#it's been years and the town's progressed beyond that

[reasonsforhope]

"On a freezing cold Wednesday afternoon in eastern Kentucky, Taysha DeVaughan joined a small gathering at the foot of a reclaimed strip mine to celebrate a homecoming. “It’s a return of an ancestor,” DeVaughan said. “It’s a return of a relative.”

That relative was the land they stood on, part of a tract slated for a federal penitentiary that many in the crowd consider another injustice in a region riddled with them. The mine shut down years ago, but the site, near the town of Roxana, still bears the scars of extraction.

DeVaughan, an enrolled member of the Comanche Nation, joined some two dozen people on January 22 to celebrate the Appalachian Rekindling Project buying 63 acres within the prison’s footprint.

“What we’re here to do is to protect her and to give her a voice,” DeVaughan said. “She’s been through mountaintop removal. She’s been blown up, she’s been scraped up, she’s been hurt.”

The Appalachian Rekindling Project, which she helped found last year, wants to rewild the site with bison and native flora and fauna, open it to intertribal gatherings, and, it hopes, stop the prison.

The environmental justice organization worked with a coalition of local nonprofits, including Build Community Not Prisons and the Institute to End Mass Incarceration, to raise $160,000 to buy the plot from a family who owned the land generationally.

Retired truck driver Wayne Whitaker, who owns neighboring land and had considered purchasing it as a hunting ground, told Grist he was supportive. “There’s nothing positive we’ll get out of this prison,” he said.

The penitentiary has been a gleam in the eye of state and local officials and the Bureau of Prisons since 2006. It has always sparked sharp divisions in Roxana and beyond and was killed in 2019 after a series of lawsuits, only to be quietly resurrected in 2022. Last fall, the bureau took the final step in its approval process, clearing the way to begin buying land...

In his book Coal, Cages, Crisis, Schept noted that mine sites are considered ideal locations for prisons or a dumping ground for waste, rather than places of ecological value, as some biologists have argued. The Roxana site has been reclaimed, meaning re-vegetated with a forest that now shelters a number of rare species, including endangered bats.

Opponents argue that a prison will bring more environmental problems than jobs. Letcher County was 1 of 13 counties ravaged by catastrophic flooding in 2022, a situation exacerbated by damage strip mining caused to local watersheds. The prison slated for Roxana will exacerbate the problem.

The Bureau of Prisons estimates it will damage 6,290 feet of streams and about 2 acres of wetlands. (The agency has promised to compensate the state.)

DeVaughan said the purchase also is a step toward rectifying the dispossession that began with the forced removal and genocide of Indigenous peoples. The Cherokee, Shawnee, and Yuchi made their homes in the area before, during, and after colonization, and their thriving nations raised crops, ran businesses, and hunted bison that once roamed Appalachia.

In all the time since, coal, timber, gas, and landholding companies have at times owned almost half of the land in 80 counties stretching from West Virginia to Alabama. Several prisons sprang from deals made with coal companies, something many locals consider the continuation of this status quo.

Changing that dynamic is a priority for the Appalachian Rekindling Project, which hoped to buy more land to protect it from extractive industries and return its stewardship to Indigenous and local communities. DeVaughn said Indigenous peoples throughout the region will be welcome to use the land as a gathering place...

DeVaughan sees its work establishing a new vision of economic transition for coalfields, one that relies less on “dollars and numbers” and more on “healing and restoration” of the land and the Indigenous and other communities that live there.

She is working with some personal connections in the Cheyenne and Arapaho nations to acquire a herd of bison and plans to work with local volunteers, scientists, and students to inventory the site’s flora and fauna."

-via GoodGoodGood, February 6, 2025

[arcane-fox]

Legion Profligate (1/4)

Series Summary: Caesar’s Legion is invading the Mojave Wasteland. After your unfortunate run in with their horrific atrocities, a high ranking legionary spares you for one sole purpose.

Pairing: Dark!Acacius x Female Reader Rating: Explicit 18+ MDNI WC: 8k (AO3) Chapter Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. VERY DARK. NONCON/DUBCON. Stockholm Syndrome, Explicit Smut, Violence, Power Abuse, Slavery and Forced Breeding, Age Gap, Derogatory Language, Creampies, Cum Talk, Unprotected PinV, Oral (m!receiving), Angst

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Epilogue

Notes: This is a Fallout/Acacius crossover mini-series set during the events of Fallout New Vegas. You do NOT need to be familiar with Fallout to read this series. Huge thank you to Odi @thedilfdiaries who has been my biggest cheerleader for this series and my beta. Also huge thanks to Aly @iamasaddie for reading this over for me and giving me great feedback and courage. Endless love and gratitude to you both!

Series Masterlist | Notifs | AO3

It had been over 200 years since the atom bombs fell. The nuclear war that changed the globe forever. 200 years of radiation. Starvation. Violence. Factions splintering across the country and still fighting for the scraps of a forgotten world.  A never ending fight for survival that became the new normal for every generation to come. 

War never changes.

Word had spread across the Mojave that the Legion was pushing further West. The relative safeness of the settlements protected by the NCR was eroding. They had fewer soldiers to spare for protection and instead were mobilizing to protect the more important towns bordering the Colorado River and New Vegas.

Sunhollow was not a priority outpost, and the Legion could smell blood in the water. The New California Republic was struggling to hold on to its territory.

They came just before dawn's first light. At least 100 legionaries surrounded Sunhollow and the first wave charged in with spears and machetes. Snipers picked off anyone who tried to flee. Some of the citizens fought back but they were no match for the brutality that the legionaries wielded.

Just four NCR Rangers were stationed there and managed to take down several Legion soldiers with their submachine guns before they were overcome. They were quickly captured. They were gathered at the center of town and burnt alive on the pyres. Frightened townsfolk were slaughtered as they tried to run and their bodies were just left to rot with the rising sun. Everything smelt like death. 

This raid was nothing but a slaughter. The men were either crucified or beaten to death. The youngest children were rounded up and enslaved. The older ones were left to share the same fate as the men. They had already been influenced by the NCR values and could never be indoctrinated into the Legion. It was not worth the risk. Unlike the tribal towns that lived peacefully without the influence of the NCR, no man at Sunhollow was given the choice to pledge their loyalty to the Legion. 

The Legion referred to anyone in the NCR as profligates and used it like a filthy slur. An annoying blight to be removed and the last real opponent in their path to taking over the West. They stole nothing, instead just leaving behind an aftermath of death and blood and fear. Their numbers were growing, and their patience dwindling. Smaller Legion camps like this one had an eagerness to exterminate the outlier towns while final preparations were being made to wipe out the NCR Army once and for all.  

After hearing about the atrocities at the town of Nipton where only one person was left alive, this war has progressed far beyond just disrupting supply lines and taking out NCR soldiers. They wanted to demoralize anyone left standing with the NCR and eliminate anyone who shared their values. 

Personal liberties were not granted in the Legion. Everyone served Caesar and if you were to oppose you would be killed without question. The youngest and newest recruits were always used as front line attackers and many of them knowingly gave their lives for the cause, because it was what they were trained to do. Those who proved themselves were able to move up in the ranks with better weapons and armor. Loyalty was rewarded. This made the fiercest and most competent fighters the best equipped to survive. 

You had learnt all about the Legion while working closely with the NCR Rangers. The only reason you were in Sunhollow was to accompany a trade caravan delivering medical supplies between outposts. You were spending a few nights resting before heading back West. The trade route was relatively safe until recent months and you knew the risks. You could handle yourself with a firearm while the mercenaries took out the big threats. Not this time. You along with everyone else in Sunhollow were not prepared for this.   

Reading pre war books you had a wealth of knowledge on the Roman Empire too. You were fortunate to be raised to understand advanced literacy. While many people only knew how to read and write the bare minimum, it had become something you excelled at and leveraged in your line of work as a merchant. 

A useful skill that at this moment felt incredibly useless. There was no reasoning with legionaries and being an overly educated woman was a threat more than anything. Something to keep to yourself and blend in as a cooperative and docile captive. 

You dropped to your knees in a line with other “lucky profligates” that were temporarily spared. They made you watch the relentless slaughter of the townsfolk. Watching grown men cry and beg for mercy before receiving a beating or a blade to the throat. Your caravan of male colleagues had long been decimated. Being a healthy, young woman was the only thing keeping you breathing for now.  

You gathered that the pair of soldiers with the red plumes fanning across their helmets were the infamous Centurions. Rising to their comfy position because of their proven brutality. Their presence here was an indication that this was more than just a raid. They seemed to be accompanying a more practically dressed legionary administering the fate of the remaining captives. 

He walked back and forth along the row of women with bound hands, denoting many of them ‘unfit’. They were dragged off into the town hall by hungry wolves eager to have their way before taking their lives. Judging by the screams coming from the building, none of it was merciful. 

He didn’t wear a helmet, and his armor was splattered in blood. His machete hung at his hip opposite of his sidearm, adorning his traditional looking black and gold roman armor with nuclear age weaponry. The Legion was known for following the military structure of the ancient Romans, right down to the armor.  

He stood in front of the town hall, presiding over the soldiers assembling more crosses to crucify the remaining men. Observing the newly made slaves who were tossing bodies of their friends into the pyres. He looked tired of it all. Tired of wasting potential resources for the sake of spreading fear and demoralization. You caught the subtle way his expression was less enthusiastic, almost as if he found these immoral deeds repulsive. Or so you imagined. You were desperate for any sliver of hope that could save you at this point.  

Acacius, you heard the other men call him. You deduced he was some sort of higher ranking Legionary. He had a red tunic with gold accents under his armor, making him stand out. His armor was more ornate, too, with a golden Medusa emblem on his chest. Golden claws decorated his pauldrons. The worn, black patina of his armor made him look menacing and regal. 

“Ave, Caesar,” he said as he nodded to some of his men, appearing to give them permission to string up the unlucky souls. They did so without apprehension but his face wore a hint of disgust. It was easy to miss, but you were watching him intently. 

He was older than many of the others. Grey flecks throughout his scruff and his messy, dark curls. Sullen eyes and an aquiline nose. His shoulders were broad and commanding with a more tapered waist. His arms and legs were solid with lean muscles and he exuded power from every angle. His meaty thighs proudly showing  exposed flesh between the pteruges on his skirt and above his leather greaves. Legs that could chase you down in an instant. His body was built to fight and built to win with or without a weapon. 

He carried himself with a confidence that his word was absolute, and to challenge him would be met with his raw strength. Everything about his presence felt powerful and unforgiving. 

He was… handsome. An observation you lamented given the situation. 

He kept evaluating you with intrigue and finding something about you worth keeping around for now. You couldn’t stop trying to sneak a reading on him either. It was a dangerous game, but one you couldn’t seem to withdraw from.   

You also overheard one of the younger soldiers quipping quietly about his leadership. Criticizing him for sparing the lives of profligate women and children. How instead they should be slaughtering everyone to make an example, even the ones that had their uses. His eyes scanned over you as he said the last part with insinuation. 

Acacius apparently heard it too, as it sparked him to take action for mocking his command.  

“Hold your tongue, or you will join these bodies,” he threatened as he brandished his machete and pressed it to the soft flesh under the chin of the mouthy soldier, who cowered back. “You know nothing about building an empire.”

The soldier steadied himself, submitting only to get out of his situation. Even you could see this one was a loose cannon.

“Yes, Acacius,” he conceded with a fake docility.  

“Disobey me again and it will be your last breath.” Acacius stepped forward as he spoke those words and pushed his chin upward with the blade. A trickle of blood ran down his neck as he punctured him with the tip. 

His eyes caught you watching him and his face hardened, hiding any traces of morality as he sheathed his weapon. Your curiosity had overstepped and you had seen too much. 

You looked away, but could still feel him on you for a moment longer. Your gaze dangerously fluttered back to him as if he was willing you to look again. His penetrating glower investigating your misplaced interest in him.     

His body was still running on the adrenaline from the bloody slaughter earlier. Unlike most other men in higher ranks who still had unsullied armor, he was in the thick of it all. Ruthless and leading with brutality. He wasn’t just executing orders. He was an expert killer and didn’t happen to be in his position by accident. He demonstrated his skills in battle, and the snide comment he overheard sparked a primal rage in his core. How dare anyone question him?   

It was a wishful and foolish thought to find any sympathy in the Legion. You try to look away as he steps towards you, bracing for the blade that was sure to follow. 

He grabbed you by your neck and forced you to look him in the eyes. To his surprise, and yours, you met them with prowess. 

His gaze caught the two-headed bear badging on your shoulder. A mark of NCR allegiance. It enraged him.  

“Get up.” he barked. He towered over you as he pulled you up by your bound hands. “Make yourself useful, Profligate whore.” 

Your words stuck in your throat and you were silent. He was going to make a demonstration of his savagery, at your expense. 

–

You could hear some sneers coming from some of the nearby legionaries as he pushed you up the stairs and into the nearby building. They were laughing at your misfortune like savage hyenas as you were being paraded into the lion's den.  

A few more legionaries were inside, forcing themselves on captive women. Out in the open, it didn’t matter to them. They were barbaric. Celebrating their victory with some casual rape and torture. It was abhorrent. They seemed to have more privilege and were able to indulge in their spoils. Their helmets resembled war bonnets, decorated in black and red feathers. Some of them wore red face wraps or darkened goggles, making them look even more menacing. 

Everything about the Legion was so hierarchical and you figured they must be Decanus. Commanders under Acacius. Middle management. Leaders. Dangerous men who got away with too much and still had too much to prove to ascend even higher. At least they were easy enough to pick out.

When they saw Acacius the room tensed. He fanned his hand out to signal that there was no need to stop what they were doing. His silent command was somehow even more intimidating. 

Your chest tightened and you bit your lip to stop it from quivering. This was not a fate you would wish on your worst enemy. 

You turned to face him and tried to plead with a whisper, choking on your words in panic. He ignored you and pushed you into the middle of the room. You fell onto your forearms and knees, grabbing the attention of others who started to eye you like a piece of meat. 

He stood above you like a conqueror and used his foot to turn you on your back to face him. His expression was cold and dutiful. That morality you swore you saw earlier was gone.   

He kneeled down with his legs spread over you and pressed his body up against you. You struggled underneath him, fighting for your life as he caged you in. His hand wrapped around the front of your neck and tightly held it as he leaned over your shoulder. He spoke softly in your ear but with a vulgarity and crudeness that made you shudder. 

“You can be a whore for my men, who will use you up until there is nothing left. Or, you can behave and perform your duty to me as Caesar sees fit.”

You knew what that meant. The only duty women had was to be bred to make more soldiers. You heard the horror stories. Women were not free in the Legion. Nobody was really, but women had it the worst. The healthy and docile ones were relegated to breeders and the old and young used for slave labor. All of them were property to be used by the Legion men whenever they wanted. Anyone not compliant or too smart for their own good was killed. They only needed your body, and nothing more. You were either indoctrinated into the Legion, or your life was taken. 

