. No questions or admonishments, nothing but the quiet burr of his deep voice, guiding you and the mare along.

It had been a kindness unlike any you’d experienced in maybe your whole life.

“I’ve been bad.”

“Nah. You couldn’t ever be.”

The second time: “Did today make you think of Sarah?” Years after you’d found that green eyed photograph, he’d shared her with you.

His gaze turns suddenly sharp, but you’re not worried you’ve stepped in unbreachable territory. “Yeah.” The echo of her name rings around the two of you.

“In a bad way or a good way?” He takes another long swig, a low whistle through his teeth and a shake of his head before he’s handing the bottle back to you—again, carefully.

“Both.”

You take your own swallow, slicking your tongue all around where his just was, and you’re drunk for real now. Drunk on a man.

“Do you ever regret telling me about her?”

“Nah.” He tips his head back, looking up at the thick beams of the deck’s awning. He’s got the longest lashes you’ve ever seen on a man, thick and curling. The deepest voice you’ve ever heard too, sultry, a bedroom voice. A voice for fucking. Your belly swirls and dips, and you want so much you’re dizzy with it.

Heart beating like it’s about to burst, out of breath on the verge of hyperventilating, you can taste his mouth in your mouth, the imagination flavor of it. This is what it must feel like to die. This is what your father must have felt like three days ago, this agony.

His Adam’s apple bobs, and it’s so pronounced, the skin of his throat sun pebbled. There isn’t an inch of him that isn’t all rough-hewn man. “You needed to hear about her then, I s’pose.”

Yes. “You told me when I needed you to.” After that lonely graduation, the last time you’d missed her really very badly, longed for a mother. Alone, alone, alone little girl.

“You were missin’ your momma somethin’ fierce. Needed to know you weren’t the only one that felt like that sometimes.”

You laugh a not-laugh, butt scraping against the railing, slipping off your perch, socked-feet thudding beside his gifted boots. The pleasure you feel whenever you see him use one of the things you’ve given him is indescribable.

“Silly,” you say with barely any sound, his bad ear reaches for your voice again. “At the time it felt like I was the only person in the whole world that had ever felt like that.”

“We all feel like that at one point or another, I reckon.”

“Will you miss him a lot?” You ask looking up at him, the beautiful profile, the strong jaw. You’ve always wondered how he sees you. If he’s ever thought you were beautiful. Other men do, it’s a common thing, a nothing sort of thing. There are always men, there will always be men. But this singular man—this one is not like the rest.

“Maybe. Can’t tell yet, don’t think. But it felt wrong earlier, walking through his house without him in it.” His house, not yours.

“Do you wish he’d been your father?” And he turns to look down at you at that, gaze snapping, and you can tell you’ve shocked him with the question. But you’d always wondered.

“No. Never,” he says with such assuredness, an uncompromising shake of his head.

And the answer doesn't necessarily shock you in turn. You don't think anyone could have ever wanted a father like that. But it also doesn't help you understand what it was that lived between them either.

He sighs, perhaps reading the confusion in your gaze. “He helped me at a time when I needed it real bad. Gave me a place and a purpose and a thing to do and take care of. You get me? It was gratitude—maybe. He saved me in a way, after Sarah. Nothing more.” He thinks for a moment, and then, “Perhaps it was that we understood each other about certain things.”

You gaze across the sprawl of dark land as far as the eye reaches, that point of no return where the earth shoots up into the sky, purple blue behemoths in the shape of mountains.

From this spot, rooted to the deck of your family home, it seems like the whole world is yours to keep. Also, like you’ll never be able to touch any of it with fingers or taste or meaning.

Your love for this place is complicated—tied up in the people, the memories, the could’ves and should’ves, the whole dreamscape idea of the monument of childhood and all it’d really never been. The time away had felt eternal, like you’d never really been here to begin with, like the young girl who’d grown up on this land had never really existed. But you’d not forgotten them, this, despite your distance. Your home, the father that wouldn’t want you, Wyoming and all its splendor, the people you’d left behind, Joel and Ellie and shared birthdays that meant a secret world to you. Morsels of small happinesses interloped amidst a largely lonely and sad childhood. That’s what it was at its core.

“Would you be angry with me if I gave it all away?”

He thinks for a moment, maybe you’re making him sadder, but then finally says with a swallow, “No. It’s yours to do with as you please.”

You eye the quarter of whiskey left, but your belly isn’t hungry for its warmth anymore. You want something heavier now.

“Could you even do that—legally—sell it or somethin’?”

“Probably not. He probably tied it to my fucking life. Sell and die.” You mime your name in an imitation of your fathers deep voice, frowning at yourself the way he’d always frowned when he looked at you, but it pulls a laugh from him, and the painful memory is worth it. “But I have a billion dollars to spend now. More?” You tap your chin—you want to make him laugh again. “Gotta think of something interesting to do with it all.”

His mouth slides into an easy half grin. Like the moon—that beautiful. And he turns to face you fully. “You’re gonna be just fine. You know that, right?”

You turn to face him too, gripping the bannister for dear life. “What? Will you make sure of it?”

“That’s my plan.”

“How’re you gonna do that, d’you reckon?” The American twang bleeds back into your voice, and you’re all swollen lush on the inside, heart a beating fist in your chest.

“Haven’t gotten that far, if I’m bein’ honest with you.” God. His eyes, the strong bridge of his nose, his mouth. He’s so tall your head has to crook back to look up at him. “I’ll figure something out.” And after another pensive second, and still with that soft, sloped eye smile, he asks, and nicely, “Will you stop drinking now—for me?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” you say with the same sort of smile in return.

And then suddenly, like vomit again but maybe more humiliating this time: “Did you respect him?” Because you don’t know all the things about him that there are to know, but you do know that Joel Miller’s respect is a thing hard earned.

He clicks his tongue, and you hear the pop of his jaw as he shifts it like he’s chewing on an honesty. His eyes, his eyes, they’re serious, mercurial, warm and deep also. You worry he won’t answer, that he wouldn’t want to disappoint you or something, but then: “No,” said real simple like.

“Why not?”

And the way he looks down at you, you know already, and it makes that falling through the surface of your own life feeling rise up inside you again, makes your ears pop with embarrassment. Ah. “He never did a very good job of hiding the way he treated you, sweetheart. I couldn’t ever respect a man like that.”

This is reality right here, this is you falling through your life, this is the realization that it wasn’t only you imposing yourself, your existence, on someone with gifts they didn’t want or ask for. Joel had seen. Joel had understood.

Someone else had noticed that you exist, and it had been him.

What else had you ever wanted?

And in the blink of a desperate, yearning eye, drunk on a man still, you’re throwing yourself at him, pressing your mouth hot and heavy to his, kissing him full on the way you’d dreamt of since you knew to dream of such things.

Chapter 2; Sugar, Not so Sweet

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#fable of the dog fic #vic fic #joel miller fanfiction #Joel Miller x FMC #joel miller smut #Joel miller angst #the last of us AU

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sanjisblackasswife · 8 months ago

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Gojo Hearing “I Love You” for the First Time

I gen. have no clue if anywhere in the series anybody has said they loved gojo. Whether platonic or not. Its interesting and I was just thinking.

CW: Mentions of Gojo’s Past(some canon some not…so spoilers ig if you haven’t read the inventory arc), Established Relationship, Mentioned Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Some Angst(?), Soft Gojo, Reader speaks Spanish because I’m projecting 😋, Kisses

Blk!Fem Reader in Mind

“AND THAT’S WHY I DO NOT LIKE PEANUT BUTTER COOKIES!..IT WAS VOMIT EVERYWHERE!”

“Can’t believe you managed to eat 6 boxes of cookies in one sitting.”

“Hey! Don’t judge it was a marathon of Digimon playing all day…good times. Not as good as the time—“

And there he goes again, your big over 6’6” boyfriend laying on his back on the couch having another yap fest after a long trip. It started off with a quiet evening of you both eating and watching a childhood movie to then actually sharing stories of your past.

You really couldn’t be more enamored by how excited Satoru gets when he speaks to you. His smile is wide from ear to ear and his dimples grow deeper. He’s also so expressive with his hand gestures you really don’t know where to look as you lay comfortable on his big broad chest.

Usually when he begins to speak about his life before you, you try to absorb and savor every moment. Since your friendship in high school Gojo wasn’t much of a talker (ironically) about his life, but as you both grown closer since his big mission with Geto to watch over Riko he managed to get a bit more comfortable with telling you more about himself.

It’s been 11 years since then and after some therapy sessions with you, Geto, and Gojo three of you managed to learn how to express yourselves in a healthier way with each other.

You watch now, almost 1 year into your official relationship with him and noticed he doesn’t talk much about his parents. Nor an adult in his life that was like a parent to him at the very least. Even when in High School you never met his family. You knew of his clan and that was all.

You always wondered where did he get his wild energy from? His dad? Where did he become so affectionate through touch? His mom? It was all a mystery you wanted to understand.

You’ve even asked Geto, his closest best friend what does he know about his mom and dad, but he always ends with “It’s better you wait until he tells you himself.”

You didn’t question it more, you respected the decision so thats exactly why you’re here. Watching and listening attentively to what your boyfriend has to say. It makes you happy seeing how much he has grown more comfortable towards you towards the years.

“And when I was 8 I remember my folks always gave me free range to use my technique whenever to practice, but boy they regretted after an hour because I—-baby.”

Without noticing your eyes blinked back at him as if you began to come back to reality again, Gojo seen the relaxed look you given him as he spoke, how your eyes were on his, but he just knew you—

“‘ not even listeninggguhhhh.”

Putting your thumbs on his pouty bottom lip, they’re so soft you smile at him, it wasn’t really something you’d expect to say to him, but his pretty big smile, his deepened dimples, everything about him caught you in a moment of venerability you just decided to softly speak at him;

“I love you.”

…just like that it was a pause.

It just slipped off the tongue. You meant it, but finally saying it out loud was a bit of a shock to not just you, but more Satoru. He had an unreadable look on his face, almost as if he didn’t catch what you said, but he definitely did. He couldn’t miss the way his body tensed up hearing those three words.

“What?”

Gojo didn’t say anything, almost as if it was a staring contest you rise from his chest to straddle him, “Are you okay?”

You jumped feeling the pads of his thumb dig into the fattiness of your hips, almost as if he were trying to massage you….very painfully. He got up though, placing you down on the couch and walking to the nearest bathroom without saying a word or looking at you. You could’ve sworn he wiped his face momentarily.

“Go—?”

He didn’t mean to, it was almost a reflex. Your words though, kept replaying in his head . He felt a bit silly being so dramatic , ironically but he couldn’t properly process what you said.

“Satoru?” You knock on the door breaking him away from his thoughts, “You okay, papa? I—oh.”

He opened the door, putting back on his eye mask and giving you one of the fakest smiles you ever seen him do.

“What are you doing, you okay?”

“yeah yeah I’m fineeeee. Let’s go get something to eat.”

“W-wait!” You playfully scoff at his eagerness as he pulls you to the front door, “I’m sorry if what I said made you uncomfortable….I know it was sudden and random, but I meant it.”

Gojo turns and exhales, clearing his throat he begins to scratch the back of his head, you can tell he is scrambling for words so you continue; “I do love you Satoru. A lot. I think I always have since we were younger, but I don’t know…today made me realize I should verbalize it.”

He wants to speak, but for one of the first times you left him wanting to just listen to you. Honestly you took advantage of it because who knows when you’ll be able to get him this quiet.

“I love your smile, I love your laugh, I love the way you explain things, I love the way you are, I love the way you care, I love how you can get on my nerves.” You ends the last part with a giggle making him finally chuckle with you, and he brings you closer to his chest. “I love you, Satoru. You are an amazing person and I am very blessed to have you as not only a friend but a partner.”

It was all too much, he felt overwhelmed he had to lift his mask to wipe the tears welling on the side of his eyes, he chuckles again, the free hand on your waist tightening, “Well damn if I didn’t know better I’d think you have a crush on me.”

You laugh, “Maybeeee…..Now. “ You smooch his cheek before grabbing your phone, “Let’s go get some food—-“

You tried walking past him towards the door but he grabs you from behind to hug you close, you can hear his shallow breaths in your ear. You’re used to his tight squeezes from behind but this one was firm. Almost as if he let you go you’ll fly away.

“Say it again.”

You smirk, his voice quivering but trying to be masked by a fake pouting tone, “I love you, Satoru.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again, but in Spanish.”

“Oh brother.”

“C’mon you sound hot when speaking Spanish.”

“Te amaré para siempre, Satoru…”

If words could explain how he felt right now with you, the closest would be a weight being lifted off his shoulders. For a moment he no longer was Gojo the strongest sorcerer, he was Satoru.

Just Satoru.

Something he wanted to be for a long time, and now you are helping him take the first step into that.

You inhale his scent; mint, expensive cologne and his natural musky smell you love so much and rub his head as he is still buried in your neck. You turn to face him and grab his cheeks, almost hesitantly to cup them because you weren’t sure if he’d left you see him cry. Though you felt your shoulder dampen.

However he let you, his big blue eyes surrounded by a tint of pink, he tried laughing it off and he actually broke eyes contact with you, “I …um…heh..fuck—“

You knew what he was trying to say but you don’t force him, instead you place your lips on his, you felt him exhale, his body relaxing in your touch, “I know, Satoru. I know.”

Gojo couldn’t properly register why he was so overwhelmed with whatever he is feeling right now but he wouldn’t trade this feeling in the world. He honestly wanted to replay the moment you said you loved him on repeat all day.

Later that day you both go out and have your own last minute date for the evening, he wanted so badly to tell you he loves you back by trying to incorporate more of the word “love “ in his vocabulary, by saying things like “I know you LOVE this.” Or “Wouldnt you LOVE for me to take you here.” but it was hard and he sounded silly.

Satoru wanted so badly to tell you he doesn’t just love you, but he has fallen IN love with you.

Gojo finally found just one more person that gave him something he didn’t realize he needed;

To feel human.

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mamoonde · 9 months ago

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i really really really love the idea of wei wuxian revolutionizing modern cultivation over breakfast and conceptualizing these different theories simultaneously because the adhd brain has no brakes and the only reason it took him a decade to publish all these ideas was because he could not stick to a single train of thought long enough to finish (verbalizing) it, let alone put it down on paper coherently.

the only reason he even got to publishing them eventually (and enrolling to cultivation theory grad program to get on that track) was because one morning, his undergrad thesis advisor, lan qiren, finally got fed up and sat him down for an early morning progress check-in because it was midterm season and wei wuxian still hadn't decided on a topic.

wei wuxian, fueled by an unhealthy amount of redbull and three all-nighters, finally word vomits all his 'convoluted' ideas which he'd thought were uselessly obvious and redundant (because he's gone over these like a bajillion times, it's very plain-as-day to him, so he probably just hasn't read the articles that say these exact things).

lan qiren, teacup frozen halfway to his mouth: ...first of all, i only understood half of how you got to these conclusions, which only means they are indeed too convoluted and will need to be pared down; secondly: you have never mentioned any of these ideas before. why.

wei wuxian: oh. haven't i? oh well, i just thought, xyz, because, obviously, abcde. which is really what the 2 centuries old law on ghjkl was alluding to, right? and so, logically, xyz.

lan qiren: [mind blown, screaming, good gods this is the same child who's always tardy and spent freshman year pulling on the metaphorical pigtails of my straight-laced nephew?!?!??!??!?!] ..again, why...how have you never even spoken or submitted these ideas?

wei wuxian: because!!! they're so obvious!! surely, it's been published somewhere already? i can't be the only one to connect these dots, surely??

lan qiren: incredibly, you are. no one else has even thought to question tradition nor pursued more thoughts on the law of ghjkl, with half as much...sound arguments as you seem to have. in the past century, the focus of modern cultivation has tended towards practical uses and tools, some fine-tuning, perhaps. not entirely new theories.

wei wuxian: huh....

lan qiren, sighing, feeling a migraine: your problem with your thesis is not a lack of focus or ingenuity, but likely to be more a lack of recent, evidentiary sources. you will need to become very familiar with the university archives and dig deep for sources that will back up every argument you make.

he jots down notes on a paper. "you will also need to strictly adhere to the structure and methodology of these articles, especially given how radical your thesis will be. if you are diligent enough, you may just be able to submit your thesis without too much of a delay." he slides the list of materials to a gaping wei wuxian. "depending on your output then, we can discuss the possibility of submitting this for peer review."

"peer review." wei wuxian repeats. "as in, that thing where some uppity committee of old coots put their stamp of approval for it to become the reading materials of undergrads like me. you're joking."

lan qiren chooses to ignore the sentiment about peer review committees being uppity old coots, especially considering how he can't completely deny it on account of some of his colleagues, but also as a member said peer review committee, he isn't exactly pleased about being lumped in the same category.

wei wuxian backtracks at his unamused look. "right, you're not joking, of course you're not." he slowly inches the list towards himself. "right, yes, i guess i'll uh, get to it then. ok bye."

----

idk, just, waves hand at wei wuxian candidly explaining new modern cultivation theories over cheerios at 2 in the afternoon to lwj who's trying to help him structure his grad thesis, getting mind blow dick hard at how this messy genius who's talking with his mouth full of half eaten cereal is the object of his affection....

wwx: --oh, oops, your highlighter fell

lwj: mn

wwx: ...aren't you gonna get that?

lwj: it's fine; i'll pick it up later. finish your thought.

wwx: right... i'll pick it up for you!

lwj, fighting for his life, trying to think unsexy thoughts: NO! sit. finish your meal, and then your thought.

#big brain wei wuxian #wei wuxian #genius wwx #in an interview for modern cultivation magazine he's asked: how do you do it?#wwx: adhd!#also a dedicated partner who tolerates your midnight rambling about spiritual energy and entertains your endless what ifs scenarios #bonus points if your partner is lwj who has amazing notetaking skills and a phd in decoding wei wuxian notes #wangxian #mdzs #modern cultivation au #also i love a supportive mentor lqr dont you #a mellowed out lqr who has a little more tolerance for radical ways of thought as long as theyre rooted in morality and good will #mamoonde short fics

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pinkdaisies9285 · 11 months ago

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Flyboy and the Florist-3

Bob Floyd x F!Reader

Warnings: None except our nervous WSO, Fluff

Word Count: 830

Author's Note: Here's the next part! This one is a little longer than the others but its one of the most important moments for our little couple! Also, I hid another hint of how reader feels about Bob in here and her nickname/callsign! Again I love talking with you guys so please reblog/comment/ask about this story!

Maybe taking his two best friends to meet his crush was a bad idea. Bob was already sweating bullets about finally asking her out and maybe bringing two people known to embarrass Bob was not the way to do this. It was too late anyway. Natasha was driving, Bob was in the passenger seat, and Bradley was in the back. Honestly, Bob felt like he was going to throw up. The butterflies in his stomach had become aggravated. Would he be successful this time? Or would he come home with another bouquet of blush tea roses and what she calls dwarf sunflowers? He wasn’t sure.

Natasha noticed the grey storm cloud that was hovering over Bob. She knew that whoever this florist was, she was making her backseater question his every decision. “Bob, I’m sure you’ll get her number this time. Okay?”

This made him turn his head to face his partner. “Are you sure? For the past two weeks, I’ve tried to conjure up the words and instead, I just word vomit in front of her.”

“Is it that bad Bobby boy?” Bradley asked while leaning on the center console. He didn’t think anything could rattle the WSO except Jake’s jabs at him during a drunken round of pool. “Is this florist that daunting? Is she scary or somethin’?”

The question made Bob think about her. She wasn’t at all daunting. She was alluring and beautiful in ways that Bob couldn’t explain. It made Bob feel like a complete fool. How could he go for a girl who is so beautiful and kind like her? Either way, he knew that if he got her number and asked her out on a date, he would feel more successful than what happened with the uranium mission. A curt stop shook him out of his thoughts. Natasha had parked in the of the shop. The sign hung in the window. It said “Apotheca Blooms” with botanical and celestial motifs surrounding it. “Is this the place?” asked Bradley while stepping out of Nat’s car. He was surprised that the “supposed” daunting florist had a shop that looked warm and cozy. He was expecting something entirely else. “Yep. Let’s hope today is the day.” Bob said with a somewhat hopeless sigh. He was going back to the thought that this was a bad idea. Would his friends be great wingmen/wingwomen? Or would they make the situation worse? Well, it was too late to figure that out because Nat and Bradley were already through the door. Bob quickly followed after the chaotic duo hoping that everything would go smoothly.

Walking in, the three of them started looking around. Natasha found a whole section of bath salts and bath bombs that were already calling her name. Bradley was taking everything in from the flowers to the table of crystals. Bob was looking for the reason he came.

“Are you finding everything okay?” said a voice coming from behind the table full of bouquets.

“Ahhh!” Bradley yelped while searching for the voice. The florist came around the table to greet everyone.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said while looking at the trio. She was surprised to see two new faces alongside Bob.

Bradley at that moment decided to get a look at the woman that was haunting Bob. What he saw was a woman that he didn’t think Bob would for based on appearances but he knew that appearances can be deceiving. “More surprised than scared. I didn’t see you hiding in all that flora and fauna.” Bradley answered back while chuckling.

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I surprised a customer. I’ve been told a have quiet footfalls.”She said while showing her captivating smile. “Either way, how can I help you folks?”

“Well I’m here for some bath salts which I already found and this guy is just here for the ride,” Nat replied while pointing her thumb over to Bradley. The florist nodded when she looked over to Bob.

“Hi, Bobby. How are you?”

“I’m-m great! How are you? Did you ever get that new tea blend figured out?”

“I did! You should definitely try it, I think you’ll like it.” She immediately answered the WSO’s question with delight.

This is when Nat and Bradley realized something that Bob didn’t. The florist already liked him and he was missing all the signs. Nat decided to elbow Bob in the side to get him to stop avoiding the main reason they were there. Bob recognized this so he decided now or never. “Umm, actually I came here for something else.”

“Oh? What is it Bobby?” she asked while tilting her head.

Taking a deep breath, Bob thought out his next words carefully. He knew he couldn’t keep buying more flowers for zero reason. He had to make you see that he could treat you right and more.

“Well, I was wondering if I could take you out for a date.”

Tag List: @attapullman @seresinhangmanjake @3tabbiesandalab @nerdgirljen @bobgasm @muddwheelz123 @tgmavericklover @jessicab1991 @havlindzk @tgmreader @charactersimp08 @just-in-case-iloveyou @theamuz

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fastlikealambo · 10 months ago

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Connubium.|| Coriolanus Snow x Black Fem Reader Chapter Nine

table of contents.

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Summary: Stealing from The Capitol is a deadly offense, yet you’ve done it more times than you can count but when you do something you should not have done, Volumnia Gaul decides a fate for you that might just be worse than death.

Notes: This takes place post The Ballad of Songbirds And Snakes and Coryo is in his last year at The University, studying under Dr. Gaul. This will not follow canon, I’m not an expert on all the lore so I apologize if I get things wrong.

Disclaimer: You know Coriolanus is a POS, I know Coriolanus is a POS, please don’t yell at me because this is just a fun little story, something for thee hotties, and if you feel that strongly against President Snow, please let me know if you’d like me to sign you up for tessarae.

18+ only

trigger warnings for blood, vomit, injuries.

We are finally at the end, wow, this has been so much fun. I'm still a little unsure about this ending but I just want to say thank you for reading over these past few months, thank you so much.

“And we’re back with our President and First Lady to be! It’s so good to see you both smiling after such a tragic time.” Lucky Flickerman beamed into the camera.

“Thank you for having us Lucky and thank you to everyone watching at home.” You said with a soft smile, taking Coriolanus’ hand in yours. In return, Coriolanus lightly kissed your knuckles and the studio audience cooed in response.

“Let's get down to why we are all here, shall we? It’s been three long and sad months since that fateful day and what a day it was. I should know, I was there and vomited all over my favorite suit!”

“It really was a great suit, Lucky.” Coriolanus chimed in, earning a laugh from the audience.

“Tell us, Coriolanus, what was it like in those moments? We’ve all seen the footage of you cradling your beautiful wife, the danger, the drama! In your own words, tell us and everyone watching at home, about your wedding day.”

With a last look at you, Coriolanus Snow, husband, murder, and President-elect of Panem, opened his mouth and began to speak.

The night before his wedding, Coriolanus Snow was not in search of a final fling before an eternity of matrimonial bliss nor was he drinking himself into a stupor to bid his old life behind.