Your survival instincts kick in as panic courses through your body. You can fight it or you can accept the hand dealt to you. The luxury of living is dangled in front of you with a cruel ultimatum that will likely end in death either way. You know for certain you are not ready to leave this world at the hands of being torn apart and defiled by multiple barbaric men. 

This was just one man. One large, powerful man who was giving you a choice.  

You give him what he wants and signal your obedience by relaxing your body under him. Your heart was hammering out of your chest with an obscene thud and he felt your fear pulsing through your veins. It was turning him on and you felt him swell between his legs.     

The pressure on your throat left you unable to speak and he pushed against you even harder as you struggled to breathe.

“That’s a good girl,” he growled into your ear. 

If you cooperated maybe it could earn you another day to live. Another day to figure out what the hell you were going to do. 

His hand relaxed on your throat as he pulled back to stand up. You gasped for the air you were finally afforded. He stripped your tattered clothes off your body with little effort and flipped you back over onto your stomach.

You lay there, prone and paralyzed with your bound hands outstretched in front of you. Naked and shaking.  

Acacius took off his belt and with it tossed his weapons to the side. He freed his hardness as he stepped out of his underclothes. Crudely, he spit into the palm of his hand and spread it along his cock and kneeled down between your legs.

His leather bracer slid roughly across your skin as he worked an arm under your belly to lift up your hips. He made just enough room to slide his hand over your mound and grab you with a rough hold. Blood and grime was still covering his body and the metallic, earthy smell made you recoil. You winced at the feeling of his filth making contact with you. 

He propped you up on your knees with your forearms supporting some of your weight while he nestled up to the plush of your ass against his hips. His massive form looming behind you made you feel even smaller and more insignificant than you already were. You had zero leverage. 

Your mind was racing. How many women had he taken in this way? How many women had chosen this same fate? How likely was it that after he fucked you he would take pleasure in killing you too?

Those thoughts fell to the wayside as his middle finger abruptly dragged into your slit, gathering your wetness. You didn’t expect your body to be preparing you like it was. Betrayal or gratitude, it made no difference.   

“Mmm” he groaned as he pushed two of his fingers into your hole. “You actually want Legion cock, don’t you?”

His absurd question goes unanswered and you resent your body. 

His rough, gritty digits worked you open and it couldn’t even be considered a poor excuse for foreplay. He wasn’t priming you for a good time. This was about him taking what he wanted, when he wanted and how he wanted. Prying you open so there was as a little resistance as possible when he inevitably drove into you.  

He pinched at your sensitive bud to see if he could draw a sound from you and scoffed when you did, as if to mock you for reacting to his touch. He cupped your mound hard and jammed his fingers back into you, splaying them inside. He teased more pressure on your clit with the heel of his hand until he was convinced you would be able to take him. Whether you were ready or not, he would make it fit regardless. That much you were certain of. 

You could feel his length getting harder against your ass. You tried to calm yourself from the panic that ensued when you realized how massive he really was as he began rutting his hardness against you. Sheathed in a needy, primal rhythm that was picking up tempo.    

Deep breaths. You closed your eyes, focusing on breathing as you hung your head low and braced for what was to come. He tore his hand from you and left you empty for the briefest moment. 

He wasted no time lining up his cock with your slit. The spongy head leading the way for his engorged member. Tapping it against you as he started to rut into you with fervor. Splitting you open with his thick shaft.   

Your eyes went wide and you cried out with a pained mewl. Not only was he denying you time to adjust to his size, but he was so swollen with need. The girth of his cock complimented his broadness all over. The pain from the stretch seared into you like a hot knife. Your eyes tightly shut and tears fell.

He pushed you down into the floor as he fucked you. His hands clawed into your hips, trying to hold you up and pulling you into him until his weight had you pinned under him. The floorboards scraped against your skin each time he pounded into you, making your knees and elbows raw. 

Your hands were clasped together in an iron grip. The rope around your wrists felt like it was getting tighter the more you struggled. 

The rough leather strips of his armored skirt slapped into your skin as he thrusted, drawing his full length out and driving it back in even deeper. Again and again. Forcing himself into you and taking up all available space, greedy to make more room. 

His groans were loud and animalistic. He was overcome by his nature and held nothing back. Pounding into you with ferocity. Each thrust harder and more urgent to lose himself inside you.  

“Please…” you horsley pleaded to him. “Please…” you didn’t know what you were asking for, you just wanted it to be over. 

You turned your head so your cheek was pressing into the floor and tried to gaze up at him. His focus on you was unwavering, boring into your soul. The darkness in his eyes had zero regard for your attempt at thwarting his intensity.

He didn’t let up.

As his cock twitched inside you felt him slow his pace, but not his force. You could feel him starting to come undone as he began knocking at your deepest parts. The tight coil in your belly started to unwind. 

Fuck no, please no. You pleaded to yourself.  

You resented your body for how it started to accept him inside you. Your walls clenched around his heat as he fucked you harder and harder. How could your body betray you so cruelly to give you any semblance of pleasure from such a vile man? The heavy drag of his cock against your ridges stirred something inside that you wanted to bury away, but it clawed itself out.

Despite where you were it felt like everything shrunk away and simplified. It was just two bodies fucking and teetering on the edge of bliss. Allowing your mind to escape into a place where it would be ok. A place where you could give in to the growing heat in your belly and revel in the way it washed over you.  

The pretty moan that escaped your lips was enough to send him over the edge before you could choke it back. He heard you unravel. Your convulsing walls gave you away anyways, and he knew he had you. Squeezing him tightly as something dark and sinister released within.

He grit his teeth and pulsed inside you, drawing from you a whimper. You could feel his hot cum filling you up as he panted, emptying his balls and painting the depths of your cunt with his spend. He fucked it deeper inside you until he finally started to soften and still. 

The room was silent except for his heavy breathing and your despondent sobs.

The tears streamed down your face as he pulled out of you and hovered on all fours over your broken body beneath him. His hand wrapped into your hair as he yanked your head up so your ear was to his mouth.

“You’ll take my cock when I give it to you,” he threatened. “I’ll fuck this profligate cunt until my cum is the only thing left inside you.”

The grip in your hair tightened as he urged you to acknowledge him. His hot breath puffed against your ear with each labored exhale.  

“You hear me?” he snarled. His grip was painful on your scalp and you winced.

“Yes, Ac-” your reply trailed off, not knowing if you should dare say the name you overheard.

“Acacius.” He enunciated boldly.

“Yes, Acacius.”  

Content with your reply, he pushed you back onto the floor. You laid there afraid to move or speak another word. 

He redressed and adorned his weapons. Ignoring you laying there like a discarded plaything he lost interest in. 

Except that, you didn’t know it, but he felt drawn to you in a way that he knew he had to have more of you. You intrigued him in a new way. You weren’t weak like the others, and you were observant. He wanted to challenge your resolve and break your spirit to succumb to him without hesitation. You saw something in him that he tried to hide away. Something inappropriate and unbecoming of a legionary in his position. Your dissolute temptation had to be snuffed out before it took hold on him and yet he couldn’t bring himself to take your life. Not yet. He had to try to tame you first. Fuck it out of you and taste your fruit before it spoiled.

You wondered why you were spared. Surely keeping someone like you alive with strong NCR convictions would be a great risk for the Legion. Maybe he wanted you to tempt him. To challenge him. Maybe it was all a game for him to see if he could turn you to his side. Or maybe he was waiting for you to fuck up so he could have his fun in new ways. 

It was all too much to think about when your fate was teetering dangerously at the hands of the enemy. 

“This one’s mine.” He casually commands to the other men as he walks away from your disheveled body without as much as a glance back. 

Mine. The tone of how he referred to you so nonchalant replayed over and over in your head. What did that really mean for you? 

Whoever he was, he had authority. You felt like you made a deal with the devil. Sold your soul and to what end? 

You could feel him leaking out of you as you shifted to curl your arms against your chest and draw your legs together tightly. You wanted to shrink away and disappear. Wake up from the nightmare.

What the fuck were you going to do now? Was this your life now? To be bred and kept like livestock and bolstering the future generations of Legion until you died? The thought of such a bleak destiny made your head spin and your heart race. 

You lay broken on the floor, catching your breath between tears. Feeling empty where he stretched you open. It was a hard feeling to reconcile. You had no concept of how much time had passed, only that it felt eternal, and you felt alone. Wanting for something that you couldn’t define.   

None of the other legionaries touched you, but you could feel their eyes on your broken body. Feel how much they wanted to. Perverse thoughts and immoral intentions being projected at you with their hungry gaze. Leaving you there vulnerable and subdued felt as much a test to them as it was punishment for you. 

You felt the tiniest comfort inside that you could not quite explain. Not gratitude, but some faded semblance of it. Acacius had been merciful in a twisted way. He stripped you of your dignity and your freedom, but he didn’t give you to the wolves. 

–

One of the decanus commanders came in after some time and approached you assertively. His face was covered up with a red cloth and black goggles, and his helmet was covered in black feathers flowing backwards. He looked ready to run into battle. 

He tossed a garb at you. A plain, linen dress style tunic except for a red X painted on the front. The mark of a legion slave. 

He brandished his knife and reached for your wrists to cut the rope binding your hands. The marks left behind were raw and bloody.  

Without your hands bound it changed very little other than some minor relief. There was no place to run and no way to escape without being hunted down in an instant. If you didn’t get picked off by a bullet, one of the mongrels would make quick work of you. Even if you somehow managed to get away, you would die in the Mojave with no supplies. Your hands were more useful to them being untethered and put to work. You weren't going anywhere.    

With your new found freedom you threw the dress to the side and turned away from him, wrapping your arms around your knees to withdraw the best you could. Was he expecting you to be grateful for something to cover up with? You’d rather be naked than wear those dehumanizing rags. 

What came next caught you off guard.  

The sting of his hand on your cheek shocked you. He had backhanded you, holding back nothing. The delayed pain came with a vengeance and your eyes welled up with tears. 

“Put it on and get outside with the others. We’re leaving.” 

You did.

– 

You and the few other women left were all given the same modest garbs to wear. Easy access for the taking whenever they wanted to. The thought made your stomach churn. They didn’t even give you proper footwear. You were expected to march with what were essentially socks.

You didn’t speak to the other women and they didn’t speak to you. They were all behaving compliantly. In shock from the neverending atrocities. Shells of their former selves. They had been broken too, just as you were. You didn’t know any of them from your short stay at Sunhollow and that realization further exemplified the feeling of truly being alone.

You were rounded up between two formations of soldiers and followed in line with the others as you moved out. You were given supplies to carry and you wondered how your body could possibly manage this for miles. It did, because there was no other choice. 

The sight of the pyres and burning buildings reminded you how Sunhollow would be forever transformed into a desolate graveyard. Inhabitable and soon the scraps would be picked over by raiders until nothing remained but bones and ashes.

You only saw Acacius from a distance. He had cleaned up since your last encounter with him, no longer covered in blood and his armor polished. He had a crimson cape draped over his pauldrons and was positioned to the front of the march. He looked regal and intimidatingly powerful.

He was leading the Legion onward to the next place to destroy. Legionaries near him were holding red banners with the signet of the bull. Anyone within eyesight of them wouldn’t dare intervene with their march. The Legion’s reputation for cruelty and brutality made them feared by everyone.

An unexplained pit formed in your stomach. He felt so far away and unreachable. While it should be a good thing to get as far away from him as possible, somehow it felt wrong. Dangerous even. It was hard to reconcile with the way you felt. 

You were safer with him than without. 

Crucified bodies lined the street as you were led away from your past life. Walking towards an uncertainty. You wondered if you would be better off to be strung up like them. At least their battle was over… until you noticed a few of them still breathing and left to die in the sun with a slow and agonizing death.   

You followed in line with the others, silent and defeated. Marching onward with strangers to an unknown future. 

–

It didn’t take long for your intuition to be proven right.

After a full night and day of walking across the Mojave with minimal rest, the army made a proper camp for the night. Basic tents were quickly setup along with fires to cook food and stay warm. Everything was done with efficiency like a well oiled machine.

The tents were basic and simply used for sleeping quarters. No comforts other than a bedroll. A place to rest with a fabric roof over their heads. Everybody was beyond exhausted and quickly off to sleep after eating. A few guards stood on the outskirts to keep watch, but for the most part, it was quiet. Almost peaceful with the stars above looking extra bright in the night sky. 

You recognized where you were from your extensive time on the road with the caravan. You were following the Colorado river, and heading closer and closer towards New Vegas; the heart of the Mojave. The place where sooner or later the big showdown between the Legion and NCR Army would come to a head. Hoover Dam and New Vegas were the big points of contention, and you had been strategically distancing yourself as things escalated. Now, that was completely unavoidable. 

You and the other captives were left out in the open surrounded by tents in the cold, night air. The only comfort was the rags you were laying on and letting your feet rest. You were exhausted, and barely had time to think about it before falling asleep.

You were startled awake when you felt a cold blade graze your cheek. 

Your eyes fluttered open and you started to panic and let out a shriek until the man pressed his knife across your throat, daring you to make another sound. If anyone else woke up, they pretended not to see anything. 

“You think you’re special, don’t you? Well, I’m gonna see what’s so special about you myself.”

His eyes were blown out, black with evil intention.  It was this time you recognized this was the same soldier that was mouthing off about Acacius earlier. You had humiliated him without meaning to, and he wasn’t going to let that go. 

“No profligate is worth keeping alive, even if she’s a looker.” His tongue wet his lips and your face contorted in disgust. He was a repulsive man. 

The soldier was reaching his arm up your dress and you didn’t dare move a muscle with your throat a hairline from being slit. You tightly closed your eyes and heard a loud blast. A gunshot. Hot liquid splattered on your face. Blood. 

Acacius came out of the shadows and silenced the legionnaire with a single bullet to the back of his head. 

His lifeless body fell to the ground with his hand still resting on your inner thigh. Running his mouth had, yet again, been his downfall. Alerting Acacius who was restless in his nearby tent, and masking his footsteps.

Your heart was pounding with adrenaline from the close call, and gratitude for your savior. You looked him in the eyes and they were dutiful. He was protecting his spoils on the outside, but you saw a glimmer of fear in his eyes if he had been too late.   

Acacius dragged the body off of you and spit on his fresh corpse after he said something disapproving in a latin tongue. His insolence had reached its limit, and his now dead body was left there as a reminder that insubordination had consequences. 

The commotion at this point had awoken several of the men. The prying eyes of the obedient soldiers accompanied silence. They knew better. That soldier had it coming and Acacius had swiftly ended that incident.

You locked eyes with Acacius again, and he simply nodded towards his tent and turned on his heels. 

You got up to follow him, trailing behind like a lost puppy as he went back to his tent. A modest, semi-private cloth housing with nothing but a bedroll and a few supply crates. The thin door covering did nothing for sound but it provided the tiniest privacy from prying eyes.

His armor was laid near his bedroll along with his weapons. He tossed his sidearm in the pile and raked his hand down his face. He was wearing just his red tunic and looked so much more vulnerable; unarmed and frustrated. 

You feared following him to his tent was overstepping, but your adrenaline high from the recent assault made you do it anyway. 