When he kissed you goodbye after your long important walk and talk, he watched you get into the waiting car, shut the blinds and got to work. Crassus Snow’s record player crackled to life and with a sonata filling the apartment, Coriolanus surveyed the upwards of hundreds of champagne bottles on the dining room table.

He had not lied, if you asked him to burn down Panem, he would fetch a match yet after tomorrow, that would not be necessary.

For you, he would poison his wedding guests and murder President Ravinstill.

And for him, but that's besides the point.

As night turned to dawn, Coriolanus packed the champagne, the scent of apples and rosewater hiding the danger beneath. His guests would get something of his own collection, sweet and light, just enough to make them vomit and collapse, enough chaos to distract from the main attraction.

For President Ravinstill, he would not stray from tradition.

Nightlock.

Not just nightlock berries ground with a mortar and pestle, that was lazy, noticeable. Every little piece of the berry was used, sprinkled in with champagne already designated for the soon to be former president.

He watched, oh how he watched Ravinstill, take flute after flute upon his arrival.

Yet at the very end, the person whom Coriolanus wanted at his side to witness the end of an era was currently unconscious on the floor beneath him.

Coriolanus Snow, with all his careful planning and plotting, had lost.

It had been two minutes since you had stopped talking, one minute since you stopped breathing and ten seconds since Coryo had tried another dose of the antidote. Coriolanus looked to the purpling corpse of Ravinstill, face frozen in death, and refused to let him win.

There was no Panem with you.

“ Not yet, Mrs. Snow.”

“Coryo!”

A small gasp and the click clack of heels brought Coriolanus out his head and back to you as Tigris came running into the room. He had made sure Tigris was away from the venue before the champagne was served by simple timing but now he was glad to have her here by his side.

“Coryo, Coriolanus? Is she-

He did not, could not, answer that.

Coriolanus brushed tears back and gave you another rescue breath, watching your chest rise and fall with his help only to remain just as still. He checked for a pulse again, felt that weak irregular beat beneath his fingertips starting to slow.

Please don’t go, he whispered.

“Coryo, I can hear sirens, we have to get her outside.” Tigris urged, voice thick with tears and Coriolanus was vaguely aware of himself pressing his lips to your forehead before gently picking you up. It all became real in that moment and Coriolanus began to run.

The sight in front of him was more horrific than he had imagined to be with his wedding guests in various states of consciousness and the pungent aroma of vomit and blood wafting through the venue. Peacekeepers and medics were beginning to swarm the area and with you in his arms, Coriolanus remembered there was still a part of his work that needed to be executed.

“Help, somebody help! There’s something wrong with my wife, I don’t know what’s happening but President Ravinstill, he’s back there, he’s collapsed! I tried to help him but-” Coriolanus broke off, false tears in his eyes as he shook his head at the listening medic. The medic nodded at two other medics and peacekeepers who ran towards where Tigris was pointing.

Coriolanus reluctantly let the medics take you before following them into the ambulance himself without a word, barely hearing Tigris’ promise to meet him at the hospital. Alarms and instructions between medics faded away as he squeezed your hand.

Please don’t go.

At some point, a shrill monotone sound invaded Coryo’s ears and it was then and only then that he let himself splinter. There was more noise and action around your body and unable to hold your hand, Coriolanus curled in himself, hands in his hair, caught between suffocating fear and such incredible rage.

The ambulance came to a stop at Capitol Hospital and all Coriolanus could do was watch a nurse climb onto the gurney take over compressions and let that same gurney carrying Panem’s possibly dead next first lady pass him and race inside.

Only then when standing alone did Coryo care to notice that the inside of his mouth was stinging, letting his tongue pass over the beginnings of a bloody sore. Every time he had breathed for you, what remained of the poison on your lips traveled to his own.

The taste of blood in his mouth was nothing new to Coriolanus.

There would be no Panem without you, all would crumble and perish before him, there would be no capitol, no games, just the end of all.

Coriolanus Snow had made up his mind: should you pass this day, Panem would know the dark days once more.

“I’ve never been more afraid in my life, Lucky. If I could go back and save our dear President Ravinstill too, I would have done more, I should have done more, there was just so much happening. I couldn’t lose my wife, without her I would lose myself.” Coriolanus broke off, a small sob escaping him and the audience was more than happy to lick up his grief.

With a soft kiss on his cheek, you guided his hand from your thigh to your stomach with a smile.

Lucky loudly blew into a hanky before gasping when he saw Coriolanus’ hand on your stomach.

“Mrs. Snow, is there something you’d like to share with us?”

“Because of Coriolanus, the extraordinary medical team at Capitol Hospital, and the support of Panem, I’m still here and I’m so happy to announce I’m pregnant.”

The audience roared and it was then you knew the girl from District 6 had all of Panem in the palm of your hand.

But there were games left to play.

FIVE MONTHS LATER

“Ma, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand.” You urged, your hand wrapped around hers, tears in your eyes.

A few long seconds later, your mother weakly squeezed your hand, the same as your Pa the day before.

You were taking it slow but the doctors promised they would fully wake any day now and pre- inauguration press and third trimester be damned, you would be at their side the moment they opened their eyes.

You kissed your mother on her forehead, promising to come back tomorrow.

But now, you had a very special appointment.

“Little thief, you’re glowing! How can I be of service?” Dr. Gaul looked up from her research with that all too familiar venomous smile.

“I just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done in aiding my parents’ recovery. The doctors say they will wake up any day now.” You said, taking the seat she offered.

“How wonderful! It’s good to hear my favorite lab rats are on the mend. Hopefully seeing their daughter pregnant and married won’t send them right back into a coma.”

You gave a hollow laugh but sat up in your chair.

“ They’ll be happy to know I’m still alive. I almost wasn’t, as you well know. It took the doctors so long to treat me, they couldn’t figure out why I was so much sicker than everyone else. So many tests were run and even now they still don’t know.”

“Have you asked Mr. Snow? He’s always had such an insight into poison.” Dr. Gaul remarked pointedly.

It was no secret that Coriolanus was involved in Ravinstill’s death but thanks to your dramatic yet romantic near death experience being caught on camera, Panem did not care.

“ I would but he’s been so busy touring the districts, preparing for the inauguration. Speaking of, there’s something I need to tell you, actually it’s easier if I show you.”

One of your security detail came forward and turned on Gaul’s television.

Lucky Flickerman came on to the screen excitedly, a breaking news banner beneath him and to his right sat Coriolanus.

“ Mr. President, I’ll cut to the chase, my producers have told me you have something to share with the fine people of Panem? ” Lucky asked, bouncing on the edge of his chair. Coriolanus smiled into the camera, hands folded on his lap.

“To honor the tragic death of former President Ravinstill and to celebrate the upcoming arrival of our daughter, the First Lady and myself would like to announce the suspension of The Hunger Games this year.”

Last night, you had asked Coriolanus if would rather be feared than loved.

This was his answer.

You couldn’t hear the TV due to the rather dramatic shrieking of Volumnia Gaul.

As if on cue, peacekeepers entered Dr. Gaul’s lab began to take it apart, boxing up research, emptying cabinets and Dr. Gaul herself stood in front of you, laughing.

“I underestimated you, little thief. Will you kill me now or televise it?” She asked, head held high as two peacekeepers appeared on either side of her.

You stood up from your chair slowly to face the now former Head Gamemaker.

“I don’t need to kill you. You tortured and poisoned my parents and through your puppet Ravinstill tried to kill me, death is an afternoon treat for you. I want you to witness the future of Panem, witness them forget your creations the more time passes, and one day, when someone asks what The Hunger Games were for, the answer will be simple: nothing. From now until the day you die you will remember me not as a hostage or the wife of a President, but as the little thief who stole your greatest treasure, your legacy.”

Your time with Dr. Gaul ended in the place where it all began.

If only she had chosen a girl of fine capitol breeding.

EPILOGUE

One week after the presidential inauguration of Coriolanus Snow, Rose Snow comes into the world screaming, Coriolanus holding your left hand and your mother holding your right.

Once upon a time, you had three rules.

Never be seen.

Never take what you could not carry.

Never intervene.

Now you only have one.

To live without fear, now and forever.

Thank you to everyone who has been waiting, I hope that this was worth the wait! Thank you all for reading and I’m so happy this is out now. If you would like to see a sequel to connubium, please interact and reblog this work!

#coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x black reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x black!reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #tw emetophobia #tw emeto ment

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siebear · 5 months ago

Text

Beach Trip - Yoon Hyunsuk

Pairing: Yoon Hyunsuk x Female Reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: sexual content 18+ (minors dni pls), cursing, alcohol consumption (every character mentioned is legal in this au), vomiting

Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, non idol au, friends to lovers

Summary: You and your best friend Hyunsuk take a much needed vacation to Santa Cruz, California along with a few of your other friends (CIX). While staying in your shared beachside cabin, tensions grow between you and Hyunsuk, and the feelings you share can't be hidden any longer. Of course, not without a little drama.

Abbreviations: Y/N: Your Name, B/F/N: Best Friend's Name

(A/N: I felt as though there wasn't enough fanfic about CIX, so I wanted to write my own! This is my first time writing smut, so if it is awkward I apologize! Anyways, please enjoy this story)

______________________________________________________________

The day had finally come.

The beach trip with your closest friends that you had been anticipating for a while now was happening at last. It's very common for your friend group to create plans that never leave the group chat, but this time your self-designated “group leader” Byounggon was determined to make it happen. So, on a random weekday he suddenly sent a screenshot of a beachside Airbnb that he found in Santa Cruz, California to the chat and told everyone to venmo him ASAP so he could book it. Surprisingly, everyone was on board, and you were all able to come to an agreement on the dates for this vacation.

These past few months have been nothing but school, work, repeat, and you were so excited to break the seemingly never-ending cycle for summer vacation. In fact, you took an entire week off of work just for this three-day long adventure. Before you could even climb out of bed, you heard your phone buzz. You quickly unplugged it from its charger and read the message your phone displayed. It was from your best friend, Hyunsuk.

Hyunsuk: i’ll be over in a few with my stuff

Y/N: i just woke up, can you give me like 10 mins?

Hyunsuk: …bruh

Hyunsuk: we’re supposed to leave in 30

Y/N: i know but i woke up late, pls give me like 10 minutes to get my stuff together

Hyunsuk: i’ll be over in 5

You sighed as you placed your phone back on your bedside table. There was no arguing with him and you knew that. As his best friend of over 15 years, you knew him well enough to not try to convince him once he had his mind set on something, as he was often extremely stubborn.

Sometimes, however, with the right tone of voice and pleading eyes, you could convince him to give into your demands. Unfortunately over text these methods don’t work on him, so you have to settle with what he wants for the time being.

You finally got the motivation to get yourself out of bed and walked over to your closet to find something to wear. Since it was a long car ride, you decided to throw on something comfortable which just so happened to be a pair of black gym shorts and a hoodie with a black tank top underneath. Hyunsuk, being the gentleman that he is, offered to drive with the exception that you two took your car since you had more trunk space to which you happily agreed to. This gave you the opportunity to sleep on the way there, as you couldn’t deal with Hyunsuk yapping your ear off this early in the morning.

You heard your parents downstairs talking to Hyunsuk, which made you speed run brushing your hair and teeth before quickly throwing those last minute items into your overnight bag. You then left your room with your car keys to go greet him and allow him to start loading his things into the vehicle, but the second you started walking down the stairs he turned to smile at you which made your heart…flutter?

“Stop it”, you thought to yourself, “He’s my friend…just my friend…”

You’ve been having these intrusive thoughts lately about him that make your cheeks flush red and give you the feeling of butterflies in your stomach. You often wondered what life would be like if he was yours. You wanted to know what would it be like to be able to cuddle with him, kiss, and even more.

Sometimes these thoughts make you sick to your stomach, since you’ve known him since you two were in kindergarten. Lately, however, you haven’t been able to suppress these thoughts as they've been taking over your daydreams. You yearn for Hyunsuk, but you don’t know or even want to know if he yearns for you back. You refuse to ruin your friendship with him, as this is the most valuable thing in the world to you.

“Finally” Hyunsuk says, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Shut the fuck up, it didn’t take me that long to get ready” you argued back while reaching the bottom of the stairs. Hyunsuk chuckled to himself and turned to your parents.

“See what I have to deal with?” He said jokingly, which made your parents laugh but brought you to smack his arm lightly out of slight annoyance.

“You’re a weakling” He said, peering down at you.

“I swear I will punch you next time” You stated, crossing your arms and looking back up at him with a smug smile on your face.