“Thank you,” you gazed down, afraid to see his reaction as you approached. Afraid he would disapprove of you speaking to him. 

He reached towards you cupping your chin and forcing you to look up at him while he pulled you in closer.

“No one is going to take what’s mine. Nothing more than that.”

There it was again. Mine. 

His words were dismissive of what this really meant to you, but you could see through him. Now in a more private setting without the eyes of his subordinates he didn’t have to put on an act. There were cracks and an opportunity for you to explore his true intentions. Was he claiming you just for the sake of control or was there something more? He seemed brash on the surface, but underneath maybe you could strip away the noise and see what kind of a person he really was. 

He let go of your chin and pulled a rag out from a water bucket by his feet. He wrang out the excess and held your face against the palm of his hand while he wiped the cloth across your cheek. The bridge of your nose. The other side. Wiping away the blood of the man who dared to touch you. He was being gentle. Tender, even. He wasn’t making eye contact, focused instead of brushing away the filth.

You watched him intently. Impossible to read, but you couldn’t deny your intuition. He had a guilty aura about him. Guilty for what the man tried to do to you, or sympathetic for bringing you into this cruel world to begin with. You were going to find out.  

“Clean yourself up,” he said quietly as he handed the rag to you to finish the job. You could feel the blood still sticking on your skin and imagined you must be a sight. 

You kneeled next to the bucket and washed your skin the best you could, relishing in the cool kiss of the water's touch.  

Acacius groaned as he sat on one of the supply crates, using it like a chair. His posture was so tired and almost docile. It was hard to imagine he had just killed a man with zero remorse. Unphased by taking a life. 

What overcame you was that same undefined feeling you had earlier. You wanted to be closer to him, and give him a reason to want you close. While he had just saved you, you had only narrowly escaped. 

You crawled on your knees in front of him, slowly and with an eagerness to thank him. His tired eyes narrowed on you as kneeled between his legs.  

You reached for the hem of his tunic and found his cock half-hard. You gazed up at him with glossy eyes. 

“Let me thank you properly.” You paused with apprehension.

His cock twitched at your offer but he kept his face stern. It was hard to read him and know if you were overstepping or if this would be condoned. You swallowed back your hesitancy and pushed on, hoping for his approval.

You slid your hands up his thighs and pushed back his tunic all the way to his belly so you could have unobstructed access. You opened your mouth and let your tongue poke out, giving his tip a lick and placing a kiss. It was almost playful. You weren't sure what came over you, but you embraced it when he stifled a sound that you recognized. A pleasurable groan. 

Of course any man would enjoy this act, but this was a man that was used to taking. Not this unsolicited softness you were bestowing on him.  

He tangled his hand in your hair and urged you in closer, using his other hand to hold his cock steady at the base.

“Knew you’d be a good girl for me,” he said with a low and breathy voice. The praise from his words made that darkness inside you stir again. You wanted his praise.  

You swirled your tongue around the head of his cock, lapping gently at his leaking slit and relishing his flavor. You could sense his body was tired and resigned to letting you do all the work. It felt like a test too, to see how much you would do without him forcing you. See how much you wanted him and how far you would take this on your own volition.  

You took in more and more of his length, letting your tongue lick up the underside of his cock and feeling it stiffen even more. You were just now able to really marvel at its size. He was thick and weighty with a slight curve to the left. You traced the prominent vein that trailed along his shaft with your tongue, pulsing under your touch. You were getting sloppier with your mouth as he was getting harder and it was becoming a lot more to handle than you were used to.

The tightness in your core was starting to wind up. A heat spreading that called for attention you tried to push aside.    

Your hands left the tops of his thighs briefly to reach for his balls. They too were hefty and he stifled another moan as you worked them with your fingertips. He seemed to really enjoy that and you had a mind to give them more attention with your mouth if he didn’t have such a grip on you already.

He was fully hard now and jerked into you, losing some control. You relaxed your throat enough to let him thrust inward. Your hands returned to his legs to brace yourself as he bucked a little too hard and you gagged on his cock. The throaty groan he made watching you struggle was heavy with arousal.

“Easy. Take me nice and slow,” he ordered. It was easier said than done when he was the one bucking into you. He brushed his thumb to push back your hair and you melted at his tenderness and how his hands engulfed you effortlessly. 

You relaxed as best you could, taking in more and more of him. Both of his hands were twisted in your hair now, pulling your head to bob on his length slowly. He wasn’t holding you tightly, but you could feel his fingers curl into your scalp when you hollowed your cheeks.   

You looked up at him and saw his mouth parting open slightly. His eyes were intently locking with yours. He was submitting to your tongue in a way that felt new for him. Relinquishing some control even if it was just for a moment. 

You savored the pearly beads of precum that trickled out and wanted to receive more. His musky, sweaty scent combined with the saltiness of his taste made it all feel so raw and primal. 

Seeing your mouth stuffed full with his cock made him twitch even more and you could tell he was getting close. He was trying to pull you off of him slowly. You sucked the tip hard and it made a wet pop as it released from your lips.

It was turning you on too, and you could feel how wet you were getting between your legs. You initially just wanted to placate him, but it felt like it was becoming so much more. You wanted him to spill into your mouth so you could drink him down. Hear the way he moaned when you sucked him dry. It was a thirst that overtook your reasoning and you mouthed his tip again in defiance.  

There was a shift in his energy. That dutiful look returned as he fought against your needy mouth. 

“Not wasting my cum in your throat.” His words came out biting but heavy with need. Reminding you of your role to play. 

He yanked you off sharply and pulled you up to straddle his lap. Sitting over his meaty thighs he hooked his hand behind your back to hold you in place. You reached your arms out to hang off of his shoulders.

He grabbed the base of his cock and dragged the head along your swollen clit. He was already wet from your spit, but he gathered your slick for good measure. You moaned when he pressed into your clit and you caught the way he looked so pleased with himself. He was studying how your mouth gaped from his touch.

“Needy thing you are,” he groaned, low enough that you wondered if he meant to say it out loud.   

You were good and ready, and he wasn’t interested in waiting any longer to get his release. He pulled you down hard on his length, filling you to the hilt in one motion and looking you dead in the eye when he did it. Watching you gasp at the stretch and your eyes widened. You were so needy for his cock and it felt right having him inside you again. The pain from the sudden invasion inside your body was overtaken by euphoria. The emptiness finally being soothed. 

He held you like that for a moment and you wanted to beg him to move. You needed that friction to alleviate your aching hunger. He needed it too, but he was enjoying seeing you get impatient for his cock. You could feel him swell inside you and in this seated angle he nestled inside you even deeper.  

“Acacius…” you whined and tried to lift up on his shaft but he held you still. He pressed his thumb into your clit and rubbed. Holding you down, impaled on his cock; unmoving. Making you start to convulse on him and moan under his touch.  

“You’re gonna let me do what I want,” he said as his thumb’s motion intensified. “And I’m going to fill you with my cum.” More pressure on your clit. “Again.” Another circle. “And again.” Harder this time. “And again.” 

The pleasure blooming was becoming too much and he knew he had you.

“And you're going to be begging me for it.” With those words he thrust into you, teasing the release you were chasing.

You let out a whimper and tried to speak, but your words were swallowed up by your moans. He thrust again. 

“Fuck. Acacius… yes. I want..” he thrusted again “..want you to fill me.”

He hammered into you and the drag of his cock against your walls combined with the pressure on your clit was too much. Your orgasm washed over you in a way you never experienced before. A crescendo throughout your body, overtaking your flesh and soul. Clenching him and begging for him to cum. 

His seed blasted into you and you felt him filling you up. His heat seeped into you as he groaned. There was so much, filling you deliciously with his cum, just as he promised. 

He left you there for a moment, his cock slowly softening inside you but still plugging you up so nothing could escape while you caught your breath.

As the high of your orgasm began to fade it left you with a mix of emotions. Fucked out of your mind and also terrified of what you were getting yourself into. You knew he ultimately wanted to impregnate you, and you knew that you never wanted to bring children into this fucked up world. Still, the deep seeded fear of getting pregnant faded away when he was filling you so perfectly. He was right, you were going to be begging for it, and that future terrified you. 

It also felt like a problem for another day. Right now, you had to live in the moment and figure out how you were going to make it to tomorrow. As you began to fall for Acacius, you were certain of one thing. Keeping him content was your only chance.     

The tent was quieter now with you still in his lap and your shared breathing calming to an even rhythm. You didn’t want to leave his side. With him you were safe. He wasn’t going to hurt you, and he certainly wouldn’t let anyone else touch you if there was a chance you were carrying his child. It made you feel sickened to think of another potential life as armor, but it was the reality you were living in.   

“Can I stay here with you tonight?” You asked, sheepishly.

There was something you could not shake about Acacius. While his words and actions were cruel and despicable on the outside, something about him seemed shaken. A legionary who showed any sort of wavering would be killed without question. Loyalty to Caesar was above all paramount. He had no choice on how to conduct himself in the eyes of the other Legion soldiers.   

But you saw something in his eyes. Unexplainable but tangible. Something that gave you just enough hope that he wasn’t as evil as you thought. Maybe he was different after all. Maybe he was redeemable. Maybe he just needed someone like you to help him see the Legion for what it truly was. 

You had to try.   

“Not letting you out of my sight.” 

To be continued…

NPT for folks who interacted with my WIPS/Masterlist

@megangovier @22thumbs @blueeyesatnight @aurorawritestoescape @mermaidgirl30 

@youandmeand5bucks @jolapeno @sunshinehaze1 @exquisiteserotonin @dear-darling-dewi

@aemondvelaryon @toxicanonymity @read-and-wip @rawrxbexjealous @sheepdogchick3

@witchy-and-persnickity @theanxietyqueen17 @wynonnapascal

TAGLIST (please comment if you want to be added!)

@tateypots @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @cuppajoel @schnarfer @rifflovesjoey

@whocaresstillthelouvre @baronessvonglitter @milla-frenchy @musings-of-a-rose @jay-zzle 

@darkheartgatita @slimybeth69  @cxrsed-angel @beefrobeefcal @getitoutofmymindwrites

@magpiepills @itwasntimethatdidit40 @mossy-buds @perotovar @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu

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@foggymoonbanana @burntheedges @gothcsz  @din-cognito @wheresarizona

More tags continued in the comments!

Please lmk if you wanna be removed or added

[asriels-college-life-dr]

Asriel's College Life - Update + Teasers!

“Newly-independent Asriel Dreemurr navigates the highs and lows of college life with his delinquent roommate Baphi and her slacker human friend Clyde. Asriel's College Life is a slice-of-life sprite comic that tells low-stakes, character-driven stories with college-aged monsters and humans. It is set in our interpretation of the world beyond Hometown, years before the events of Deltarune.”

It's been a while since the last update! I wanted to share some progress with you guys since you're at least interested in what this project is all about.

Art-wise, our concept artists have done very well with bringing our upcoming cast to life. You've seen Asriel, his roommate Baphi, and her human friend Clyde, but there's more folks in Ebott College than you've seen so far: both monsters AND humans!

We're working on a pilot episode for this sprite comic project that will establish Asriel and the rest of the cast, as well as the world and the overall vibe of the story. I hope you look forward to it!

Writing-wise, has admittedly been slow going. I work in short bursts, which is why having other writers to talk story and scriptwriting really helps get the script done.

If you're a writer and have experience with script for screenplays or even novels, also reach out to us!

We're also looking for concept artists, especially those who can draw backgrounds! If you can draw buildings and nature and maps and concept art of towns and campuses, please reach out to us!

Teaser Time!

Meanwhile, our art team has been doing well in bringing our cast to life! I hope you enjoy this look at the monsters and humans that study at Ebott College for the rest of this post!

"One of them becomes important to him, can you guess why?" (art by @MrBendyFeathers & @luztechnowitch)

Party slime! Fun fact: They're both Simley.

Someone who is happy in a way he isn't.

Someone who becomes important to him, despite their differences. (art by @heartlessmushr1)

A history professor.

A friendly face.

An antagonist.

That's all for this update! If you'd like to follow this comic for when the pilot comes out, check out our server!

[hypotheticalkiss]

CLOSE ENOUGH TO BURN | JK [00]

You always carried dreams too big for your small town on the east coast — a place caught between the sea and the mountains, between reality and something softer, more distant. And your dream was clear: to become an artist, someone who could inspire a generation, just like you had once been inspired. Your place was on stage, singing the songs you wrote in the stillness of sleepless nights, in the dark quiet of your room.

But you didn't expect that once you got there, once the lights found you, you'd meet someone who understoo — the fear, the hunger, the ache. You didn't expect your heart to race louder than the notes in your songs. And what do you do when a feeling threatens everything you've fought so hard to build?

⊹ ࣪ ˖ PAIRING: jungkook x (fem.) reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ TAGS: mature language and content, yearning & longing, miscommunication, ups and downs of idol life and fame, pining, it's gonna be a journey!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ GENRE: idol!jungkook & idol!reader, slow burn, friends to lovers, fluff, smut, slice of life, celeb au, angst

PLAYLIST I MOODBOAD

⊹ ࣪ ˖ A/N: hi, i'm julia and this is close enough to burn! i'm been thinking about writing this history for while now, since 2023, and finally i have the guts to actually write. and i wanted to do a summary of this story first, i love angst and stories with miscommunication that span through years, and i decided to do my own. and i wanted to develop human characters, who make mistakes and get things right, and fall in love and are afraid and worried. i really like this story and i hope you do too! expect a slow burn, idiots who are in love with each other but can't see it so clearly and the ups and downs of fame, and how much a dream can cost. i really like this history and i hope y'all like it too ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪

PROLOGUE: First Notes

Gangneung, 2009

You wrote your first lyrics when you were thirteen, after spending days obsessed with a song you heard on the radio while your mom was driving you to school. “Don’t Know Why” was playing softly in the background on a quiet, uneventful morning when the second verse caught your attention — and that one line stayed with you all throughout the school day. Of course, you didn’t fully grasp the depth of its meaning back then, but you loved it so much that you wanted to create something just like it.

You started listening to Norah Jones every single day, and each day you tried to write something similar. But it always felt like something was missing — maybe a melody. So you devoted endless hours to learning the guitar. Your father, a longtime music enthusiast, had one at home, and one afternoon you managed to learn four chords. That alone was enough to light a spark in your eyes like never before.

You were beyond excited, and you dedicated every day after that moment to it — plucking the strings, trying to make sounds, or at least trying to. Every day, the moment you stepped into your house and felt the warm wooden floor beneath your feet, the first thing you did was run to your room, grab the guitar — now yours — and start playing. Your house wasn’t old or overly modern, just warm and cozy. The simplest room in the house was yours: light-colored walls, a low bed, and a large window overlooking the backyard and your dad’s pseudo-garden.

There was a study desk that held most of the mess — scattered books, crumpled or scribbled papers, and your beloved journal. The wall behind it was covered in posters, pictures of you, your friends, and your parents, and with all kinds of collages — your own little world.

Right next to it sat the guitar, once your father’s and now your favorite thing in the world. You spent countless afternoons with it, not worrying about anything except a chord, a progression, or maybe a melody. After listening to what was supposed to be the pleasant sound of strumming strings for so long, your dad decided it was time to teach you how to really play. Before long, you were in love.

Music was your passion, the guitar was your partner, and your lyrics were your love letters — or maybe something a little less dramatic than that. After all, there aren’t that many thrilling things for a thirteen-year-old to write about. But for you, there were. You wrote about everything: your cat, a chubby, lazy gray Scottish Fold with brown eyes named Tteok, one of your comfort foods.

You wrote about your school days, about the weird hairstyle that one girl in your class insisted on wearing, a song about your mom, or your dad, or sometimes both, and the life you lived in Gangneung — wrapped in a soft mist with the sound of waves in the background. Sometimes, it felt like your town existed outside of time, like nothing there needed to change too quickly.

And your parents loved your songs. Your mom would say you were incredibly creative and quick-witted. Slowly, they started to see that there was something more to this — maybe it wasn’t just a hobby or a phase. You and music had started to exist together, and neither of you seemed ready to let go.

It was an ordinary Saturday. You had finished all your tasks for the day and had gone to your best friend Jiwoo’s house. Her parents were in a chaos of fights that seemed to have no end, and you always kept her company so she could forget about an imminent separation. The two of you spent the afternoon watching Twilight, a shared obsession ever since you first saw the movie in theaters. Posters of some characters were already up on your walls, and you both sighed dramatically whenever you stared at them for too long.

You were lying on the living room floor, wrapped in a navy blue blanket, your feet cold despite the thick socks. It was December, and winter had already settled in — icy sea winds blew in from the east coast, and snow had started to fall. Your hands wrapped around a worn mug filled with ginger tea, the same one your mom always made — a little ritual you had at the start of every winter.

On Jiwoo’s old TV, a music program was playing — your latest obsession. You watched them every day, getting excited over the singers, who you soon learned were called idols, performing and singing. Sometimes, you just wanted to be like them — extraordinary. Watching those people sing and dance made your eyes light up, but deep down, you believed you’d never be like them. You didn’t think you had enough talent. Jiwoo even had a favorite group — 2PM — and she never stopped talking about them.

You liked some groups too. It was fascinating to watch those performances, to witness all that talent, and to imagine how hard it must have been for them to get there. But the song that caught your attention the most wasn’t from a group with flashy performances or complex choreography — it was from a woman.

She was allone on stage, wearing a white dress, she looked like she was floating through a mist. It was breathtaking. And then, she sang one of the saddest songs you had ever heard. Her voice was sweet, yet strong. You felt your eyes welling up with tears. You didn’t fully understand what she was singing about — you hadn’t gone through that experience yet — but somehow, it felt like you had.

You felt every word that woman sang, as if she was singing just for you. And something stirred in your heart — a feeling unlike anything you’d felt before. You wanted to be like her. You wanted to move people with nothing but lyrics, music, and your voice. You wanted them to feel with you what you were feeling with her. You wanted to be an artist.

“I want to be like her.” It came out like a whisper, a prayer, a promise — and a wish.

At fourteen, you started applying to every audition possible — almost every day, you recorded videos of yourself singing and playing instruments for any company that had open applications. Your mom and Jiwon helped you edit and send the recordings, and your dad even bought a camera just to film the videos. When the auditions were in person, your parents would drive you all the way to Seoul and wait outside with a corn dog and a smile.

You already played the guitar like a pro and took piano lessons three times a week. You also had singing lessons on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the afternoon. Your vocal coach was a middle-aged woman named Mi-sook — she was extremely strict but had more faith in you than anyone else. She rarely gave compliments and always pushed you to your limits. She was an amazing teacher, and you were lucky to have her.

The studio where she gave lessons was small and sat above a ballet school that her sister owned. Lessons always took place by a long black grand piano, aged and worn; its ivory-white keys had turned yellow with time, but still, you had never heard a sound so beautiful.

You practiced pitch, projection, breathing, and diction. Sometimes, you left the class barely able to speak. Your throat would sting, your eyes would burn, and you’d feel a strange weight in your chest, like you were chasing something still out of reach. Mi-sook said it was normal — “your voice is a muscle, and every muscle hurts when it grows” — and you believed her. You never dared to complain, because even with all the strictness, there was a quiet care in her gestures. When she saw you were on the verge of emotional exhaustion, she would simply put on a song and let you sing freely. During those moments, she’d sit beside you, eyes closed, listening as if every note mattered.

Your schedule was intense. In the mornings; you went to school, in the afternoons; you had singing and piano lessons, and somehow, you still found time to help your parents at their grocery store, which served the whole neighborhood. You barely had time to see Jiwoo, and she loved to complain about how her best friend had abandoned her. She could be quite dramatic, but deep down, she understood what you were doing and supported you completely.

Sometimes, you’d stand at the cash register with your headphones still hanging around your neck and your school notebook stuffed with folded sheet music. The floor always smelled like bleach and spices, and the sound of plastic packages scanning mixed with your mother’s voice calling out for more change. It was a familiar kind of chaos — cozy and known — you knew every corner of that place, from the always-tilted shelf to the register that jammed when it got too hot.

Even when exhausted, there was something comforting about the store’s routine. It was the place that grounded you, even when your mind was off dreaming about being a famous singer on stage, performing for thousands. Your dad would give you a quick smile when you arrived and sometimes leave a peeled tangerine in a little container by the register. “So you won’t skip meals again,” he’d say, in that practical way of showing love.

Jiwoo sometimes came to keep you company, especially when her house turned into a war zone — her parents fought constantly. It was hard to go a full day without some kind of argument. You didn’t quite understand how a couple could be like that. Sure, your parents argued too, but they always worked it out. You tried to be there for her; it was clear how much the situation affected her.

“I think if there was a Guinness World Record for longest continuous argument, my parents would win it easily,” she said, leaning on the counter while opening a bag of seaweed snacks — her favorite.

You gave her a sad smile. That must’ve been a terrible way to live. “Are they arguing again?” you asked while sorting some money at the register.

She shrugged, chewing.

“They always find something. From where my dad left his shoes to some ridiculous thing my mom bought. I stopped trying to keep up.”

You closed the cash drawer and locked it, stuffing the money into an envelope to hand to your mom. Then you shut down the computer and looked at Jiwoo again.

“Do you want to sleep over and watch an episode of You're Beautiful?" You asked as you picked up the seaweed snack and popped a piece into your mouth.

“I’ll sleep over, but only if your mom makes sundubu!” Jiwoo replied with a mischievous grin. She leaned on the counter with her elbows and made an exaggerated pout. “But it has to be her special version — with the soft tofu, warm white rice, and the pickled radish banchans, you know I love.”

You laughed, taking the key from your pocket. “I’ll ask her now. But if she’s in a bad mood, that’s on you.”

“If she’s in a bad mood, I’ll do the dishes. And you give her a shoulder massage. It’ll work, trust me,” Jiwoo said, grabbing her backpack and following you out the door. “Today, we cry watching episode five. I feel it.”

It was early March. Winter was slowly leaving, the cold air still lingered in Gangneung, making a slow, unhurried farewell. The sky was pale blue and clear, and the wind from the sea carried that salty, damp smell that clung to your skin.

You could still see traces of snow everywhere — little remnants in the corners of streets and sidewalks, memories of the winter that was on its way out. It was a strange feeling, like time was moving too fast, and yet you didn’t quite know how to feel about it.

School had already started — high school now — and it was weird to think about that. Your mom kept saying how grown-up you looked, and it stirred something restless inside you. You wanted to grow up, wanted to make all your dreams come true, but at the same time, it left you paralyzed.

It wasn’t exactly fear, but a mix of everything that was coming. You weren’t afraid of growing up — maybe what scared you was losing control. You felt like you were about to step into something bigger than yourself, and somehow, that made you feel vulnerable.

You kept auditioning. You were getting positive feedback — people praised your voice and the fact that you could write songs and play instruments — but no approvals came. You started to think maybe this dream was too far-fetched, and sometimes, desperation would creep in, and you’d only be able to picture a future you couldn’t quite grasp. It felt like chasing a mirage, and the closer you walked, the farther it seemed.

Life went on as usual — school, music lessons, helping at the store, and in your free time, writing every song you could. The guitar was your escape valve, the piano keys, your sanctuary. It was in the silence of your room, late at night, when everyone else was asleep, that you could pour your feelings onto paper.

Until one day, when you received the news that would change your life forever.

It was a quiet afternoon in Gangneung. The wind still carried a chill, but the city was slowly saying goodbye to winter and welcoming the promise of warmer days. It was mid-March, and spring was beginning to show its colors.

You were sitting on the couch, Tteok in your lap, purring while you petted him. He had been extra clingy lately. You were working on a school project — one you had, unfortunately, left to the last minute. The phone rang, and your dad, who was in the kitchen, rushed to answer it, drying his hands on a dish towel. His voice rang loud, as usual, but something shifted in his tone when he responded.

“Yes, this is Mr. Lee… Ah, yes, she’s here.”

You looked up, confused. He covered the phone with his hand and spoke with a barely-contained smile.

“It’s for you. Is that company that tou auditioned for in February, remember?… Dalbit.”

Your heart jumped.

You stood up quickly, causing Tteok to complain about the sudden loss of attention and warmth. You whispered sorry and walked over to your dad, heart pounding in your chest.

“Hello…” Your voice came out small and unsure.

“Hi, how are you?! Y/N is this you?” asked a man on the other end. You recognized the voice but couldn’t remember who it was — nerves had taken over.

“Yes, it’s me. Good afternoon.”

“Y/N, I’m calling to let you know and congratulate you — you’ve been accepted. We want you as a trainee at our company.”

The world stopped for a second. Your eyes widened. Your dad stood in front of you, anxious. The words hadn’t quite sunk in yet — had you really heard that?

“You… are you sure?” you asked, not realizing your voice was already choked with emotion.

“Absolutely. We’ll also send an email with more details, but we wanted to call you personally. You really impressed us!”

The compliment brought tears to your eyes, and your dad broke into the biggest smile in the world. After the call ended, he pulled you into a tight hug, nearly lifting you off the ground, shouting with joy. The noise brought your mom to the kitchen doorway, still holding a towel and looking alarmed. But she didn’t even finish her sentence. She stopped in her tracks when she saw you — phone in hand, eyes brimming with tears — and your dad laughing with quiet tears streaming down his face too.

“I did it!” you said as they wrapped you up in a hug, protective and warm, like they were holding the whole world in their arms.

You called Jiwoo, and she ran to your house. When she saw you, she threw her arms around you, shouting with excitement. “I can’t believe I’m going to have a famous best friend!” She was dramatic, as always, but her eyes said it all: she was proud, happy, and already feeling the distance.

Some neighbors who heard the news stopped by the store to congratulate you. And your teacher Mi-sook left you a handwritten letter at the studio — a neatly folded piece of paper that read:

“Keep singing like your life depends on it." written in her elegant handwriting. It made you smile.

In the days that followed, you packed your suitcase carefully. A few clothes, a composition notebook — the place where all the compositions were written, you most precious possession, the guitar that now belonged to you, and a small box of keepsakes — a seashell from the beach, photos with Jiwoo and your parents, your childhood teddy bear, and your journal.

Your room slowly emptied out, but your mind didn’t.

The mood at home was a mix of joy and longing — both feelings quietly present in every shared moment between you and your parents. They were proud, but also scared about you being alone in a big city like Seoul. You tried to act confident, but deep down, fear had made its home in you too.

You thought about everything — what waited for you in Seoul, the people you wouldn’t see as often, the life you wanted now, and how your dream suddenly felt just a little bit closer. And on the nights when you couldn’t sleep, and anxiety overtook you, you found yourself asking: am I really good enough?

And then the day came. The car was full, but quiet. Your mom held your hand in the front seat. Your dad kept his eyes on the road. The radio played some song that ended up becoming the soundtrack of that moment. And you watched Gangneung fade into the background.

When the signs for “Seoul” started to appear, your heart pounded harder.

It was a huge city, full of tall buildings and fast steps, but also full of possibilities — your possibility's. You would be staying in a small apartment with other girls around your age. You were happy not to be entirely alone, but also nervous to meet new people.

The building was in a quiet neighborhood. Simple, but cozy. You went up to the floor they’d told you, hands sweating and heart racing. Your parents helped you with your bag, and one of the other trainees opened the door and pointed you to your room.

It was real — you were in Seoul. You were a trainee. Your dream had just begun.

— i hope you enjoy the prologue, if you wanna be add in the taglist just comment 👇🏻✨ and i wanna hear y'all thoughts 💭

[ghostlyferrettarot]

✨️Pick a Picture: ✨️💙Who were you in your past life?💙✨️

•Pile 1 •Pile 2 •Pile 3

❗️This is a collective reading, take what resonates and leave the rest❗️

✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!

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✨️If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!✨️

💙Masterlist💙

🧡Pile 1:

You were a kind and empathetic person. From a young age, you always showed a genuine interest in others, which made you a great friend and confidant. You had an infectious laugh that brightened up any environment and an innate ability to listen. People often felt comfortable sharing their thoughts and concerns with you.

Despite your optimistic nature, you also had your reflective side. You often took time to think about your experiences and emotions, which helped you grow and learn from each situation. At times, you could be a little self-critical, but you used that introspection to improve and move forward.

You were loyal and committed to your friends and family, and always willing to offer your support. You believed strongly in the importance of building meaningful relationships and being a pillar in the lives of those around you. You had a quiet and happy life, maybe in some ways you felt it was a great life but you weren't entirely satisfied; For this reason, perhaps you seek a little more time, to take more risks.

🧡Significant things: Color orange and blue, royal vibe, long blond hair, polar bears, spring season, letters, delicate handwritting, flowers, pearls.

💙Pile 2:

You lived in an environment marked by uncertainty. You grew up in a neighborhood where it was though to evolve, and the lack of opportunities seemed overwhelming. Despite this i see that you always showed curiosity about the world around you, seeking refuge in your hobbies, I think many of them had to do with writing and books.

Despite your strength, sadness always accompanied you, I feel that others did not quite undestood you. In the end, although you achieved some significant achievements, such as finishing your education and finding a job that you really liked, I feel that you were a born educator.

Life taught you hard lessons about resilience and loss, but it also led you to discover a deep empathy towards others. There's a lot of things to learn about this, start to listen to your inner voice and don't let others dictate your path.

💙Significant things: Books, Writers, 1950's-1960's, Jazz music, Owls, Brown and Green colors, curly long hair, piano, birds.

🩷Pile 3:

You felt a deep connection to the world around you. You grew up in a small town where nature played an important role in your life. As the years passed, you began to explore your spirituality. You were drawn to the teachings of different cultures and traditions, and often spent your evenings reading about philosophy and meditation.

You learned to listen to your inner voice, feeling a connection beyond the tangible. However, life also presented you with challenges. The loss of a loved one hit you deeply, leading you to question your faith and your purpose. In the midst of grief, you realized that suffering could be a path to transformation. As your life progressed, you felt more aligned with your purpose. In your later years, you found deep gratitude for each day lived.