“Don’t get too feisty now, we got a long car ride to go on together” Hyunsuk said back, which raised a huge sigh out of you. You were looking forward to being alone with him, but long car rides were not fun for you at all. Hyunsuk then took your keys from you and went to unlock your car so he could begin packing. You said goodbye to your parents as Hyunsuk came back inside to help grab your things from upstairs and load them into your trunk.

“When will you be back?” Your mom asked, hugging you goodbye.

“I’ll be back in 3 days” You responded.

“Ok good, please be safe” your mom leaned in close to whisper to you

“You know, I’m so glad you have a friend like Hyunsuk, he’ll be there to protect you”. You blushed slightly and looked down at the ground.

“I have my pepper spray mom”

“I know, but you know what I mean. He’s a good man Y/N, and he will be there for you”

“Mom please!” You whispered, but then you suddenly heard the trunk of the car slam shut which made you jolt a bit. Hyunsuk came running back inside to let you know that he was ready to go and that he was going to start the car. You said your final goodbyes and waved to your parents as you and Hyunsuk backed out of the driveway and took off towards your destination.

The car ride was miserably long. Not even 20 minutes in you kicked your shoes off and placed your feet up on the dash, and to Hyunsuk’s annoyance you turned up the A/C since you liked it cold. However, you were grateful that he was driving and you didn’t ask to stop for snacks or a bathroom break unless it was necessary to stop for gas. You also were able to use your guilt tripping skills on Hyunsuk to get him to buy you a bag of chips and a soda at the gas station for you, but he secretly enjoyed doing that despite the fact that he seemed to act displeased when paying.

After hours of being on the road you finally arrived at the beachside Airbnb. You gasped at the sight, as the scenery was even more beautiful in person. This house was two stories and on the side it had a stairway leading down to what looked like a private beach area. You looked back at Hyunsuk and pointed out all the little details you noticed as you pulled into the driveway and he smiled. Little did you know, Hyunsuk wasn’t smiling at the scenery. He was just happy that you were happy to be here, but he didn’t need you to know that.

As soon as you got out of the car you were greeted by your girl best friend, B/F/N. She gave you the biggest hug and almost picked you up off the ground out of pure excitement. You two haven’t seen each other in weeks due to conflicting work schedules. Luckily though, you were both understanding and still managed to text each other daily.

“Come on guys! Everyone is inside waiting for you!” B/F/N said in an excited tone.

“I told you we’d be the last ones here Y/N!” Hyunsuk said. You rolled your eyes at him.

“It’s fine Hyunsuk, let’s go inside!” You said, leaving him to grab the bags from the trunk as you walked towards the front door with B/F/N.

“Oh, before we go inside, I need to tell you something” B/F/N said, her tone changing to be slightly serious.

“What did Jinyoung finally propose to you?” You asked.

“No! Not yet anyways…but it’s about the bedroom arrangement” She said. You looked at her confused.

“What do you mean? Is my bedroom not the one upstairs anymore?” You asked.

“So, um, please don’t get mad, but the listing had the wrong number of bedrooms…” She trailed off.

“What do you mean?” You repeated yourself.

“Well…come on I’ll just show you” She took your arm and led you inside and towards a room on the downstairs floor. You briefly waved at the four boys who were sitting in the living room playing a card game before being dragged away down a hallway. Once you got to the room she opened it and showed you inside.

“Is this my room?” You asked, confused as to why this would be a problem.

“Yeah…and Hyunsuk’s…”

“What?” You were getting annoyed at her dodging the questions you’ve been asking.

“So basically, me and Jinyoung are sharing a room while BX and Seunghun share a room, and Yonghee is taking the room that has the twin bed because he wants to be alone, so this is the only room left for you and Hyunsuk and we figured you guys would be ok if you took the room with the bigger bed while Yonghee took the smaller bed” B/F/N said, almost out of breath by the end of her tangent.

The realization hit you like a bullet to the chest, your stomach dropping as if you were on some intense roller coaster ride. What kind of cliche fanfiction trope is this?

“Oh so you mean me and Hyunsuk have to…share the bed…okay…” You said slowly.

“Please don’t be mad! Besides from what you’ve been telling me I thought you would love this–” You quickly shushed her by putting your hand over her mouth as you heard footsteps coming down the hallway. The door swung open to reveal a very tired looking Hyunsuk carrying your overnight bags. His eyes widened as he saw that there was only one bed in the room.

“Is this the room?” He asked, his eyes darting between you and your best friend.

“Yep this is it! I will leave you guys to get settled, bye!” B/F/N said awkwardly before scurrying out of the room and slamming the door shut.

“I guess the Airbnb had the wrong number of rooms listed…” you trailed off before sitting down on the edge of the bed. Hyunsuk came to sit next to you, as he needed a bit of rest from the car ride.

“Are you ok with this?” He asked. You were surprised at the question.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You asked back. He shrugged.

“I don’t know, we’ve just never slept in a bed together. If it makes you more comfortable I can sleep on the floor or on the couch or something” He said. You shook your head.

“No no it’s fine, I truly don’t mind, as long as you don’t either” You said back. He smiled at you, which made your cheeks turn a slight pink.

“I don’t mind at all,” He said. He suddenly stood up and started looking around, trying to figure out how to arrange all of your things.

“At least we have our own bathroom in here” He said. Then your phone buzzed, it was a text in the groupchat from Yonghee telling everyone to get their swimsuits on and meet him in the hot tub on the back deck. You relayed the message to Hyunsuk, and you both took turns changing before meeting the others outside.

After weeks of not seeing them, you forgot how much fun hanging out with your friends was. After popping open a few cans of alcoholic seltzers and sharing a bottle of vodka with the others you were having the time of your life, as you were already wasted by 10pm playing a game of drunk truth or dare with the others while still in the hot tub. After Yonghee started pouting for being dared to scream the word “penis” for the third time it was your turn to finally ask Hyunsuk the question.

“Sukkie...truth or dare” you giggled. Sukkie was the nickname you gave him in private, but now your friends know, as you can’t stop calling him that in your drunken state. Your friends started chanting the word dare, and he got visibly annoyed with them.

“Okay fuck I’ll chose dare!” He exclaimed.

“I dare you…to shotgun another seltzer with me” You said, not being able to contain your laughter. He looked at you concerned, as well as the others. You were already far ahead of them as you made it your mission to get wasted tonight.

“I don’t know Y/N, you’re already pretty drunk,” Hyunsuk replied.

“Pleaseeeeee sukkie it’ll be soooooo much fun!!” You begged. He sighed and got out of the hot tub to grab two seltzer cans. You followed him and watched as he popped open the bottle with a key, a sight that you never thought could turn you on, but it did. He handed you the can and you both counted down from 3 before popping the tab and beginning to shotgun. He beat you easily, as you were still trying to down the cool carbonated liquid as it burned your throat. After you finished, you instantly knew that was a mistake as your stomach couldn’t handle it anymore.

Before you knew it, you told everyone you’d be right back and then rushed inside to your room as you couldn’t fight the urge to throw up.

Unfortunately you were stuck in the bathroom for a minute. Hyunsuk noticed you were gone for a while and went to check on you, where he found you in the bathroom vomiting for the third time in a row. He looked visibly worried as he kneeled down beside you to hold your hair back while you let out yet another one.

“I”m so sorry…I know this is gross,” You said, feeling yourself begin to become sober again.

“It’s ok, you can let it out, I’m here for you no matter what. Besides, you helped me through my last hangover. It’s the least I can do” Hyunsuk said with a smile, but you could tell through his eyes that he was concerned for you.

“I think I just need to lay down now” You said, trying to stand on your own but failing. Hyunsuk quickly picked you up and carried you, gently laying you down on the bed making sure to lay you on your side.

“Don’t move ok? I’m going to grab you some water” He said before rushing out the door.

You couldn’t help but start to doze off as you heard him telling your other friends that you got sick, but you didn’t mind that they knew. Before Hyunsuk came back, you ended up falling asleep. He entered the room with your water and couldn’t help but smile to himself as he heard the soft snores coming from your side of the bed. He set the glass of water down on the nightstand next to you and brushed his hand over your face, tucking some hair behind your ear.

At that moment he wanted nothing more than to kiss your forehead and then cuddle up to you in bed. However, he knew that he couldn’t do that. After all, you two were just friends, and he didn’t want to ruin it. He climbed into bed next to you before turning away to resist the urge to spoon his best friend, and after thinking about how pretty you were to him, he was able to fall asleep as well.

You woke up with a pounding headache, looking to your side you reached over to your nightstand to chug the water Hyunsuk left there for you. Your sudden rise to sit up made Hyunsuk wake up, thinking you needed to throw up again.

“Sorry sukkie, I didn’t mean to wake you up” You said.

“It’s ok Y/N, you just had me worried for a second.” He responded before laying back down on his side and falling back to sleep. You were desperate to get rid of that awful headache, so you climbed out of bed and made your way to the kitchen to search for some medicine. You discovered Seunghun making himself a bowl of cereal in nothing but plaid pajama pants on.

“Seunghun jumpscare warning next time please!” You joked as you pretended to shield your eyes from his naked upper half. You couldn’t lie, he looked good, but you currently had your eyes on someone else.

“Wow, that was rude!” Seunghun said, not being able to hide his laughter.

“Don’t worry I was kidding!” You defended yourself.

“How are you feeling?” Seunghun asked you.

“Not great, I have a really bad headache that’s not going away. I already chugged some water but it’s still here” You responded, rubbing the side of your head.

“I think B/F/N might have some medicine, you should go ask her. I saw her take something this morning” Seunghun responded as he took a bite of his cereal.

“Will do, thanks Seunghun!” you said before heading up the stairs to B/F/N and Jinyoung’s room. After interrogating your friend as to why she suddenly has a bunch of hickeys on her chest, she finally forked over some advil for you to take. After you took the pills, she whispered to you.

“You know, Hyunsuk was really worried about you last night”

“Really?” You asked, sounding surprised.

“Yeah, I mean we were all worried, but he was restless when you left to go to the bathroom and needed to check on you as soon as he could. Also, when he came to get you water last night, he told us he was going to stop drinking with us so he could lay in bed with you to make sure you were ok” She responded with a smile on her face.

“I guess I am lucky to have a friend like him, huh?” You say nonchalantly. This caused your friend to smack you lighty on the arm.

“Girl I think he wants you, and not in the friend way,” she said. You started blushing again.

“I really don’t think so,” You denied it. Although, that is the only thing that you want right now.

“Whatever, just pay attention to how he looks at you today. He definitely sees you as more than a friend,” B/F/N responded. You shook your head before walking back downstairs towards your room.

“Does he really see me as more than a friend?” You couldn’t help but wonder. You didn’t want to let your friend give you false hope, but you wanted to believe it so bad.

Today you and your friends decided to go to the Santa Cruz beach boardwalk, so you all piled in your car and headed towards the boardwalk together. After you park your friend group immediately split up as Seunghun, Yonghee, and Byounggon wanted to go on rides while Jinyoung and B/F/N wanted to lay on the beach. Hyunsuk decided he was hungry, so the two of you go to the food area and buy him a burger while you got a corndog.

Unfortunately, Hyunsuk couldn’t help it when his mind started to wander while he watched you eat, and he couldn’t help the growing bulge in his pants either. It also wasn’t his fault that you decided to wear short denim shorts and a crop top that very well showed your cleavage to him. You may or may not have done that on purpose. This outfit left a lot up to his imagination, and he couldn’t stop himself from picturing what it would be like to be inside of you at the moment.

“H-how’s the food?” He stuttered, trying to take his mind off of how good you looked right now.

“It’s so good, do you want a bite?” You offer him your corn dog, but he refuses.

“No I’m good I have my burger,” he says quickly while shoving another bite in his mouth.

“Are you ok? You’ve been acting weird since we got here” You asked him, genuinely concerned.

“Yep I’m fine! Let's go play some games or something” He said, finishing his burger and getting up to throw the trash away. You followed him, but almost got lost in the sea of people trying to keep up with him. He noticed you were trailing behind and grabbed your hand to pull you next to him. You started to get butterflies in your stomach with the realization you guys were holding hands, but Hyunsuk was trying to get the image of him fucking you in that outfit out of his head.