Life had taught you that spirituality was not only a path to personal understanding, but also a way to connect with others and the universe. You felt at peace, knowing that your journey, with all its lights and shadows, had been a priceless gift. You need to start valuing your spiritual gift, maybe you accept them for granted sometimes, but they can give you the warmth you need.

🩷Significant things: Runes and Stones, violet and red color, dark hair and clear eyes, Charisma and cleverness, owls and cats, winter season, jewerly, round face, youthful look.

✨️Thank you for reading and tell me if it resonated✨️

[ranikyani]

The Aaron Archives 💚

A collection of fics featuring Aaron as himself as a main character, exploring different stories and relationships.

💌: Make sure you read warnings before engaging + Take care of yourself while reading, mwah💋

🏡: Return to Daddy's Library or…

💬 Readers Remember: Supporting our writers goes beyond just liking a post! Yes, likes are cool but comments/reblogs and kudos can be incredibly meaningful and make a huge difference! Many talented writers feel discouraged by the lack of engagement and recent foolishness, so let's uplift them by showing appreciation for their work. Don't make our favs beg for a crumb of attention!

✍🏾 Writers, this is a work in progress... but if anything needs to be changed or removed immediately pls lmk.

Status: Completed 🏁 - Ongoing📝 - Hiatus ⏸️

Length: Drabble✨ - OneShot 🎯 - Series 📚 - MiniSeries - ⏳ - Universe ����

Note: Summary will be provided for stories without one included. If anything should be changed pls lmk. I haven't read 1/2 these fics yet... will continue to update as I make progress.

A

The Actor and His Muse 📝📚

Summary: When an up-and-coming screenwriter meets her match in a rising actor, their worlds collide as the lines blur between business, pleasure, and maybe love…

Author: @nubiawrites

B

Between Us. 🎯

Summary: You were a diligent boss in the corporate workplace with a need for change in your life, but you didn't know that Kelvin and Aaron would be the excitement and love you needed. They invited you to their house, but one of them has an idea that they think you would open to. Not only becoming with your best friends and lovers Kelvin and Aaron.

Author: @notapradagurl7

C

Countdown ⏳

Summary: Zerina and Aaron had built a quiet but strong relationship over the years, choosing to keep their romance private, known only to their closest friends and family. As their careers skyrocketed, both found themselves navigating the pressures of fame while striving to maintain the bond they’d formed long before the limelight. But with their rising success came the inevitable sacrifice of quality time together. Their once-steady connection was now limited to late nights and stolen moments, with days filled with work and promotional commitments. As Aaron is filming Green Lanterns, thinking he’s going to be away on her birthday. She accepts an offer to style a few clients for the NAACP Image Awards.

Author: @zillasvilla

D

E

F

Forever My Lady 📝📚

Summary: a look into your world being aaron pierre’s love interest in a new film.

Author: @idyllicbarb

G

H

Have This Dance. 🎯

Summary: See Ask. You and your London boy attend a Jamaican carnival together, having an amazing time while things get a little freaky between y'all.

Author: @notapradagurl7

Herbal Remedy 📝⌛️

Summary: Sloane Matthews had given her all to James Carter, only to learn he was having an affair with her cousin Celeste on their wedding day. After leaving her home town for Los Angeles she returns home a year later for the holidays for her grandmother’s annual Christmas retreat. What she thought was going to be a horrible time turned out to be a weekend of renewal and love.

Author: @keyaho

He's Not You 🎯

Summary: You and Aaron are roommates and he gets jealous when you get hit on by a client. It switches POV’s throughout, so if that’s something you don’t enjoy, this might not be the one for you. 

Author: @writingsbytee

Ho Is You Blind? 🎯

Summary: Reader is a blind baddie and Aaron has to suffer along with her

Author: @overthedeadsea

I

It's Always Been You 🎯

Summary: You and Aaron finally confessed how you feel about each other, now it’s time to get it in!

Author: @writingsbytee

J

Jaguar

K

L

M

Ma Belle Evangeline 🎯

Summary: After a long press tour for his upcoming movie Mufasa, Aaron finds his way back home to the smell of a pot roast and a gift waiting for him.

Author: @zillasvilla

Market Days 🎯

Summary: A quiet morning of gardening and enjoying each other's time leads to a day at the market, and an exchange of gifts from friends

Author: @zillasvilla

Melanin Prepatory 📝📚🌎

Summary: Terry and Blaire are in shambles while Aaron and Brennan make things more official.

Authors: @keyaho + @zillasvilla

N

O

One World 📝📚🌎

Summary: Brennan & Blaire navigate college, relationships and family.

Authors: @keyaho + @zillasvilla

P

Parent Trap 🎯

Summary: Doing your best to avoid all signs of your ex, you’re “unknowingly” thrusted back into his presence. Surprise!

Author: @writingsbytee

Press Tour Shenanigans 🎯

Summary: chaotic, flirty, and slightly unhinged interview energy between the trio. More of a Aaron x reader (wink), jealousyyyy.

Author: @overthedeadsea

Q

R

Red Carpet Chaos 🎯

Summary: Red carpet banters and after party crash outs.

Author: @overthedeadsea

S

The Seminar 🎯

Summary: You have a seminar in France and ask Aaron to go with you. He sadly tells you he can't make it due to his filming schedule.

Author: @alldthoughtsinmyhead

T

Tatted Up 🎯

Summary: ...

Author: @hotgrlcece

Time ⏳

Summary: You and Aaron have been in a long distance relationship for three months, as you reside in your cozy home in Seattle, and he stays in Los Angeles for work. Only ever having a quick day trip for quality time between your busy schedules, a long awaited break comes up on both of your calendars; three days and two nights at the end of a long week. Finally having the opportunity to see each other face to face, you enjoy a weekend of deeper, more intimate moments.

Author: @venusincleo

U

Untitled (multiple parts) 📝📚

Summary:...

Author: @alldthoughtsinmyhead

V

W

Warm Towel Affection 🎯

Summary: You're getting full-service post-shower princess treatment ft. Aaron being an absolute nuisance with those big hands

Author: @overthedeadsea

Whipped Vanilla, Soft Cashmere, Skin to Skin. 🎯

Summary: quiet moments of pure love

Author: @overthedeadsea

X

Y

Z

[whisperofsong]

Summary: Rhett contemplates whether he’ll ever have lasting love.

Word Count: 1,017

Warnings: Language, mentions of sex, and mentions of religion

Note: This writing piece is inspired by Taylor Swift’s song, “The Prophecy.” I feel this song would resonate with Rhett as he is misunderstood and vulnerable despite his rough exterior. Thank you for reading and supporting my work🫶🏼

____________________________________________

Rhett gazed out his bedroom window, watching his parents assist each other with chores on their ranch. Celia and Royal were working beside one another and engaged in what appeared to be amicable conversation. Although Rhett was unable to read their lips, Celia said something and the stern look on her face was replaced by a wry smile. Royal, a man of few words, a man who scowled more than he smiled, stopped what he was doing. Rhett noted his father’s jerky shoulder movements, only to realize they were moving like that because he was laughing. His father’s head fell backwards and deep laughter filled the air, its sound faint through the glass of Rhett’s window.

Once Royal was finally able to regain his composure, he stood up and wiped the dirt clinging to his weathered jeans. He towered over his wife, saying something that made her shake her head and grin simultaneously, before Celia pulled herself off the ground. They shared a kiss and walked in the opposite direction from the house, their hands intertwined.

While his parents had their fair share of problems, their steadfast commitment to their marriage and supporting one another was a constant in Rhett’s life. He certainly had his own ideas of what he would do differently in his own marriage, if marriage was even in his future, but he admired Celia’s and Royal’s devotion to one another.

Rhett cast his eyes downward, that familiar ache he preferred to suppress stirring once again in the center of his chest. He placed his hand there, kneading the area, but the discomfort prevailed. He was classified as many things by the residents of Wabang, Wyoming: a cad, player, ladies’ man, manwhore, etc. It’s not as if those terms weren’t fitting. Rhett got around and he didn’t harbor any shame about his abilities to attract and charm women. He wasn’t embarrassed that those in town gossiped about his one-night stands, whispered about rumors they’d been told, and sometimes embellished when regaling others with his latest salacious escapades. No, he held his head with pride and appeared to be nonchalant because he truly wasn’t bothered by these things. He was bothered by one thing, though, and it was that the individuals in town believed flings and lust-filled evenings were enough for him. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

He desired a partner as much as anyone else. Someone to come home to at the end of the day, someone in whom he could confide. Someone to tell his fears and dreams to without judgment. Someone to make him laugh when the weight of his burdens became heavy. Someone who would love him just as he is.

Years ago, he thought he had found someone who could fulfill this role. Maria Olivares expressed an interest in him and he felt pulled towards her, too. Like him, she envisioned more for herself that extended beyond the confines of Wabang, and he mused that they might be able to do more together someday. Their conversations sowed seeds of hope and gave Rhett something to look forward to in the midst of challenges and daily drudgery. They also made his physical relationship with Maria more meaningful because it was the first time that sex wasn’t just a mechanism for releasing tension; it was a way to convey his intense love.

Their relationship continued when she began college, but as time progressed, their dynamic shifted. Maria was outgrowing Rhett and although she didn’t explicitly tell him this herself, he knew it anyway.

Eventually, their relationship devolved into an on again/off again one that reopened the former void in his life. For a while, Rhett settled for having part of her as opposed to none of her, but this arrangement grew stale in time, and he could no longer accept it. He planned to confront her about it when she returned after her first semester of graduate school because he wasn’t counting on Maria having news of her own: she met someone and it was rapidly becoming serious. Maria’s revelation tore his insides apart, but he had too much pride to display his true emotions. Instead, he swallowed the words he practiced in front of his mirror numerous times, mustered what he hoped resembled a genuine smile, and uttered the words, “I’m happy for you.”

Maria was the last and only woman that made him believe he was close to finally having a lifelong partner. Ever since the demise of their relationship, he sought women who would provide instant gratification, who would use him as they pleased and allow him to do the same. It certainly passed the time and temporarily filled his hollow heart, but as soon as dawn arrived and their indentations disappeared from his bed, that emptiness gnawed at him once again.

Rhett wondered whether he was doomed; perhaps his fate was to be alone. He didn’t want to accept that fate, though, so he turned to a higher power. Although he wouldn’t classify himself as religious, he occasionally offered up prayers when things in his life seemed dire and were causing him deep distress. He felt the lack of love in his life justified praying, so that’s what he did, but his desire had yet to be granted. He determined it must be punishment. After all, he wasn’t virtuous by any means, but there were times when he tried to be a good person, like doing additional chores on the ranch, even when the darkness of the night engulfed him, running errands for Celia, and putting some money in the collection box at the local church. But that must not have been enough.

He finally turned away from his bedroom window and laid down on his bed. He peered up at the ceiling, visions of someone made just for him flashing in his mind, but his eyes grew heavy and could no longer remain open. As he drifted off to sleep, he continued imagining a life with the promise of love, one in which a woman wouldn’t abandon him in the morning, but would stay forever.

@lewmagoo @luminousnotmatter @floydsmuse @rhettabbotts @sunblchdfly @sebsxphia

[shmowder]

In P1, it always felt like Artemy glossed over his father's death, like he didn't give much of a reaction nor act like someone would in a state of grief. You get more lines to address it in P2, more opportunities to reminisce about the past and Artemy's childhood. It feels like you go through the stages of grief with him. You watch him miss the dad he had whilst accepting his death. He kneels at the pit of mass graves with the thread in his pocket, witnessing the dead speak and his only question was if his dad can hear him one last time. A stark contrast to how cold-hearted he seemed to onlookers in P1.

It made me question if he even cared that his father had died, if it even mattered to Artemy. Sure he always has shown concern to who killed his father and diligence to fullfill his role as menkhu, but nothing beyond that. Nothing personal, as if he was using revenge as a distraction from facing his emotions.

Sometimes, in P1, you get lines like these.

And it's sudden, abrupt, and completely takes you off guard from how out of tone it feels. How just the mention of his father has him suddenly getting agitated, ignoring the facts. Each time any character mentions Isidor and talks about him freely, Artemy gets the option to tell them to shut up and that they don't know what they're talking about, that they can't possibly understand. It can lock you out of quests.

In one conversation, you get that option 3 times in a row, and you have to avoid choosing it each time so you don't end the quest. Artemy actively has to stop himself from snapping at people left and right so he doesn't throw away all of the progress he has made.

A literal explosion of emotions after days of silence and going as business usual, pretending that nothing is out of the ordinary.

Mind you, that dialogue line above happens in the same conversation as this one below. So by that point, Artemy snapped at someone he considered a friend.

Artemy is grieving, Artemy is distraught, and he doesn't know how to deal with these emotions in P1. So he supresses them, doesn't acknowledge the lines Isidor writes about wishing his son was by his side in his dairy, doesn't accept any condolences nor pity.

He puts a facade of composure since he stepped foot off of that train, a mask of apathy so he doesn't appear weak to anyone in this town. He can't be Artemy the son, he needs to be Burakh the wise menkhu, the warden of kin, the healer his father diligently raised him to be.

He has no time to think about it, he needs to invent a cure, he needs to protect the children, he...needs his dad but that dad is gone.

In P2, he hasn't seen his father in 5 years, but in P1? 10. A decade came and went. How lonely it must have felt, how long the ride on the train back home must have been. How suffocating that anxiety of facing your family after a decade without contact, wondering if his farher would be proud of who he has become. That feeling that you're in trouble when a parent addresses you by your full name and urges you to come see them, it's like he was 10 years again. How could he have known that in the same night he'll come back home to being the last remaining Burakh in town.

[painted-flag]

OF FLOWERS AND DEATH - aemond targaryen

Chapter 1: The Laws of Humans and Elves

☾���⁺₊✧ dark elf!Aemond Targaryen x f!human!reader series. ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series masterlist. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ word count: 2.9k ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series warnings: 18+ depictions of violence/gore, eventual smut, warfare, sickness/disease, some moments of misogyny, and mentions of alcohol consumption. ☾⋆⁺₊✧notes: a short part to introduce the world and get started. I am super excited to start rolling out the chapters I have been working on. ✧₊⁺⋆☾ on a sun-blessed day, you happen upon a new companion.

The darkness came from the rot of the world. At the very least, that is the superstition. It followed centuries after the wrecking chaos that threatened to crack the very stone of the world and cast all those living down to hell. The earth had been fighting for millennia, with elves and humans slaughtering one another; the Great War. Their reason for fighting had been lost to time. It had not mattered anymore, for the malice held between them was enough to bear rot in the roots of their history. Such chaos and death must anger the gods, for violence was their language - to exact on the land of the living, not for the living to exact upon one another. 

A stalemate happened after each side bore the cost of life beyond that which should be possible. Peace, however fickle, was forged and laid in a treaty between the humans and elves. It was unstable, but so long as it was upheld, the world could know peace. Children could know their parents, families could stick together, cities could rebuild, and meaningless fighting could be put to rest. Meadows and tracts of land grew back and birds chirped once again. The fields, once littered with the corpses of slain kin, bloomed with flowers once again.