He thought the arcade would help, but it actually did the opposite. You pulled Hyunsuk towards one of your favorite games which happened to be crossy road. The way you bent over to focus on the game drove him up a wall. He almost said screw it and bent you over the machine to fuck you from behind, but of course he couldn’t. He did not want to get arrested today. Instead, he began to separate himself from you and focus on games he wanted to play such as first person shooters. He found a zombie one that he liked and played it until his little problem started to die down.

He didn’t realize how much time passed until you approached him and asked him if it was ok if you guys went on a few rides now. He apologized for taking so long and you two left the arcade, but you were sad because this time he didn’t grab your hand.

You two found yourselves in line for the log ride, and you were so excited because you haven’t been on a water ride in a long time. Your turn came and went, and by the end you were soaked because not only did the ride splash you, but Yonghee and Byounggon decided to be assholes and pay for the water guns at the end of the ride to spray you guys even more. It wasn’t until after the ride that Hyunsuk realized he made yet another mistake and allowed you to get your clothes wet in front of him. All he wanted was to rip the clothes off of you at this point, and he couldn’t handle it anymore.

“Can we go now?” Hyunsuk suddenly asked as the five of you were walking to meet back up with Jinyoung and B/F/N.

“What? But it’s only been a few hours” Yonghee whined.

“Please? I’m tired” Hyunsuk snapped back at him.

“What made you tired? All we did was play arcade games and stand in lines” You said, slightly irritated at the fact that he already wanted to leave.

“I’m just tired, ok? I drove you yesterday while you got to sleep in the passenger seat” He said back. You did not like his tone.

“Why is it my fault? You offered to drive,” You argued back. Hyunsuk was starting to get even more turned on, but he decided he couldn’t be here any longer with his little problem.

“Whatever, I’m just going to uber home” He says and then starts speed walking away. Everyone started to call his name but he disappeared into the crowd. You were visibly upset by this, and Seunghun started to pat your back gently.

“It’s ok Y/N, whatever it is I’m sure it’s not your fault” He said trying to comfort you.

“I hope it’s not” You say, tears starting to form in your eyes. Byounggon noticed and offered to take you on more rides which cheered you up. While you were in line for a rollercoaster, Byounggon realized he hadn’t taken any photos on this trip yet so he whipped out his phone and took a selfie of you and him to post on his instagram story. You stood on your tippy toes and rested your chin on his shoulder for the picture, thinking nothing of it at the time. He then put his phone away so you guys could get onto the ride.

Back at the Airbnb, Hyunsuk saw the photo. He thought you two were too close for his liking, and he got mad. He was so upset that he almost threw his phone at the wall, but he opted to set it down instead. He paced around the room anxiously. He wanted to get back at you, but he didn’t know how. All he wanted was for you to be his, but in his angry mind he thought you wanted to be with Byounggon. Suddenly he picked up his phone and started downloading an app that he hasn’t used in a long time: tinder. He decided that if he couldn’t have you, the best thing to do right now would be to fuck some other girl so he could get his mind off of you.

You finally returned to the house with the others after having an amazing time at the boardwalk, you almost forgot about Hyunsuk’s little fit and went to the bedroom to tell him all about it. You walked in and suddenly felt your heart sink as you saw Hyunsuk putting his shoes on.

“Hey Hyunsuk, what’re ya doin?” You asked, trying to joke around. He didn’t even look up at you.

“I’m going out. I’ll be back later,” He replied coldly. Your heart sank even more.

“Where are you going? Can I come?” You asked. He snapped his head up and shot you a dirty look.

“No you can’t come with me, it’s none of your business” he says while tying his laces.

“How come? You can tell me I promise I won’t judge” you pleaded.

“I said NO Y/N,” he raised his voice at you. You were taken aback by his tone.

“Oh…” you said quietly. That’s all you could manage to get out. Hyunsuk’s phone then buzzed with a message, and you saw it was from tinder. Suddenly every hope you had of being with him was gone, and you almost burst into tears. But you couldn’t let Hyunsuk see you like that, so you held it in. Once he finished putting his shoes on he stood up and walked past you towards the door, but before he left you managed to get one sentence out.

“Have fun fucking some random bitch” you said in the most monotone voice you could manage. You didn’t like how you said it, but you didn’t care. Hyunsuk hurt your feelings and you wanted to hurt him back.

“I will, and you have fun fucking Byounggon tonight” he said, slamming the bedroom door shut.

“Wait what?” you asked yourself. You then realized what he said, and it couldn’t be further from the truth. You then realized that he was referring to the photo that you and Byounggon took, and upon further inspection it did look slightly like a couple photo. You messed up, but he had the wrong idea. By the time you realized where the miscommunication was, Hyunsuk already left in your car, which made you even more upset. You tried calling him, but he kept declining. All you could do was cry as the others comforted you in the living room. They kept telling you it wasn’t your fault, and Byounggon felt especially guilty. He tried calling Hyunsuk as well, but it was no use. You assured him that it wasn’t his fault.

After about 20 minutes of trying to contact him, everyone gave up and decided to head to their rooms for the night. They all told you that if you needed anything at all then to come find them, and you just nodded your head and tried wiping away tears but they kept coming. You sent one last long text to Hyunsuk explaining the situation and telling him this was all a big misunderstanding before putting your phone back in your pocket and silencing the ringer.

Once everyone went to their rooms, you decided you needed a breath of fresh air, so you got some new clothes on, grabbed a blanket, and walked down to the private beach area. You laid the blanket down and curled into a ball on it. You couldn’t help but start crying again. You wondered why Hyunsuk was acting like he hated you suddenly, and why he didn’t want to hear your explanation. Once you felt like you cried enough, you sat up and stared at the sea. Watching the waves crash on the shore was almost therapeutic for you, and it helped calm you down.

Suddenly you felt a presence behind you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn around. Then, that same presence sat beside you on your blanket. You kept your gaze on the ocean’s waves in front of you, but you knew that the person who joined you was Hyunsuk. You couldn’t even look at him after what happened tonight. He made you feel so ashamed of yourself. However, he knew you were upset with him, so you two sat together on the beach in silence for what felt like hours before you decided to break it.

“How was she?” you asked. It probably wasn’t the right question to ask, but you couldn’t help it.

“I didn’t go,” Hyunsuk said firmly.

“What made you change your mind?” You asked, not fully believing him. He was gone for an hour after all.

“I parked in an empty parking lot and did some thinking, I realized what I was doing was stupid” He said.

“Yeah, it was stupid” you scoffed.

“Especially because you took my car, asshole”

“It was, and I’m sorry,” Hyunsuk said.

“I appreciate your apology, but I need an explanation” You said to him. He sighed, but agreed to tell you.

“Like I said, it was a bad decision. I wanted to get back at you for that photo Byounggon posted. I thought you made him post it to make me jealous and-”

“Wait make you jealous? I don’t understand” you cut him off.

“I thought you were trying to make me feel bad for leaving the boardwalk early, so I was upset with the post,” Hyunsuk said quietly.

“You know I’d never do something like that Sukkie, you’re an idiot for thinking I would do that to you. Also, Byounggon would never agree to that” you said.

“I know, and I’m truly sorry for assuming the worst,” Hyunsuk said sadly.

“But can you tell me why you left the boardwalk? You seemed fine at first, none of us understood why you left,” You said. He clearly didn’t want to tell you, but you begged him.

“Please, Sukkie, be honest with me. You’re my best friend, you can tell me anything” you said.

“I just…don’t want to ruin our friendship,” he said. Your stomach dropped when hearing those words.

“You won’t, I pinky swear. You can tell me anything. Please?” You pleaded with him.

“Ok fine...it was because of you,” he said bluntly.

“Because of me? Was I being annoying?” you asked, your feelings hurt. You could feel the tears in your eyes forming again.

“No, you weren’t being annoying at all. This is so hard for me to explain, Y/N. I left because…I liked your outfit a lot. I liked your outfit too much, if you get what I’m saying. I got…um…excited,” He said while looking down, slightly embarrassed by his choice of words.

“Oh…OH!” You exclaimed as the realization hit you.

“Will you relax?” He said, already feeling slightly humiliated.

“I just want you to know i’m not judging you Hyunsuk, sometimes we can’t control how we feel and I didn’t mean to make you feel that way” you said, stuttering like crazy. But secretly, you did. You knew what you were doing when you put that outfit on, and now you’re feeling some form of satisfaction knowing you got a rise out of Hyunsuk.

“It’s ok, you can’t help how sexy you are,” Hyunsuk said. Your mouth hung open, you couldn’t believe your best friend just called you sexy. You turned to face him, the moonlight casting the perfect lighting onto his already flawless face. At this moment, his lips have never looked so kissable to you before.

He turned to look at you too, and it was like a switch flipped. He was no longer afraid of ruining your friendship, he needed you more than anything at that moment. He closed the distance between you and pressed his soft lips against yours. You sighed of relief and closed your eyes, as you’ve been waiting for this moment for years. After a few seconds, you pulled away to look at him again.

“Sukkie, I-I don’t know what to say. I’m so happy right now” You said

“Y/N…I need you to know that I’ve loved you for years. I didn’t want to risk ruining our friendship by confessing prematurely. I wanted to make sure you liked me first, that’s why when Byounggon posted that photo it crushed me. I just wanted to have you to myself and I thought I lost you” Hyunsuk confessed.

“Hyunsuk, I love you too. I always have and I always will. You’re still my best friend no matter what, but I think I want to be more than just friends with you” You said. Hyunsuk smiled at you before leaning in to kiss you again. This time, however, it was a little more passionate. His tongue grazed your lips as you opened your mouth a little wider, allowing for his tongue to enter your mouth. He brought his hands up to your neck, pulling you even closer to him. He broke the kiss and started to trail down your neck. The sensation of his warm mouth on your sensitive skin sent shivers down your spine, and you wanted more. He returned to your mouth and you kissed him for a while longer before you noticed the growing bulge in his pants, and the growing heat in yours.

“Should we take this to the bedroom?” Hyunsuk whispered. You nodded and quickly stood up from the ground and grabbed the blanket, signaling for him to get off before you picked it up and folded it. You two then ran back to the house, hand in hand, anxious to be close together again.

Once you reached the bedroom it was as if every care you had in the world was gone. Hyunsuk shut the door behind him and you two were once again kissing, this time faster and more aggressive. He grabbed you by the waist and pushed your body against the wall. He yet again slipped his tongue in your mouth, which made you whimper. You grabbed him by the hair and somehow managed to pull him even closer than he already was.

His fingers found his way up your shirt, and he started to feel your breasts between the fabric of your bra. This action made you moan into his mouth. You couldn’t help but rock your hips against his due to his touch, and that’s when you noticed his hard on pressing against you. He pulled back from the kiss, a thin trail of saliva still connecting the two of you. He then picked you up and placed you on the bed in a seated position.

“I want to please you, tell me what you want me to do to you,” Hyunsuk said, looking down at you.

“Hyunsuk…please just touch me” you say desperately, clenching your legs together as you were slightly embarrassed about the wetness that has already accumulated for him.

“Just wait baby, I’ll get to that” he said. Hyunsuk decided he wanted to move as slow as possible to relish every moment he had with you.

He kneeled on the ground in front of you then slipped his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and slid them down your legs. You threw your shirt off for him as the material became unbearable in the heat of the moment. He looked you up and down, admiring your natural beauty that was displayed before him. He knew you couldn’t wait any longer for him, so he then put two fingers in your mouth and demanded for you to suck on them, to which you happily listened. This sight made him twitch with anticipation, as he couldn’t wait to make you feel good.

After his fingers were coated in your saliva he slowly entered one finger into your gaping hole that was just begging to be touched. The sound you made was unholy, as you whipped your head back from the instant pleasure. He easily slipped in the second finger because of how soaked you were, and he started working at a pace to stretch you in preparation for later. You became a moaning mess and fully fell backwards onto the bed as you couldn’t sit up anymore. As much as you wanted to watch him finger you, he was doing it so well that it made you almost pass out from bliss and you couldn’t help but throw your head back again. He rammed his fingers into your g-spot over and over again as you hissed out profanities from all the pleasure he was providing.

“You’re so fucking hot” Hyunsuk whispered before sticking his tongue out and circling it around your clit. He then started to move his fingers in and out of you faster while trying to work his tongue at the same speed. This caused you to start seeing white as it felt so amazing. You never realized Hyunsuk could make you cum by just his fingers, as no other man has ever come close to making you feel this good. You started to buck your hips against his working tongue, and you were on the verge of climaxing.