It took six centuries before that peace was destroyed. The taint came from an unknown source. Some claim humans started it, others say it was the elves; each wishing to push prejudice against the other. Many say it is the wrath of whichever god or gods they follow. A curse put upon the earth to punish them for their bloodshed. It could be a twisted act to kill them and purify the world, or perhaps bring hell from below and judge them before their deaths. 

The opinions of gods did not matter to you. What mattered - truly - was fighting back against the twisted black darkness that crawled across the land, wilting plants and killing all known life. It tainted water and invaded lands, crawling through the world map like unkempt ivy. You were determined that there was a resolution. This was not some wrath from the gods, but simply a fight against the same darkness humans and elves inflicted against one another. A manifestation of sin. 

That was how you found yourself, each day, kept in your lodgings in an old town by the borders between the human kingdom and the domain of elves. It was a proper place to be, for the taint spread by a half-day ride away, easily accessible for experiments. It was also favourable, for you could not live in your old home deep in the kingdom. You grew up being raised by your father there, had forged the purest of memories. Yet they died with his disappearance. 

Five years he had been gone and since then you had diligently taken over his work after moving. It was a peaceful life, albeit frustrating. With each passing day insecurity seized your body. Your research had been inadequate and experiments even more so. The darkness spread, and fields of flowers, forests of trees, and lakes of plenty suffered further. The landscape around had died where it was touched. You had been failing and no progress had been made. 

It was in the darkest hours of the night you found yourself staring at the roof of your cottage, contemplating the meaning of your existence. Surely, if you were as brilliant as your father, a cure would have been found. The effort you put into it, the pain and tirelessness, could not be for naught. 

In the small hamlet you were in, the land still bore beauty. It was in that sight where you held your inspiration. Those creeping moments of doubt would clash against your hope like saltwater on rock; wearing the stone down through time. The world was worth saving and you would be damned if you sat back and watched it collapse. 

So, like most days, you find yourself working. It was late noon as you approached the edge of the sprawling meadow outside the village. You were on the border of the kingdom between humans and elves, and it was here where you could find a good growing of nettles. It was outside the thick canopy of forest that you found growing on the edge of the meadow close to your home. You had just approached when the sound of faint crying made its way to you. 

The sobs were of a girl and you looked back and forth to see if you could spot the person. It was gentle weeping that spurred you to move. You began to trail along the edge of the forest in search of the source. Your gaze swept over the dark branches of trees, unease settling in your bones.

After a few moments of walking, you looked into the trees to see a woman with her back to you. She was on the ground in a dirtied light green dress. Her hair cascaded down her back, light and silvery, with some of it in a braid crown across her head. Her shoulders shook and from what you could see, she cradled her left forearm in distress. 

You knew it was forbidden, for a human to cross into elvish territory uninvited, but you could not walk away after seeing someone hurt. You looked around for anyone else and saw nothing. A breath caught in your throat as you stepped into the tree line, foot crunching on the branches below. You waited for a moment for the worst to happen; some archer waiting to shoot you or a bunch of guards to descend upon you, but you saw nothing. 

Deeming it safe, you moved forward to the woman. 

“Hello? Are you alright?” You kept your voice at a low volume so as not to startle her. However, your abrupt words shocked her and she turned to you. Tear tracks ran down her reddened cheeks. You were thrown slightly off guard at her appearance. You had heard of the elvish characteristic of perfect beauty, but you had not been witness to it until that very moment. 

Her crystal blue eyes reflected the greenery around her. You could see some blood on her forearm that seeped from the gaps in her hand that cradled the wound. 

“I got lost…” Her voice trailed off for a minute. “And I tripped.” She looked down at her wound and removed her hand. On the top part of her forearm was a sizable cut. The surrounding area had gotten dirty and you knew it had to be cleaned soon. Being a healer, your instincts kicked in. 

You knelt down, but kept your distance to not invade her space, “I can take care of that cut. It needs to be cleaned.” 

She seemed to look at you in a clearer light after wiping away her tears. Her good arm rose to point at your ears, silently acknowledging that they were not shaped in the familiar point of an elf. You reached up and covered them subconsciously with a feeling of inadequacy. 

“Look, I'm a healer in my village. All of my supplies are at home. Would you… would you come with me?” You knew it was a shot-in-the-dark question, but your more nurturing trait took over at seeing someone hurt. You wanted to help her by any means that you could. The shattered relationship between your respective kinds meant nothing to you, for old grudges were nothing but pointless. This was a being that needed help, which you were capable of giving. 

“I don't want to be a burden…” Her voice was light and spacey. She seemed to have an air of lightness to her. An uncommon trait of pure brightness came from her, mixed with the calming feeling of a babbling brook. Her presence mimicked the gentle nature of the environment around her. 

“You aren’t. I promise.” You slowly got up from your crouching position. Your hands were held up to show no ill will. She looked at you for a moment, judging the situation. You could tell otherworldly works were happening in her mind - a keen elf sense of analyzing your character. 

She sniffled, “I’m Helaena.” Her grip tightened on the wound, no doubt experiencing more pain as her adrenaline wore off. 

You offer a friendly smile and introduce yourself. You adjusted the skirt of your dress and nodded towards the direction of the meadow. The rustling of the dark trees had begun to make you wary and uncomfortable. Tales of these woods, and the elves that lurk within are not always kind. You briefly remembered moments around campfires, men trading stories of old. Most of them were lost on you to time, but the stories of the elf king stuck; his sadistic tendencies and inability to refrain from striking down any who so much as bothered him. You by no means wished to be on the receiving end of his wrath, lest you be caught. 

“My home is only a short walk from here.” Your words seem to spur Helaena and she rose to her feet carefully. She kept a few paces away from you when following behind. Once you walked past the edge of the trees and into the tall grass of the meadow, she stopped. Helaena's gaze swept back and forth as if looking for a trap. She took a hesitant step forward and it was like going through a threshold and becoming comfortable with her surroundings. 

Helaena matched your pace as the two of you trekked through the field. You wished to be discreet, for you did not want to know how people would react upon seeing an elf in their territory. You struggled to come up with any conversation starters as social skills were not among your talents. Especially when the woman beside you was an elf, likely leagues ahead in wisdom and experience through age. You felt inadequate next to her beauty. 

Thankfully, your cottage was nestled away from the rest of the town, over a hill that shielded it from curious gazes. It was a single-level home, with enough room for a decent-sized bedroom, kitchen, and living space. The living space was taken over by your study materials. Books stacked with loose pieces of parchment with notes aplenty. Countless vials and tubes full of different substances were neatly organized across two wooden tables. Some of the tubes were over small lit fires, bubbling with substances you were experimenting with.

You gestured for her to sit on a sofa placed in front of the hearth. Her eyes darted to everything around her, especially on the countless plants that littered every inch of available space. Your home was a fusion of messy and organized. Everything had its place, but it was a collection of different items that gave an eclectic feeling. 

You grabbed some supplies for the wound and set them down on the low table by the couch. There was uncertainty that lingered in your mind. In the few minutes you had known Helaena, you could tell she had an aversion towards people; though you could not tell if that was because of your humanness or not. Regardless of the answer, you would respect her wishes.

“Can I sit there?” You pointed to the spot beside her and waited for an answer. She nodded silently and you slowly sat down. When you found yourself on the plush cushion, you looked towards her wound. “May I?” 

Helaena nodded again. She lifted her hand to reveal the wound. It was still bleeding but had slowed down by her putting pressure on it. You took a dish of water and a clean cloth. You rung it out and placed the damp material on the wound, gently wiping the blood away. While you diligently worked, you decided to see if you could break the ice more. Helaena appeared interested in the items around her.

“I’m working on a cure for the taint. That’s why this place is a bit of a mess, sorry for that.” You began, “I also keep insects, so I apologize if any happen to land upon you.” At the word insects, Helaena’s eyes lit up and she sat straighter. 

“What kind?” She asked. You noticed that this was the most relaxed she has been since meeting her. The wound was clean and you assessed that it was not nearly big enough for any stitching. You applied your own poultice to the wound and began to wrap it in a light linen cloth. 

“Whatever I tend to find, really. Butterflies, crickets, beetles, spiders, and dragonflies are the ones that I see the most.” You answered while securing the cloth. You backed up on the couch afterwards, giving her more space. She breathed more at that and you were glad your actions could ease her. 

You got out of the seat and walked towards one of the desks. You grabbed a decent-sized wooden cage. It had two newborn dragonflies that you cultivated recently. You brought it back to where Helanea sat and handed it over to her. A small smile made its way onto her face as she peered in at the little creatures. 

It was an impulse decision, but you made it anyway. 

“You can keep them.” At your words, Helaena looked up at you. She had a hopeful look in her eyes. Her eyes darted between you and the creatures. You nodded in assurance, reinforcing your decision. 

“Think of it as a gift of friendship.” You spoke. Your newfound companion seemed to light up further and you found great pleasure in making her happy. It had been so long since you had spent quality time with anyone. 

“Friends?” Helaena questioned you. She sat the cage on her lap and gave you her full attention. You suddenly got nervous, thinking that perhaps you overstepped. 

“We don’t have to be,” You stuttered out, “It can just be a sign of goodwill.” You wanted to clarify your meaning. You felt awkward having shoved that status upon Helaena and you were anticipating her swift leave of your company. It would not be a surprise, as most often people tended to sway away from you after speaking. You could hardly last a conversation with someone. 

“I would like to be friends,” Helaena told you. Your heart swelled with happiness. She would be the first friend you had in a long while. You knew this would be the only time you would see her, for interactions between humans and elves were limited to the occasional diplomat from each kingdom going to high courts. The rest - common folk - were forbidden from entering one another’s territory. It was a rule drawn to prevent fighting between groups and entering another war that would no doubt kill more than the last, especially with the growing acres of taint spreading indiscriminately and destroying everything in its wake. 

Helaena held the dragonfly cage in her hands and stood up from her seat. She swayed slightly, eyes darting back and forth. 

“I have to go home. My family… they will be looking for me.” You nodded at her words and got out of your seat as well. It was disheartening, for her to leave so soon, but you did not wish to bother her anymore. You moved to the door and opened it. 

“I’ll walk you back.” The two of you walked outside into the warm sunny weather. The sounds of crickets and the breeze through tall grass calmed you. The walk towards the forest was short, and you wanted it to be longer. 

Helaena seemed to look back down at the cage every once in a while and smiled to herself. She cradled it like it was the most precious thing. Parts of her green dress had gotten dirty on the bottom, but the craft of the elves stunned you with their intricate work. 

When you two got to the forest edge, she turned around to face you. 

“Why did you help me?” Helaena’s question caught you off guard. There was no real answer. You had simply saw someone in distress and wished to help them. There was no reason other than the simple will to aid when you could. 

“I just wanted to help. It's what I am good at.” You reassured. It was the whole truth. All your life, you had fumbled at many things; been unsure and made mistakes. However, healing was something you excelled at. It was disheartening that you were yet to find a cure for the taint that spread, but you knew deep down that there was a solution and you had to try. 

“I hope your research goes well.” Helaena addressed. Your heart warmed at her kindness. 

“Thank you. I hope you get better soon.” 

Your meeting and subsequent bond forged was not a common one. Humans and elves having interactions were few, even fewer when they found commonality with one another. You had no doubt, that with more exposure to one another, the kinds could get along. There were great differences in culture, but the truth still came. Your races were living and breathing, inhabited the same world, and forged deep bonds and care for others. That alone was enough, at least to you. 

It was there, standing on each side of the invisible territorial line of the kingdoms, that a human and an elf built a connection of friendship; careless to whether or not it lasted, for the future was uncertain.

Chapter 2: A Modest Proposition Preview

He rose from the throne and manoeuvred down the steps to stand a metre in front of you, each step echoed through the hall. His lone gaze fell ladden on your cheek, heavy and hot with inner ire. Your voice got stuck in your throat and you glanced towards Helaena to ask for any form of help. Aemond held his head high while his stare looked you up and down and released a low hum. In his inspection, you felt as if he could see every action you had ever made, every sin, and went about judging as he saw fit. 

As a judge, jury, and executioner.

Would you all be interested in previews at the end of each chapter?

Thank you for all of the support!

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[trippinsorrows]

with me + part nine

authors note: ya'll had me rolling in the comments on the last update. calling this man big dick joe. lololol. i hope this one is okay. i'm not very good at writing those scenes, but i tried!! angst is def more my bread and butter.

song inspo: "with me" by destiny's child

status: in progress // masterlist

warnings: language, suggestive themes, smut

words: 8k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wanderingreigns

“You look so damn good. If you don’t get ate out tonight, come back home early, and I’ll do the honors.”

It’s a miracle that you’re able to keep a straight face as Alexis does the finishing touches on your makeup. “Well, that’s not gonna happen, period, because this is just a date.”

Alexis pauses and gives you a look. “I know you’ve been out of the game for a while, but you do know what typically happens on dates, right?”

Rolling your eyes, you retort, “Lex, not everyone fucks on the first date.”

She sucks her teeth and swaps out the eyeliner for mascara. “Bitch, this is not a first date. He’s painted your walls too many times for you to say anything between ya’ll is a first.” 

As much as you hate it, she has somewhat of a point. You and Joe have checked so many boxes already that it does seem kinda silly to call this a first date. But, in many ways, it is. He’s never before asked you to go anywhere outside of the couple of times he invited you to his show, since you were already in town because he'd flown you out. 

But never anything beyond that. 

So, in that way, it is a first date.

And maybe that’s why you’re nervous. It’s a first too. Not a lot of things make you nervous. Even when you cheered, there was some level of anxiety before competitions, but even that was minimal compared to some of the panicked expressions you’d see on your teammates faces. When it comes to Callie, there are definitely a lot of things that make you nervous, but that’s just regular parental anxiety. 

So this butterflies shit is unfamiliar and annoying. 

It’s also just Joe. You know him, you know him better than almost anyone else in your life outside of Mariah and Callie. 

Thinking of Mariah, you grab your phone and hit the side button to see if you have any notifications. Instead, you’re just met with Callie’s smiling face.

Alexis sees this and comments casually, “still nothing?”

You don’t respond, because it’s not necessary. She already knows the answer. 

“Well, whatever she’s got going on, let her deal with it the way she wants,” Alexis advises, grabbing the powder brush to brush off some excessive powder on your cheeks. “You’ve got too many good things going on in your life for you to be stressed out over her fake ass.” 

She’s not entirely wrong. There’s definitely not a shortage of topics you still need to sort through, many of which should take precedent over you wondering what the hell is going on with your best friend since kindergarten. Still, it’s hard for you not to worry about her and feel confused about what’s shifted between the two of you.

You haven’t heard from her since you text her when Callie was in the hospital, and she replied back that she was praying for you and Callie and asked if you wanted her to come to the hospital. You thanked her but let her know that Joe was with you, so you were okay.

You haven’t heard from her since then. 

It’s not that difficult to put two and two together. There’s something about Joe that makes Mariah stay away and keep her distance. You just can’t figure out why.