“Hyunsuk…I-I’m gonna…I might-”

Hyunsuk then pulled his fingers out abruptly, the brief absence of his touch made you feel empty. He didn’t want you to cum just yet. He stood up and then made you sit up.

“Before I continue, I need to know what it’s like to have your lips around my cock” he said. You didn’t even need to be asked twice. As soon as he said those words you lunged forward to unzip and pull his pants down. To your surprise, Hyunsuk was big. Bigger than you expected, but you didn’t care. You didn’t hesitate to put his dick in your mouth before beginning to suck on it.

He dug his fingers into your hair and pulled your head back to look up at him. You continued to go up and down on his length until you felt him begin to twitch. You started licking the tip and around the base until you felt him throbbing. He couldn’t take it anymore, he needed to fuck the shit out of you. Before you could finish sucking him off, Hyunsuk pushed you back to lay down before climbing on top of you.

“Is this ok baby?” He asked, lining his dick up by the entrance. The sudden nickname made you smile.

“Hyunsuk if you don’t fuck me right now I think I’m actually going to die” you said back. He chuckled a bit before starting to push his cock into your entrance. You moaned louder than expected at this, but you didn’t care. He was so big that it hurt you, and you’ve had sex before. Once he got it all the way in, the pain was quickly replaced by pleasure due to how turned on you were. He leaned down to capture your lips in a deep passionate kiss before beginning to thrust into you. He felt your walls clench as he moved his cock in and out of your slick folds, which only turned him on even more. You couldn’t help yourself and began to dig your nails deep into his back muscles creating bright red scratch marks.

“Y/N, ahhh…fuck…you’re so good…” He said between thrusts. You couldn’t believe you were making your best friend moan like this, but it brought you a lot of satisfaction. He continued to buck his hips into yours, moving faster and faster as he gently held your waist down onto the bed. He then started to slow down, and you whimpered as you wanted him to continue going at the fast pace. You didn’t want this moment to be over already.

“Can you flip around for me baby? I want to fuck you from behind” Hyunsuk said. You nodded at him and gladly turned over onto your stomach, your bare ass completely exposed to him.

“I know I said this already, but you are so sexy Y/N, '' Hyunsuk said as he placed his huge hands on your ass and gave it a light smack. He then pulled you back towards him by your hips and went to kneel behind you on the bed, positioning is cock yet again at your entrance. He wasted no time slipping it in this time, as you were already prepped. The sudden penetration made you yelp slightly.

“Are you okay darling, did I go too fast?” Hyunsuk asked, sounding worried.

“No it’s ok! I just didn’t expect it, but please keep going” You responded with desperation in your voice. He nodded and started to push deeper into you before pulling out and re-entering again. You could barely handle this motion as he was so large it made you weak. Hyunsuk then started a fast steady pace thrusting in and out of your hole that had you panting and yearning for more. Your walls started to clench even tighter as you could feel yourself yet again building up to your climax. You turned to look at him, and seeing him clenching his jaw while focusing on fucking you was all you needed to finish.

“Hyunsuk, I’m going to cum” you almost yelled. Hyunsuk was also close, he increased his speed and started to thrust extremely sloppy as all he wanted was for you and him to cum together. He leaned down and kissed you wherever his mouth could reach and you attempted to kiss him back, only grazing his lips with the corner of your mouth. Suddenly you couldn’t take it anymore, and your body trembled as the feeling of your orgasm overtook you. This sight made Hyunsuk thrust into you one last time before he finished inside you. The hot sensation of his cum made you feel weak, and when he fully pulled his cock out he left a small trail on the bed sheets.

You fell flat onto the bed to rest as Hyunsuk quickly went to the bathroom to grab a towel and clean you up. Once he returned he tried rubbing the cum out of the sheets, but only made it worse.

“Shit, sorry Y/N I meant to pull out and cum on your back but…I couldn’t help it” He said sheepishly. You chuckled at his ridiculous apology.

“It’s fine Sukkie, I appreciate the effort. Let’s just get some new bed sheets to sleep on…and we’ll hunt for some plan b tomorrow” You suggested, standing up and walking to the closet where you luckily found spare sheets to put on. After remaking the bed, your body felt so tired that you couldn’t even bring yourself to go to the bathroom to get ready to sleep. Instead, you plopped down onto your side of the bed. Hyunsuk followed and draped his arm around you, pulling you in closer towards his warm exposed chest. You rested your head on his side, as you couldn’t believe that just happened.

“So…is our friendship over?” Hyunsuk asked quietly.

“I think so,” You said, leaning up to kiss him quickly on the lips.

“I think we have a different kind of relationship now,”

You took his hand in yours. Hyunsuk had a huge grin on his face, he was so excited to start a new chapter in his life with you.

“Y/N, I would love for you to be my girlfriend. Of course, you’ll always be my best friend, but I think girlfriend is a more fitting title now” Hyunsuk said.

“And I would love for you to be my boyfriend” You said back. You threw your arm over his body as you snuggled in close to him, smelling his cologne as you took a deep breath and closed your eyes, ready for sleep to overtake you.

“I love you, Y/N” Hyunsuk said before shutting his eyes.

“I love you, Hyunsuk” You said back, drifting off to sleep in his arms.

THE END

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foxboidrew · 2 months ago

Text

Oh Sun of Mine

Decided to write Solar having a nightmare!

Warnings: mention of death, and overall creepy

Home.. He was heading home again. Maybe he could finally see Sun again! Moon had been keeping him from him for three days. Locked in a tight closet, so he was thankful when Moon let him out.

“Sun, I’m back!” Solar smiled as he walked into the top floor Daycare entrance. That smile quickly faded as he saw the lights off. That rarely ever happened… What was going on?

“Sun?! Moon?!” Solar cried out as he ran down the stairs. The distorted Daycare music rang through the area as he shoved open the door. Fear pumped through his body as he called out again, “Sun?! Are you here?!”

“Ecliiiipse… Eeecliiipse… Eclipse?” Something that sounded like Sun called out. What was that?

Solar stopped up on hearing its voice. “Sun…?” He hesitantly walked in its direction.

“Eclipse!” The thing excitedly chirped as its neck creaked and groaned, extending ever so slightly to face towards Solar.

Solar could smell the strong scent of oil, he covered his mouth and nose as he looked at the things mouth. He could hear dripping. “S… ha… Sun…?”

Looking past the ‘Sun’, Solar could see the mangled corpse of Moon. He gasped in horror, the feeling of wanting to vomit filling his chest cavity. He backed up.

‘Sun’ tilted its head, almost as if perplexed. “What’sss wrong, Eclipse? He was so mean toooo you… I took care of the probleeem!”

Solar had no words, just shaking his head as tears flowed down his cheeks. “N-no…” he muttered to himself. “You can’t be Sun! What are you?!”

The creature crawled its way over to Solar. The glowing bot could see the flakes of rust and corrosion falling off and out of the beast on all fours before him. “Evvverything itches… I hurt ssso much Eclipse… Why doesss it feel like this?”

God… What was Moon doing to him? He knew Moon wanted to fix him, but this was insane!

“I-I don't know… Let me go find something to help… Okay?” Solar backed further to the door.

“It itches… It itchessss… Heeeelp… Help me!” It screamed, galloping at Solar.

Solar panicked and barreled out the door.

— — —

THUD

Solar woke up, with a yelp. Shakily he looked around the living room. “O… Oh…” He sat up off of the floor. Seemed he'd fallen off the couch. When did he doze off?

“Still night, huh… They should be getting back… I suppose I'll clean up a bit until then.”

[End]

#my writing #tsams #the sun and moon show #tsams solar #tsams sun #tsams moon #← solar's dimension #tsams fic #tsams fanfiction

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meimeimeirin · 3 months ago

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tentative jingmeiren lore drop bc i was gathering details for a commission and it got me thinking...

cw. word vomit, 4729749374 grammar mistakes, lore inaccuracy probably

meirin is still a teahouse owner. looks unassumingly like a xianzhou native, except she's actually a vidyadhara. past lovers with yingxing until he became blade and did his thing. went into a hatching rebirth soon after from heartbreak (oof).

woke up few hundreds years later and got to know jing yuan again, and although he did offer to tell her what her life was like in the past, she refused the offer (mostly because she knew something happened that made her hatching rebirth get triggered faster than usual and she was scared of finding out).

so she starts a new life, working with bailu for a while before she decides 'nah this ain't for me' and goes to open her own teashop. it does well enough to get by. the vidyadharas absolutely loves her tea. years pass, she gets closer to jing yuan (her memories may be gone but the feeling of having someone familiar is always comforting).

one thing leads to another.... one date becomes five, holding hands becomes linking arms, one sleepover become two, and soon enough she finds herself sleeping over frequently at his place and he finds himself needing her as his pillow for sleeping. oh and there's two toothbrushes in the bathroom now. oh and jing yuan also kinda commissioned a wardrobe expansion to fit her clothes. oh and she has a designated room where she's turned it into her nest.... yeah. your honor they're kinda married atp but no one ever confessed actually.

anyway.

and then blade comes aboard the luofu, gets himself captured, the whole shebang. she sees him, goes "why do you look familiar and why do i wanna kiss you???". sees dan heng, goes "why do you look familiar and why do i wanna both hug and punch you???". she sees the tension between jy-dh-blade and everything is just. chaos. so finally she goes to jing yuan and asks him to tell her what the heck happened in the past.

haven't really figured out how it goes from here, but after the xianzhou story ends i'm thinking blade kinda visits from time to time on the rare days where he remembers her and jy lets him do that bc let's face it this man would and i can always use cloudhymn magic to sneak him in it just works ok and just.

three of them. sleeping in a pile, mayhaps. bickering, even. i imagine the domesticity sometimes makes it feel like they were back to the old days. with a cheekier younger jing yuan and a more outspoken blade. moments where everything is okay again. maybe eventually they can persuade blade to settle down and spend the rest of eternity with them. who knows. there's so much potential for angst and fluff here and i am. i am in shambles.

#rin selfships #jingmeiren #sighing dreamily and laying on my bed thinking about them #......... i need to go eat lunch hsjdhsj

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sparklepocalypse · 6 months ago

Note

Is it okay to send the ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ask for three fics I adore?

Late Bloomer (the world building! mwah!)

Be Worthy Love, and Love Will Come (such a sucker for Arthur in fics and this one hung the moon)

Single Sad-Sack Seeking Same (this fluff ate my heart with its charm)

Challenge ac-freaking-cepted -- I will absolutely word vomit some director's commentary about all three of these fics!

Since a good portion of this is going under a jump to spare folks a scroll: send me director's commentary requests on my fics! Other fics I've already rambled about for this ask game:

When I Met You (I Could Not Speak)

If We're Caught in a Wave (I Will Carry You Over)

Creative Differences

Let's start with Late Bloomer, which I was calling "unhinged Omegaverse" basically right up until I published it. This fic was born out of a really lively discussion in January with @duchessdepolignaca03 and @zwiazdziarka that spiraled into omegaverse tropes that do and don't scratch the brain nicely. One trope that we all sort of landed on as not great is the idea that a male omega is automatically hyperfeminized.

So then I decided -- well if there's one character in any fandom who's going to say, "fuck your secondary sex characteristic norms," it's probably Alex Claremont-Diaz. This percolated in my brain for a bit and eventually spawned a sort of reverse ugly duckling fic where Alex presents as an omega well after his peers and, therefore, also after he goes through puberty. Then he finds love in alpha Henry, who's also not the stereotypical brick shithouse alpha.

I knew I needed some sort of conflict because I didn't just want this to be porn (although it got super porny), so I decided the American medical system was just as terrible in the AU as it is in real life, and that America is just as terrible to omegas in this AU as it is to AFAB folks in real life. For example, the heat meds concept was inspired by the various forms of hormonal birth control on the market that are all intended to be taken by AFAB folks.

The other two fics under the jump!

Moving on to Be Worthy Love, and Love Will Come! This is hands down my favorite thing I've written, and I'm so proud of it. This was originally supposed to be a cute little ficlet which probably would've only included the scene from Henry's early childhood, wherein he wishes for a best friend and finds one in a shrub on the Kensington Palace grounds.

However, Mother Nature had other plans: we got hit by a bomb cyclone on the day I started writing this, and then we lost power for a solid week. For the first couple of days of the power outage, I was charging my iPad with my car, and then we got hold of a generator so I was charging my iPad with that, and it's probably the only reason I remained relatively sane.