“Okay, enough of your overthinking. Time to see my masterpiece.” She gloats and claps her hand, removing the towel she’d put around your chest area to prevent anything from spilling on your outfit. Alexis sighs, “you seriously look amazing, Y/N.”

Standing and stretching your back, you walk over to the full body mirror against the opposite wall of your bedroom. “Oh….”

The last time you actually dressed up was at the town’s annual Christmas party two years back. You’d always gone growing up and wanted Callie to experience it for herself, even though Callie ended up utterly disinterested, hence that being your last appearance. It was hard to justify dragging her to something she was too young to enjoy and even understand. 

So, seeing yourself done up like this is a shock. Alexis absolutely slayed your makeup, perfect wingliner and all. The white, ruched, off shoulder dress is form-fitting, hugging every curve you’ve had since a teenager that's only improved since having Callie. It’s a beautiful contrast against your melanin. You’ve always thought white on black women looked so classy. 

Your curls are styled and pinned into an almost pineapple atop your head. The jewelry is simple and basic: necklace and hoops. No bracelet considering the dress is long-sleeved.

All of this creates the absolutely stunning reflection staring back at you. It brings a smile to your face. You’d forgotten how nice it feels to actually get done up.

Alexis appears in the mirror and rests her chin on your shoulder, smiling broadly. “Told you. Boss bitch.”

Matching her smile, you turn to hug her. You really couldn’t have done this without her, even her offering to take Callie for the night as it was a nighttime date, and you doubted you’d be home before bedtime. “Thank you.” 

“You’re my best friend. You never have to thank me.” She wiggles her brow. “Just give me a rundown of the pounding that’s bound to commence tonight. A video will do as well.”

Your mouth drops open. “Alexis, you—”

“Mommy! I need you.”

You’ve never in your life felt so grateful to be needed by anyone. Maneuvering through the avalanche of clothes that make up most of your bedroom right now, the result of the two of you trying to figure out what the hell you were going to wear, you’re more than happy to saunter over to Callie’s playroom to see what she needs.

“What’s up, sis?”

You see she’s sitting at her little table, surrounded by crayons, markers, colored paper, and other art supplies. Her eyes fall on you with glee as she gasps loudly.

“Mommy, you look so pretty!”

There’s something about a heartfelt compliment from your child that provides such a level of joy.  

“Thank you, baby.” Moving closer to the table, you sit down on the chair opposite her, ignoring how goddamn uncomfortable it is. “What you got for me?”

She shuffles through a couple of pages and lifts one to show you. “Do you think Joe will like this?”

Your eyes study the colorful drawing she’s created against bright yellow—her favorite color—construction paper. It’s the average sun in the corner, green grass, and blue clouds drawing one would expect from a young child, but that’s not what immediately catches your attention. What draws your attention is the fact that there are two people she’s drawn, a heart between the two of them. 

Her and Joe.

Eyes watering, you do your best not to cry. You’re pretty sure everything on your face is waterproof, but you’re not trying to find out right now. Not when Joe should be arriving at your place any minute. “He’s gonna love it, Callie.”

Her face lights up with excitement at your approval. “Yay!” Taking it from you and tucking it underneath some other papers, she offers you another one. “I made this one too!”

You definitely can’t hold back the tears this time around. It’s the same backdrop, outside scenery but with a big house drawn behind the three of you: Callie, Joe, and yourself. With a heart over everyone’s head.

“Callie…..”

Callie, being young, sees your tears and automatically mistakens them for something else. Smile dropping and frown appearing, she moves up from the table and comes to hug you. “Don’t cry, mommy. I can make a new one!”

Wiping at your eyes, you shake your head, accepting her hug. “No, baby. Mommy’s crying because she’s happy, because she loves it.”

Instantly, her smile is back. “Really?”

“It’s beautiful. Is this one for your d—Joe too?”

Christmas can’t come soon enough, because this is at least the third time you’ve almost unintentionally given away Joe’s true identity. And that’s something you swore to him and yourself you’d allow him to reveal to Callie. It’s so hard though when moments like this occur, moments where you just want her to know the man she already loves is the same man who helped bring her into this world. 

She surprises you by shaking her head no. “I wanna put it in my room.” 

Sniffling, you nod, agreeing. “I think that’s a great idea.” 

Callie takes your hand and brings you into her room, the two of you taking a few minutes to decide where her photo should go. Eventually, she decides on right above her bed and you post it up using a thumbtack. 

Alexis walks into the bedroom to see what’s happening and gasps when she sees Callie’s drawing. “Callie, did you draw that? Sweetie, it’s so amazing!”

The compliment makes Callie smile harder as she says, “thank you!”

“We’re gonna have so much fun tonight, kiddo.”

Her eyes light up, premature excitement brewing. “Can we watch Disney movies?”

“Not only can we watch Disney movies, but we can dance and sing with Disney movies.”

Oh Lord. You have a feeling Callie won’t be in bed by 7:30pm, but it’s not worth pushing back on. You’re just grateful she’s agreed to stay around in town long enough for your date to stay with Callie. You know you could always ask your mom, but she’s already helped out so much in the past couple weeks, you figured she could use a break. 

“Yay!” 

You and Alexis work to clean up the disaster that is your room as Callie busies herself in her playroom. Nearly finished, Alexis suddenly shares, “oh, I got something for you!”

Closing up your drawer, you place your hands on your hips. “Lex, you’ve already done so much for—-” you’re silenced by the box she’s suddenly reaching your way. “---me.” A headache is coming, migraine even. “Alexis, seriously?”

“What? It’s obvious ya’ll don’t use condoms.” Moving over to the side of your bed, she slides open the drawer of your nightstand and secures the box of Plan B.

“How many times do I have to say—”

Your 937589th time defending yourself that day is interrupted by the doorbell followed by Callie excitedly yelling “Joe!”

“I’ll get it,” Alexis offers, rushing over to you to give some quick, last minute advice. “You got this okay? It’s Joe. You know him like you know the back of your hand. You’re just hanging out with a muscular, 6’3 wrestler who also happens to be your baby daddy. No pressure.”

“Lex, sometimes you really do suck.”

“No, that’s going to be you tonight.” She laughs, ducking as you toss a decorative pillow in her direction. 

Blowing through your mouth, you attempt a mini pep talk, digging deep for the shitload you had and utilized as cheer captain what feels like so long ago.

“It’s just a date. Just a date.”

That’s the mantra, the ideal that you have to live by, have to pocket and keep with you at all times. 

Just a date. 

Grabbing your purse off the dresser, you slide on your heels and head out to the living room. What you’re met with is both expected and unexpected. Joe is holding Callie who’s clearly catching him up on everything he’s missed since he was last in town, minute by minute play, of course. But, Alexis is in the kitchen surrounded by three separate bouquets of flowers, one of red roses, one yellow, and one pink. 

Joe’s gaze is on you as soon as you enter the space, but your attention is focused on the breathtaking roses. 

“Have I told you he’s my top choice for you?” Alexis asks, explaining and pointing. “The pinks are for me, yellows are for Cal Gal, and the reds are, obviously for you.” A warm smile grows on your face. He’s so damn thoughtful. 

Walking over to him, you cross your arms. “Red roses are my favorites.”

“I remember.” Of course he does. He sweeps his eyes over you, slowly, meticulously. “You look beautiful.”

Bashful would never ever be a word you’d use to describe yourself, but it’s definitely how you feel in this moment. “Thank you.”

He looks good too, but that’s not surprising. Joe always looks good, even in his otherwise basic outfit of dark jeans, long sleeved black fitted shirt, and simple gold chain around his neck. The man could wear an orange jumpsuit, and you’d still want to fuck him silly. 

“Okay, Cal Gal, we better let them get going, so you and I can head out too.”

Alexis' words catch Joe’s attention, as he asks, protectively, “where are you taking her?”

Callie answers, “Auntie Lex and I are gonna have a sleepover at the hotel!”

Joe looks at you, quizzically. “I told her they can just stay here.”

“Just in case,” she winks at Joe and reminds you, quietly. “Nightstand, babes.”

Heading out is as expected. Callie asks once again if she can come with you guys, and Joe promises that the three of you will do something together at a later time. You remind Alexis to not allow Callie to pig out on junk food and go to bed on time, or at least, a decent time. 

Not that it means much. You know she’s gonna do what she wants, because that’s who Alexis is. 

That doesn’t bother you as much as Joe not telling you shit about this date other than that you probably won’t get back until late. Which isn’t much of anything. 

“What about a—”

He glances at you only for a second, then focuses back on the road. “The answer gon’ be the same as it was the last ten times you asked.”

Glaring at him, you cross your arms. “You know I hate surprises.”

“I’m aware.”

“But, you’re surprising me anyway?”

“Sure am.” Sucking your teeth and looking out the window, you cross your arms, turning your body away from him. “Watch the attitude, sweetheart, or I’ll fix it for you at the end of the night.”

His words shouldn’t make your thighs clench together.

“Whatever.” Pulling out your phone, you start to connect it to the car’s bluetooth. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not gonna sit here in silence, but I have nothing to say to you, so we need some music.” You’re certain he’s rolling his eyes but doesn’t say anything. Hardheaded ass. He definitely does speak up though when the iconic opening guitar from Smells Like Teen Spirit fills the SUV. 

“Oh my god.”

“I don’t want to hear it. You leave me and my musical tastes alone.”

It seems like a rite of passage for every preteen or teenager to have some type of emo phase where they blast and rock out to Paramore like it’s a religious experience. Emphasis on phase. You never really grew out of yours. A love for rock music was something that stemmed from your love of paramore and morphed to the overall genre in general over the years. It was also something you and Alexis had in common, attending Warped your junior year of college. Joe always roasted you for this, because it was so unexpected.

You just liked your Breaking Benjamin just as much as you liked your Megan Thee Stallion.

“You know Callie likes it too,” you inform. One of your personal goals in life is to pass on your eclectic taste in music to your mini me. The appropriate music, of course. You never listen to anything provocative around her, even the clean versions. 

“You got her listening to this shit, too?”

Challenging him, you counter. “Would you rather her listen to Pound Town?” He shakes his head, running his hand over his beard. “That’s what I thought.”

Joe doesn’t ask you anything else, just lets you rock out to your music to help you avoid asking him the same damn question over and over again. But, you definitely do have questions that you’re absolutely asking when you see where he’s taken you. “Why the hell are we at the airport?” The bastard doesn’t say anything, and you start to repeat your question when he pulls around and you see it. 

“Joe, is that a fucking jet? You have a jet? We’re getting on a jet?” The questions keep rolling out as you find yourself unable to rip your eyes away from it. You’ve been on a plane before, but never a private jet. 

“No, we’re going to stare at it.” 

Your mind is a million and one places. Just what does this man have planned?

Jumping, you realize he’s not only parked, exited the vehicle, but is standing at your side of the car, door open. “Come on.” 

Angrily unbuckling your seatbelt, you jump out the car and continue to press him for answers. 

“Don’t get smart with me when I’m panicking. An actual jet? Where the hell are you taking us? Siberia?” He doesn’t say anything, just moves closer to you and places a hand behind your neck. 

“Do you trust me?”

You’re not sure if you’ve ever actually asked yourself that question, but interestingly enough, the answer is a no-brainer. 

“Of course.”

“Then shut up and come on.”

________

“We could have just gone to a local restaurant.”

Joe finally caved a bit and informed you that he was taking you to a restaurant out of town but within the same state. That was it. But, it was something, and it made you feel a little bit better about sitting here with him on a jet without a clue as to what’s going on.

“Why? So our waiter can be your ex-fiance?” You roll your eyes and decide against telling him the best restaurant in town is owned by your high school coach’s brother. “I’m tired of sharing you.” His strong arms are around you as he nuzzles his face into your neck. Because of course you’re sitting on his lap, the only “seat” he allowed you to use. “Want you to myself….”

Hands on his forearms, your eyes shut as you try to allow yourself to enjoy this. To enjoy him. He’s obviously gone to great lengths to make tonight special for the both of you, so the least you can do is be appreciative and try to enjoy the ride. A small smile on your lip, you taunt, “Callie might have something else to say about that.”

Just the mention of his daughter brings a smile to Joe’s face and yours too. Seeing how much he loves her gives you such peace and satisfaction. “What does she want for Christmas, by the way?”

Scoffing, you answer, smartly, “well, considering you’ve already bought her half of Toys-r-Us inventory, I’m not sure if there’s anything left for her to want.”

He’s unconvinced. “There has to be something. What did you get her?”

“Just random stuff, dolls, more art supplies.” To be honest, you’ve been so busy with everything else that much of your Christmas shopping still hasn’t happened. A rarity since you’re usually meticulous with these things, needing to know what paycheck they’re going to come out of, really. “I mean, the big thing is obviously Disney. That’s on every list: Christmas, birthday, Easter, Chinese new year.”

“Disney world?” He clarifies.

Nodding, you explain, “yup, but of course, because she’s our kid and too smart for her own good, she learned about the different parts like animal kingdom, epcot, and now she wants to see them all.” You’ll never forget the day she came running into your room, jumping on your bed, screaming, “there’s more, mommy! Lots more!”

“I’ve tried to explain I have to save for that, especially since I would want to take my mom with me, but she’s so young, she doesn’t understand it's either Disney, or we have a place to live.” Truth be told, you’ve always wanted to go to Disney too. So did your grandma. And the plan was to go for your high school graduation. Obviously….that never happened.

Your grandma passed away before you all had the chance. 

“I’ll take her. I’ll take all of you.” 

Sitting up, your brows furrow as you clarify, “shit, no. Joe, I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to ask you—”

“I know you weren’t. You’re too stubborn for that.” He’s not wrong, his finger moving up and down your side as he continues. “She wants to go. I’m sure you do too and your mom. I can make it happen, so let me make it happen.”

You hear what he’s saying, you really do, but considering you’ve sat down and cranked out the numbers for what this would cost, just for one person, it makes you almost nauseous to think how much he’d have to fork up.

Joe’s exceptionally well at reading you, speaking again. “I’m gonna say something, and I know you’re gonna push back, because like I said,  you’re stubborn as hell, but I’m gonna say it anyway because that don’t change shit.”

You eye him, skeptically. “I’m already annoyed,”

“Money is something you never have to worry about, especially if it’s for Callie.” You open your mouth to protest, but he lifts his hand to silence you. “I’ve got you, and I’ve got her. Whether you want me to or not.”

It’s such a strange shift, traveling from this mindset where you are the sole financial provider for your child to having a partner who has more money than he knows what to do with and doesn’t mind spending it to make your child happy. To make you happy. 

“Let me do something for my daughter.”

He’s got you there, even if he’s done so much already. You’ve already denied him so much more. Why add to the list? “Okay.” There’s no support for an argument. Who are you to try to get in the way of a father fulfilling his daughter’s lifelong dream? Sure, you could probably make it happen eventually, but time waits for no one. And you can’t really fault Joe. He just wants to do something nice for her daughter. “But….but not Christmas. Her birthday, maybe?”

This seems to work for him as well as he nods in agreement, probably thinking of the benefit to having more time to arrange being away from work.