Once I got past the scene where Henry is eight and Alex is seven, I found myself adding more interludes as Henry grew up, and knew that Arthur would have to be a large part of it. Henry canonically thinks his dad hung the moon, so I had to make him the best dad ever.

Alex developing a bond with Arthur wasn't something I ever set out to write, but it naturally happened as I continued working on the story. It allowed Alex to understand the depth of Henry's grief and feel it for himself, which made a world of difference in how things ended.

Finally, Single Sad-Sack Seeking Same: this was my "oh shit, Valentine's Day is this week" fic. And, listen. I'm really bad at fluff, generally speaking. I need there to be a depth of emotion in my writing that I can't really access when it's just fluff, so I knew I'd have to make either Henry or Alex go through it.

Which is, of course, why the fic starts with Alex losing his coffee and getting soaked by NYC winter road slush, and then delves into the hardships faced by the clients from the LGBTQ+ youth center with whom both he and Henry work.

Really, my favorite part of this wasn't Henry and Alex themselves, but Pez doing his best Billy Porter and fabulous godmothering these two idiots into love.

#ask me stuff!#fic writers' director's commentary #ask games #my fic

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kelandrin · 11 months ago

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Compassion’s Cradle: Parents

Pairing: Wyll x Tav [Atlas, male tiefling paladin], OC x OC [Idda, Atlas’s mom, and Lexe, Idda’s warlock patron]

Prompt: Parents from #BG3BackstoryBash

Summary: Idda, a young warlock and mercenary, learns she is pregnant. The prospect of finally having a family leads her to confront her patron.

Warnings: M | implied past dubcon | pregnancy

Word Count: 1,239

Notes: I set it to M since I am not sure where the other chapters will go. This chapter is probably closer to T. Wyll and Atlas don’t show up in this chapter.

[ao3]

Idda pressed her hand over her abdomen, trying to pretend she could feel the possibility inside her. There was nothing but the gurgle of her own stomach under her fingertips. She let her hand fall away and sighed.

She had been sick to her stomach for several days and felt weak in general. Her travels saw her parting from her usual party a tenday ago. She had made her way to Baldur’s Gate under her patron’s orders. Lexe hadn’t contacted her since she arrived, though, and not long after arriving she began to suffer nausea and vomiting. It took three days before she decided it wasn’t a bout of food poisoning brought on by the Baldurians’ fish-based diet and she dragged herself into an Ilmatari shrine. She had decent luck with Ilmater’s clergy in the past. They were unable to turn anyone away, even cynical warlocks such as herself, and they never expected anything in return. Her hopes that a cleric would see her and wave away the sickness were dashed as soon as they asked when she last bled.

The cleric, an elderly dwarf woman with calloused hands, made sure to let Idda know she had options and that the Church was there to ease any suffering. She then asked Idda if she had any other family, suggesting that she talk to them if she felt safe to do so. Idda had no family. She was orphaned ages ago in Daggerford and raised in a private orphanage which had functioned more as a front for illegal slave trading. Her mercenary party, or adventuring party if they were given the benefit of the doubt, were friends at best and on the other side of Faerûn at worst. The only other constant in her life had been Lexe. Rather than answer, Idda thanked the cleric and left.

She sat in her inn room now, trying to trace the timeline back while she waited for Lexe. Once she heard morning sickness started in four to six weeks. She tried to imagine what she had been doing last month. She knew who placed this seed inside her. Her bed only had one visitor in the past year so it wasn’t a question of who. Instead she tried to determine how gentle Lexe had been when it happened. A little over four weeks back, Lexe had lavished her in praise and treated her like a lover but six weeks back… Idda cringed.

Did it really matter how the child was conceived? Her hand slipped to her stomach again. It had never crossed her mind to want a child but now that the possibility was in front of her, there was nothing she wanted more. She couldn’t fathom a home or family until the moment the Ilmatari told her she was pregnant. Then, as if willed by a spell, a whole future had materialized in front of her. A house. A job. Dinner every day. Someone who loved her without reason. How had she never thought of it before?

Her stomach growled and she pretended it was her child’s voice.

The air tensed and the odor of sulfur seeped out of the floorboards. Idda pulled her hand away and stood. Heat and ichor pooled up from the ground and her patron rose before her.

Lexe was red skinned with eyes of molten gold. She towered over Idda, even without her wings. Her white hair was pinned back into a practical pony-tail. Black piercings marked her lip, nose and brow. Idda recalled how they tasted like blood.

“Why the frown, doll?” Lexe purred, a grin pulling her lips back. White fangs gleamed back at Idda.

“I was hoping to talk to you.” She swallowed a lump in her throat, trying desperately to keep her nerve.

“Talk or talk?” The cambion raised her brow.

“I want to renegotiate our contract.”

Lexe’s grin faltered before she scoffed. “Renegotiate? Contracts are eternal, doll. I told you as much when you signed yours.”

“But we can alter it if we both agree.”

“And why would I alter your contract? I like what we have. Are you saying you don’t like this, doll?” Lexe stepped closer, hooking a finger through a strand of Idda’s hair. The human fought every instinct to withdraw.

“It’s not that.” Idda pushed out her voice. “I like this but something has come up…”

“Hells, don’t tell me you’ve gone and fallen in love. What could any mortal offer you that I can’t?” Lexe’s fingers tightened in Idda’s hair but she didn’t pull. Yet.

“I’m pregnant.”

The cambion blinked then dropped Idda’s hair. “Pregnant? With whose spawn?”

“Does it matter?”

Lexe’s hand shot out and Idda flinched, expecting a strike. Instead, the cambion placed her palm over Idda’s stomach.

“What are you-“

“This pup is one of mine. And here I was worried my favorite doll was being played with by someone else.” Lexe grinned again, something cruel in her tone. It turned Idda’s face hot.

“I want to raise it. I don’t want to move around anymore.” Idda didn’t look back to meet her patron’s eyes.

“Our contract states that in exchange for power and safety, you will go where I want and obtain for me anything of my choosing. Perhaps I want the infant when it is born.”

“No!” Idda took a step back. Lexe flicked her wrist and a force pulled Idda back. She stumbled and her patron caught her.

“There are no ‘no’s between us, doll.”

Idda winced, heat welling under her eyes. That future she had let herself imagine became frail and she held onto it tighter. Raising her eyes, she looked up. Lexe's gaze was ember hot. "Please. I want this. I'll do anything you want."

"Oh doll," Lexe put on a sardonic pout, cupping Idda's chin. "You'll do anything I want already."

"Please I- I won't complain or argue." The human's voice cracked and a few tears slipped free. Lexe's hand burned hot on her skin and the smell of sulfur was like acid in her nose.

"Oh don't cry. I was only teasing." Lexe dropped Idda's chin and stepped back. "No need to be so dramatic."

Idda retreated to the bed, catching herself on the edge. The air in her lungs cleared. "You'll let me keep it?"

"Of course. I have no need for a tiefling," Lexe said with a shrug. "As for renegotiating... Well, do you like Baldur's Gate, doll?"

The cambion walked to the window, glancing out at the dilapidated houses and the Grey Harbor. She eyed the city like a cat eyed a mouse. She continued, not waiting for Idda's answer. "Baldur's Gate is a shithole as far as mortal cities go. It is cobbled together by mercenaries and adventurers and bloody gold. There are cults galore and beggars and cut throats. Goods move in and out of this city. People die... Babies are born. Knowledge is spilled and locked under key. It is a place of opportunity, doll. You raise your child here. You will continue your work, though, here in the city. You will lie, cheat, steal, whore, and kill, all the things I had you doing anyway, and bring me everything I ask for. If you fail, the child is mine. Consider it a matter of collateral. Do we have a deal, doll?"

Idda swallowed, staring at Lexe's back. She had never failed before and she never would. "We have a deal."

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dreamerwriternstargazer · 9 months ago

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Soooooo..... this is the piece I submitted for my assignment and uh idk it actually meant something to me how weird XD so I'm posting it on here because before everything else this blog was supposed to be a place for me to take my first steps as a writer and that still applies; this is my little journal ^_^ my commonplace notebook, or rather an extension of it (since I do also have a journal with me all the time anyway ^_^)

The extract is fairly short, we had a word limit of 900 words and of course I hit exactly 900 + 10%, also in case you didn't see my previous posts yes this will have emotional scenes and references to sexual assault, rape and abduction, not very long but the small sections are graphic. Read at your own discretion

I stared in disbelief at the table before me. There was a big bouquet of pink and purple flowers in the middle, flanked by two trays of some multicoloured, vomit-like casserole from which wisps of sickeningly vegetable scented steam rose up. The dining places were set, one, two, three, with a small bunch of flowers tied with a ribbon on the middle of one of the plates.

The plate is set at the head of the table. Guest of honour.

“What... what is this?”

“We... we thought you might want a nice meal your first day home,” Mum says nervously, hovering beside me. “I baked a vegetable lasagna, your favourite remember?”

I frown, tugging at the soft, fluffy sleeves of my lilac dressing gown. I haven’t taken it off since I left the hospital. “I don’t remember. I’m more used to frozen pizzas and tv.”

“We also thought the flowers were a nice touch, you liked the colours when you were little,” Dad said brightly, pulling out the chair with one hand and taking one of mine to lead me to it. As though I needed help sitting.

All I do is sit. All I have done is sit for the past 9 years, except for when it was lying down. Or kneeling.

I slip my hand away and drop my gaze to the floor, tugging my fluffy hood over my head. “Can’t we just eat in front of the TV? I always ate in front of the TV with him.”

Mum sighs, it’s the shaky watery sigh, and I want to hit myself, and her.

No, don’t, that’s mum, she’s trying, she’s trying...

“April, the doctor said it would be better if we stayed away from the habits that you had when you were... away,” Dad says gently.

“Kidnapped you mean.”

He winces. “Please, can we not talk about it like that?”

“Like what? That’s what it was, I was kidnapped. That’s true, isn’t it?”

“We’re trying to move on,” Mum whispers.

“By making me food I don’t even remember? Put flowers in front of me like it’s a celebration? How does not talking about it make us move on, you just want to pretend like it didn’t happen.” I can hear Mum start to breathe shallowly and fast, and I see Dad’s grey slippers shuffle across the floor as he goes over to comfort her. Her. Not me.

“April, look up,” he says firmly. I don’t want to, so I pull my hood down further, focusing my eyes on the pattern of white stars on the inside. “April please, we’re doing our best. Can you please look at us?”

“Your best got me kidnapped.”

I hear Mum cry out at that. A small wail.

Idiot, you made Mum cry, she made you dinner and you made her cry. Just hang yourself already.

“That’s enough, you may have gone through... everything you have but that is no excuse to treat us like this.”

“Like what? You’re not the ones who got taken, you didn’t get raped every day, you didn’t get touched and licked and beaten black and blue, everything I’ve gone through.” I hate myself more with each word that falls out of my mouth, but I can’t stop, it’s overflowing from my head and spilling from my lips. “You aren’t the ones who got stuck in hospital after finally escaping, on the verge of dying. You aren’t the ones who are 20 years old, a full-fledged adult, with no choices, no life, no friends, and people you don’t know deciding everything, including your food like you’re still a baby, for you.” I don’t wait to hear their

reply, Mum’s sobbing too much and I turn and run, my fists balled up against the sides of my head as I slam down my feet on each step to my bedroom, trying to release my thunderstorm to drown out her misery.

************

In my room it’s easier to calm down, I can wrap myself up in the purple blankets on my bed and hide away from the world. This time I don’t want the comfort of wrapping myself up though.

I keep feeling this pain in my chest when I think about Mum crying, my heart caught in a beartrap and its cold, metal jaws snap round my heart, shocking and stabbing me all at once. I hit my head every time it happens, trying to distract myself from it, and because I deserve it. I don’t know how to not make her cry. I don’t know how to tell her how I feel... and not make her cry.

Knock knock. “April? It’s Mum, can I please come in?”

I stop hitting the sides of my head, surprised by how calm she sounds. “Yes.”

The door swings open as I resume rocking and hitting my head and I hear her gasp softly. I’ve never done this in front of her but this time I can’t stop. “Sweetie, can you look at me for a second?” She sounds so soft and kind.

When I don’t look up, she kneels next to me and looks up at my face, and her face makes the bear-trap pain worse, her eyes all soft and worried. “I’m sorry for making you feel uncomfortable, okay? And trying to baby you... I’m trying to take care of you and I’m... not very good.”

“You’re good.”

“What?” She looks confused.

“You’re good, you’re a good mum.” I’ve stopped rocking, and I’ve dropped my hands down to hold one of hers. “You’re not... bad. I’m... I just need you to listen to me?” The bear-trap starts to relax and loosen as I dare to look at her face. Her eyes are glassy again but she’s smiling, holding my hand tightly.

“Thank you.”

#star speaks #writers #writerblr #writers on tumblr #I'm aware it's probably trite and generic #I did weave some sincerity into it #well no #quite a lot #but also I stayed fairly detached and focused on it as a piece of technical writing #my attention on my language and writing rather than #the premise of the story #my apologies if you expected something... starstriking

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aries-rising-on-an-aquarius-tide · 2 years ago

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A/N: I know it's been a long time, and some of you decided that Evocations was over for you before we rounded the final curve ... but I am still determined to finish it, bc Cabenson deserves it. This story means something to me, even though Cabenson isn't canonically endgame. So, here's the next piece. There's not too much left to cover past this, so hopefully I can do the rest of it justice, too.

Rating: 14+

Spoilers: Scorched Earth, Lost Reputation, Above Suspicion

Trigger/content warnings: references to Domestic Abuse/Violence (M/F), alcohol, Domestic Homicide including graphic description of a crime scene, nausea and vomiting

Evocations: XXV

They say you can never start over the way it was, but for just a little while, they beat the odds. Somehow, it was 2002 again, with Alex in Olivia's bed at the end of the day, it was joints shared on the roof in each others' arms, talking about their years spent apart. There were no rough edges, no fighting. Just fucking, laughter, good food, and solid sleep.

When the world once again shifted beneath Olivia's feet, for the first time it was not Alexandra who left her.

Elliot disappears as though twelve years together evaporated into the aether. No words, no phone call, not a post-it note or a 'kiss my ass' to dream on. At the end of the day that she finds out from Cragen, she walks into her apartment to find Alex making dinner.

"Elliot quit," she tells the blonde, hands fisting her hips in an attempt to push the tremble in her voice down her arms and back into her body.

Alexandra stopped dicing just shy of severing a fingertip in surprise. Biting her lip in dismay at the emotion on Liv's face, she wiped her hands and came around to the brunette, enveloping her in a hard hug, which lasted a long time.

Alex tried what she could to dispel the dark cloud that Stabler's ghost wrapped around Liv; she pulled out every trick she knew from all their stuttered years, making time for wine nights, for trying new restaurants, for black & white film festivals. They were still happy together, but the blonde knew that something inside Olivia was broken, something that all the quality time in the world was never going to fix.

Not everyone's heart is made whole by the love of just one soulmate. Part of the identity Liv had carved out of herself was made to fit into Elliot Stabler, and his absence took up as much space as his presence ever had.

Stabler had been Liv's anchor, and now Alex knew that Olivia was adrift at sea.

Throughout 2012, ADA coverage was a three-way split for SVU between Cabot, Novak and Cutter. When one of them was handling a sex crimes case, the others were handed cases in other departments. Late that year, Alex got a call telling her to meet a client at the hospital.

A pack of bustling ER nurses parted to reveal a battered middle-aged woman who looked like she had lost a battle with the not-so-jolly Green Giant. For a moment, from a distance, she looked so much like Olivia that Alexandra's heart jumped.

"Hi," she says quietly when she gets within speaking distance. "I'm ADA Alex Cabot. What's your name?"

The scared brunette looked at Alex, but the gaze was hollow. "Betty," she answers through swollen lips, "Betty Bluestone."

When Alexandra gets home that night, she is poised to start telling Liv about Betty's DV case. But the apartment is dark and silent. A ripple of discontent passes through the blonde for the first time since she returned, and she is immediately uneasy. She doesn't call, or text - opts, instead, to open a bottle of wine and order in something to eat.

Hours later, Olivia finds her swaddled in the heavy throw blanket, asleep in front of some flickering old movie. There is unfinished wine and cold Chinese on the coffee table. The brunette shakes the ADA awake, unaware of all the words that come rushing up out of the sleepy blonde's mind about the beaten woman who looks like her.

Before Alex can form any of them, Liv tells her, "Cragen's been accused of murder."

They fight with each other, but only in their heads. Olivia dives into saving Cragen, which Alex understands, as Cragen is really the only father Liv has ever known. Alex doesn't budge from the Bluestone case, which Olivia won't forgive.

It makes the Autumn longer, and colder. They don't have much time for just each other - they are ships in the night, passing like ghosts, hulking and silent. Over the weeks, Betty becomes the surrogate for Alex's protection and concern: she checks in constantly, arranges shelter, makes sure there is no contact with Mitch, and preps Betty for court until both their voices crack.

Liv goes to war for Cragen; her years at SVU, and Elliott's abandonment both tangled up in her battle plans. She learns the hard lesson that parental figures are never faultless. She refuses to lose another part of what has made SVU her home.

In the end, both battles are lost.

"Mitch, no. Leave her alone, let's just go home."

Alex is numb with the cold on the stone steps of the courthouse. Her ears lift at the sound of Betty's plaintive voice.

"I should give that bitch a piece of my mind," Mitch Bluestone rumbles back to his wife.

"I just want to go home. I've missed you."

Alexandra's stomach knots at the words that come out of Betty's mouth. She turns just enough to watch the couple continue down the steps in perfect sync, waiting to see if Mitch will throw a snarl back over his shoulder.

Their day in court had been a disaster. Between Mitch's intimidation from the defense table, and his lawyer tearing Betty apart, it had all gone to hell. It had taken an act of divine intervention to keep Cabot from screaming when Betty had apologized meekly after telling the ADA that she and Mitch were going to "try one more time."

She stood in the cold for long minutes after the Bluestones had disappeared from sight, wishing for a joint, wishing for Liv's calm pragmatism, for anything but the emptiness that the defeat had punched into her. Even if she goes home, she knows she won't find relief, because Cragen is still in lockup. Olivia has slept and showered mostly in the cribs at the precinct for weeks, sending errant text messages when she had an extra three seconds in a minute.

So Alex goes to a bar instead, tossing back martinis that make up the largest portion of her meals for the day. By the time a woman makes eyes at her from across the bar, the blonde is four drinks deep, but allows the woman to buy her one more anyway. She stands up to leave when it's empty, and isn't sure if it's the world that's spinning her on her feet, or the Wheel of Fortune.

Perhaps both.

Alex wakes in bed in the apartment, with Olivia shaking her insistently. The dull ache of a hangover is a weight at the blonde's temples as she wonders when her lover got home, and if it means Cragen's charges are dropped.

"Lex," the brunette mumbles again, "Alex. Your phone's ringing."

She reaches to the bedside table, doesn't recognize the number, puts it haphazardly to her ear anyway. "Cabot," she muffles out.

"ADA Alexandra Cabot?" The voice on the line is far too awake for the hour, and Alexandra winces.

"Yes."

"We found your card in the effects at our crime scene. Is a Mrs. Elizabeth Bluestone your client?"

Her blue eyes snap open wide as she sits up in the bed. Olivia is already back to sleep and breathing softly. "Yes. Did she ask for me?"

There is an apologetic pause on the line, then: "Uh, no ma'am. She's dead."

Mitch is arrested and long gone from the scene by the time Alexandra arrives. The one cop car that remains outside has lights but no siren, the blue light illuminating the windows in staggered flashes. The darkened house full of shadows hulked on the lawn in the eerie quiet that follows chaos.

Unlike Olivia, who could flash a badge and push her way in to nearly anywhere, ADA credentials didn't grant Alex much entry. She waited uneasily for someone to fetch the cop in charge so she could get inside, and a younger guy, the one that had called her she presumed, came out to meet her.

"Neighbor called in a Domestic Disturbance," he explained quietly as he lead her into the house, "which escalated to Shots Fired before we even arrived. The husband went quietly enough, but the woman was DOA. We found your card in the pocket of her jeans."

At the end of the hall they turned into the bedroom, and Alex was hit immediately by the tell-tale scents of domestic violence that has reached its climax: sweat, gun powder, and the copper-metal tang of spilled blood. Her stomach lurched, already disquieted by her hangover.

Off the master bedroom there was an ensuite. The light inside it was on, the coroner and a CSI stood near the doorway, trading quiet murmurs between them.

"I don't imagine this was their first fight," the young cop said.

"No," Alex confirmed, her heart racing at the idea of looking inside the bathroom. She took another couple steps forward, then halted again. "Did he say anything?" she asked, "The husband?"

The police officer cleared his throat. The coroner, the CSI, both turned their heads to look at him. "He said . . . he said he wished he'd've had more bullets. Ma'am." He took a breath to tell the tall blonde ADA that she didn't have to go in there, but it was too late - she had closed the distance between herself and the doorway.

Alex swayed on her feet for just a second. Her nostrils flared, heart racing as her pupils dilated with the shock of fight or flight. Blood coated the bathroom tile, parts of the walls, and flecked the porcelain of the fixtures. Betty had dropped where she stood, a freeze-frame of her last moment, eyes wide open and a hole bulls-eyed into her forehead. The blood pooled around her head that had soaked into her dark hair was scattered with bits of brain and scalp and splinters of skull bone.

Mitch had said "I should give that bitch a piece of my mind," earlier that day, but instead had gone home and painted the ensuite with pieces of Betty's.

But the worst part were her eyes.

Not that they were open. Not even that they were dull with the finality of it all.

No, the worst of it was that instead of looking surprised by the turn of events the night had taken, Betty looked as meek and as cautious as she'd looked when apologizing to Alex after court. There was no righteous indignation, no pleading or regret.

Betty Bluestone looked for all the world as if she had been expecting it.

Betty Bluestone looked relieved.

Alexandra didn't see the long pale grey hallway wall, or recall ducking the crime scene tape as she rushed past the cop watching the front door. The next thing her eyes fixed on was the Bluestones' lawn as she threw up whatever was left of her drinks from earlier that evening. Normally, the ADA would be ashamed of such a rookie move, but Alex was past it that night. She was past all of it, perhaps for the first time in her whole life.

As the cold night air seeped into her skin, she thought of all her years at SVU. She thought of her years on the run - from Wisconsin to other made up lives, of all the people and love lost along the way. Then of Africa, of how anything she did there had been little more than a drip in a giant bucket of war and violence that never ended. Alex thought of Holland, of Knopf the cat, of Sky High, of the children she was probably keeping Olivia from having. There was all that loss, all those endings, all the change and activism that she had wanted to achieve.

And there was Betty, getting cold on the bloody bathroom tile.

It wouldn't do.

Not anymore.

The clean white light from above the stove is the only illumination in the apartment when Olivia gets home the night of the day of Betty Bluestone's death. Cragen is still in lock up. Cassidy had been shot. Her entire world was upside down, and all she wanted was to crawl into Alex's arms and find sleep that wasn't tainted with the impotence of all her efforts.

On the counter across from the semicircle of light was a little dark object that Liv didn't recognize. She stumbled through taking off her shoes as she got closer. Slowly, a faint smile crossed her features as she held the item up into the light, turning it.

It was a set of Nesting dolls, but instead of the traditional Russian doll style, they were painted to look like a female cop in uniform. Liv twisted the doll open to get to the next one, closing the largest and setting it aside. She repeated with the second doll.

The third doll was not a cop.

Liv frowned. The third wooden doll was a likeness of Alex: blonde, court-ready in a formal skirt and jacket combo, her reading glasses on. Then the fourth and fifth dolls went back to cops in uniform. Lastly, even stranger, the tiniest of the dolls was painted as a baby. It was just a tiny, indistinguishable face, swaddled in a white blanket. Olivia used a fingernail to part the seam in the wood and popped it open.

Inside of it was a ring.

Alex's ring.

Olivia had bought it for her for the first birthday they'd spent together after Alexandra's return. It complimented the diamond and rose gold one that the blonde had bought all those years ago.

The finality of it gripped Liv slowly, a tingling numbness that started in her toes and filled her all the way up. It felt familiar, and somehow different all at once.

The Matryoshka doll was Alex's goodbye letter.

Olivia was finally, truly, alone.

TBC

#law and order svu #svu #olivia benson #alex cabot #alexandra cabot #cabenson #evocations #hearteyes4mariska #my writing #wlw ship #f/f ship #nbc svu #captain don cragen #brian cassidy #matryoshka #nesting dolls

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