Joe does an excellent job distracting you for the rest of the ride, which ends up being relatively short, definitely not as long as you expected. Granted, nothing so far has been what you expected, especially when a driver picks you up from the airport and transports you to this top secret location.

Hand in his, Joe leads you inside the building that’s revealed to be a restaurant of some sort. Gracefully decorated and almost entirely empty. 

Touched, you ask in a soft voice, “you rented out a restaurant for us?” 

He glides his thumb over your knuckles and brings your hand to his mouth, kissing it gently. “Not exactly.” 

“Joe, is that you?” 

A voice calls out, and he answers back with a yes.

Confused, you watch an older black woman with salt and pepper hair emerge from the back of the restaurant, wearing one of the friendliest smiles you’ve ever seen. You study her, wondering why she looks so familiar. 

“There you are,” she greets, clapping her hands on her apron. “I was wondering when you’d get here.”

“Sorry, we’re late,” he apologies and releases your hand to bend down and hug this woman. Separating, he looks at you, introducing, “Joyce, this is Y/N.” Taking your hand again, he explains, “baby, this is—”

“Joyce Green,” you finish for him. “Oh my goodness, my mom and I watch your show.” 

Joyce and Dennis Green.

Known as the culinary king and queen throughout your state. They have a chain of restaurants that stretch over the south, a successful cookware line, and television show that’s been atop the charts for years. Arguably, the most successful, African-American couple in this part of the culinary world. 

Suddenly a bit starstruck, you offer your hand. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

She looks at you and waves off your offer. “Baby, I’m a hugger.” Laughing, you accept her warm hug as she pulls back and assesses you. “You just a pretty little thing, ain’t you?” She compliments, and you’ve never felt so validated in your life. There’s just something about compliments from older black women that heal the soul. Her eyes shift to Joe. “And you….my Lord, he took his time with this one.”

Biting your lip, you agree, “sure did.” 

Joe chuckles and says, “thank you for agreeing to this again.” 

“Of course. My grandbaby still talks about your make-a-wish visit. It’s our honor to have you here.” You say nothing but realize this is how he knows them, how he arranged for whatever this is. She claps her hands together and asks, “now what would you say is your level of experience with cooking?”

It’s directed to both of you, but you answer first, “I can cook a little bit.”

Joe looks at you, brow raised before telling Joyce. “That’s not what her mom or our daughter says.”

“Ya’ll have a baby?” Her eyes light up. “Could I see a picture? If you don’t mind, that is.” Joe shakes his head and pulls out his phone, unlocking the screen which reveals not only a picture of Callie, but you as well, the two of you smiling together. 

She gasps. “Oh, she’s beautiful.” She looks between the both of you. “Perfect combination, but she has your smile.”

“Thank you.” Anyone saying anything nice about your Callie always lands a genuine grin on your face. “It’s the dimples,” you add.

“Joyce, are you in there talking a hole in them people’s heads?” Another voice enters the room, and you see an older black man also wearing an apron around them. Dennis. This is Dennis.

Joyce sucks her teeth. “Oh hush, you old fool.” She beckons him over, and he shares a quick hug with Joe before her eyes rest on you. Joyce introduces, “this is his girlfriend. Ain’t she pretty?”

“Sure is,” Dennis agrees, shaking your hand. “Pleasure to meet you, young lady.”

Your focus is partially on the conversation at hand but also on how she introduced you. 

Girlfriend. 

You’ve never once considered yourself that to Joe, even in being with him for three years. It always felt wrong and invalid. Because of his wife.

But, she’s out of the picture now.

What reason is there for there not to be a label between the two of you?

Shaking your head, you try to return to the present. 

This is ending up being so much more than just a date.

________

“How long have ya’ll been together?” 

You’re in the midst of mincing garlic when Joyce asks her question. 

This wasn’t just a dinner date. It was a private cooking lesson with thee Joyce and Dennis Green. Not many things made you giddy, but this was definitely one of them. 

Thinking on her question, you realize it’s something you’ve never thought about and thus have no idea how to answer. Because just how does one quantify your relationship? Can you even count the three years you were actually together when he was legally married to someone else? 

Joe, conversely, has no difficulty answering.

“Almost eight years.”

Joyce glances at your left hand. “How much time you need to make up your mind, young man?”

“Oh, Joyce, leave them kids alone,” Dennis chides, carefully chopping up the onions. “Let em’ do what they want.��

“I’m just saying, you already have a child together,” she continues, asking, “What’s stopping you from taking the next step?”

“Uhhh, we, we’ve had some ups and downs,” you answer, hoping the change in tone will indicate this is a sensitive subject.

“I see, well….” You can tell she’s trying to carefully choose her words, and you’re grateful for that thoughtfulness and respect. “All things considered, you seem to have found your way back to one another, so that has to mean something.”

Her words resonate deeply. She’s right. Yes, obviously Callie will always bound you to Joe in some sort of capacity, but countless people co–parent without being together. However, that doesn't seem to be the case with the two of you, something tethers you together. 

And it’s not just the child you share together.

The four of you work together to prepare your meal with Joyce and Dennis having to be extra patient with you, because Joe of all trades over there excels without the need of much help. It’s annoying how he’s just naturally good at so many things. 

At one point, Joyce gently whispers to you, “some people just don’t got it, baby, and you don’t. That’s okay.”

Of course, Joe hears this, and you have to stop yourself from flipping him off. Instead, you settle for mouthing asshole.

The entire process takes about an hour, and when the meals are finished, you’re surprised to find that Joyce and Dennis move to a separate room to eat. It’s not something that entirely bothers you though. You enjoy your alone time with Joe. And it allows you the space to briefly FaceTime Callie in the middle of your meal to tell her goodnight, an absolute must. 

Not even just for you anymore, but Joe too. 

She has to see and speak to the both of you before she can fall asleep.

You can’t wait for her to find out the truth. 

Stealing off Joe’s plate, you quickly realize that while your food came out fine, his is delicious. It’s why you decide to seat yourself on his lap instead of your chair so you’re not constantly reaching over the table. 

“You done messed up your food, and now you wanna come after mine?” Ignoring him, you bring a forkful to your mouth, moaning instantly. 

Covering your mouth as you finish chewing, you exclaim, “it’s so good.”

He chuckles, hand on the small of your back. “I see I’m the one who’s gonna have to do the cooking for us.”

“Well, according to you and everyone else, I can’t cook, so—”

“You can’t, but that’s okay. I hoped this would help, but you may be beyond help—” He laughs as you shove on his chest.

“You’re such an ass….” Gaze softening, you bring your hand to his face, gripping his beard. “Thank you for this. It’s incredibly sweet.”

And you mean that. Joe didn’t have to do this, didn’t have to do any of it. But, this is just who he is, a kind, sweet, thoughtful man. It’s what makes him such an amazing father. 

An amazing partner.

He kisses your palm. “You’re welcome….”

Once the food is finished, you two spend the rest of the time just talking, laughing, enjoying each other. You could never get tired of being around this man. His energy is so warm and welcoming. You’re starting to relate more and more with Callie’s difficulty every time he leaves. This night is too short, but you wonder if you could ever have enough time to be with him.

As the night draws to a close, you two reunite with Joyce and Dennis to thank them for a wonderful evening. However, it’s the closing remarks that really sit with you. When Dennis pulls back from his hug, he whispers to you, “young lady, I’ve lived a long life, so trust me when I tell you this.” You watch him, listening intently. “A man doesn’t look at a woman the way Joe looks at you unless he’s in love.” 

Your breath catches in the back of your throat. That’s….definitely not what you expected him to say. And Joyce is no different. She holds onto you a little longer in the hug, and you’re grateful. She reminds you so much of your grandmother. 

“A little piece of advice from an old lady?” It’s almost impossible to prepare for whatever is about to leave her mouth, your mind still trying to sit on Dennis' words. “You don’t lose love by sending it away” A beat. “All you’re doing is making it grow stronger.” 

________

The rides home are more quiet than the journey there, and that’s because you’re trying to balance this heavy battle between your head and your heart. 

Your mind is all over the place. You’ve felt so conflicted since opening the door for Joe for the first time in almost five years. And you don’t regret it, far from it. Callie’s father is in her life. She has that relationship, that love with him. 

That’s all you wanted, all you expected. 

You didn’t expect for your feelings for him to resurface or his for you to be as strong as they clearly are. 

It’s such a suffocating, overwhelming experience. 

And at the same time, everything you’ve ever wanted. 

He is everything you’ve ever wanted. 

Walking into your apartment, Joe locks the door behind the two of you, always wanting to make sure you’re straight before he leaves. As he always does. 

He brings his hands to your face, concerned, asking, “what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

Your eyes close, hand to his chest. 

This is too hard, too painful, too difficult. 

You can’t do it anymore.

“Fuck it.”

In a matter of seconds, your lips are on his and his hands are all over your body. It’s explosive, the both of you battling for dominance, Joe’s tongue circling around yours. You moan into his mouth, and he hikes you up on his waist. 

"Are you sure?" He breathes against your mouth and you nod fervently.

Come what may, you'll deal with it then. You need this. Need him

Gaining your consent, he skillfully guides you to your bedroom only breaking the kiss when he places you on the floor in front of the bed. “Take off your clothes.” 

His tone is authoritative, demanding, but even if it wasn't, it's not like he needs to ask twice. You squeeze yourself out of your dress, tossing it to the side. As the top was padded and shoulders out, you didn't bother with a bra. And before you can hook your fingers around your underwear to discard them, Joe tosses you on the bed, hovering over you.

He lifts his shirt over his head, and you chew on your bottom lip. This man is too fine. His strength has always been so sexy to you. As a woman on the thicker side, you’ve always needed a man who could handle you in the sheets. And Joe was more than adept in that area. 

He stares at you like you're the most precious thing he's ever had the privilege to lay his eyes on. Your stomach flutters. No ones ever been able to make you feel things like Joe can.

Its such a welcomed experience, one you've missed deeply.

“God, you’re beautiful….” 

His big hands travel your body, but it’s when he bites down on the strap of your panties and glides them down your legs that your back arches off the bed. You're already so wet, dampness coating the inside of your thighs.

You need this man more than one needs air to breathe.

“Patience, baby.” His voice is soothing on a surface level but does little to abate the fire burning through your entire body, the throbbing in your center. “Don’t I always take care of you?” When you don’t give him an answer, too busy trying to settle yourself, his hand grips your thigh. Tight. “I asked you a question.”

Swallowing, you nod, answering, “y-yes, you do.” 

Pleased with your obedience, he goes to remove his pants, and your eyes go straight to his massive bulge. You wet your lips. The moonlight shining through the window creates a backdrop of his broad shoulders, silk hair down and free. Just how you like it. 

He’s so beautiful and yours. 

Only yours.

Your hand reaches for his abs, wanting to touch him, when he captures your wrist, bringing your fingers to his mouth, sucking slowly, teasingly. 

Groaning, your head tilted back, another spasm works its way through your core. You need this man, and you need him now.

Joe detects as such and hovers over you, one rough hand grasping your breast as he glosses his lips over your clavicle. Moaning, you lift your thigh against his hip, wanting, needing some type of friction. 

He begins lining kisses down your body, lips leaving a flaming trail of desire in its wake. “Spread your legs for me, baby. And keep 'em open.” He doesn’t have to ask twice. You heed to his command, opening yourself to him. He kisses the inside of your thighs, eyes alight with desire. “Before you come on my dick, gotta taste this pretty pussy.” 

Joe makes a sound, taking his finger and swirling it around your pussy. A sticky line of your cum drips from his fingers, and you nearly come right then and there watching him suck it off. 

“Fuck,” he groans, bringing both of your legs over his shoulders, hooking them behind your knees. “Forgot how sweet you are.”

His cool breath hitting your core is the first thing you feel followed by that deliciously talented tongue taking one long swipe up your cunt. Instantly, your back is arching off the bed. That’s how sensitive you are to him, how easily your entire existence becomes focused solely on him and the insane pleasure he provides you.

The tip of Joe’s tongue swirls around your swollen, sensitive bud as he uses his other two fingers to keep your folds open, available to and for him to do whatever he wants. He plays with you, a tactic you’ve noticed he gets off on, edging you in a sense.

“Stop playing with me,” you groan, even if this feels just as good as anything else. It’s not what you want, what you need. What you need is his mouth on you, not this toying shit.

Sucking his teeth, he blows on your clit, and you hiss. “You really gon tell me how to take care of my pussy?” There’s a trace of humor in his voice as he dips one finger inside of you, smiling at the way you grip at the sheets. “Naw, baby. I know what you need.” 

And that’s when he finally does away with the teasing, locking your legs on his shoulders with his hand and buries his face into your pussy. “Shit!” It’s what you wanted, most definitely what you needed, but not what you expected. 

Fuck. He’s too good at this. 

Joe alternates with expert strokes, sucking and flicking your pussy, with a yearning and longing that’s matched only by the rapture soaring through your body. 

He eats your pussy like he does all things in life, with passion and dedication.

“Joe.” Tears burn your eyes as he continues to eat at you, rarely breaking for air and never allowing your body time to recover. He’s back to back, bringing you to climax and going right back to eating you out.

You’d forgotten how much he loved this. It’s nearly impossible to recall how many times this man has had his face in between your legs, but you could most definitely count how many times he’d let you return the favor. Joe didn’t care much about receiving. He was a pleaser, through and through.

“Baby, please, I can’t—I—-“ and it’s a waste of time because every inch up the bed is met with his strong hands on your hips, tugging you closer. Even as you cum, hard, nearly convulsing off the mattress, he stays sucking your pussy, lapping every bit of it up as his tongue circles your sensitive bud.

You’re not sure when he finally comes up, just that it’s after at least two orgasms. Maybe three. Keeping count with Joe is always a waste of time, because it’s always going to be several.  Panting, eyes fluttering, you take in the sight of him. His beard is wet, glistening with the result of his expert work. “I love eating this pussy.” His finger swirls and plays around with the absolute drenched mess you’ve made. “but I need you to come on my dick now.”

There’s a bit of dissociation in the next few minutes. He’s tongue fucked all of your five senses out of you that it’s only when you realize he’s got you on your hands and knees, dick teasing your soaked entrance that you're aware of what's about to happen. 

“Wait.” Your breath is haggard, voice drained from only this man’s tongue. This. This is the shit he does to you. This is why it took so long for you to let him go all those years ago. It’s the same reason you don’t think you’ll ever be able to let him go. Not after this. “I need—you gotta let me adjust, Joe.”

Joe’s dick is thick, long, and curved. The best you’ve ever had, but it’s been years since you last had him, so he has to take it easy on you, allow you time to accommodate him.

“You can take this dick, baby,” he encourages, pushing down on the top of your back until your cheek is pressed into the pillow, back arched perfectly. “And you always will.”

His tip nudges your sticky, gushy opening, starting a slow entrance that has your hands fisting. Inch by inch, he enters you, jaw clenching at how tightly your cunt clenches him. 

It’s been too long since he’s been inside you.  

“Oh my god.” You’d forgotten this, forgotten the delicious stretch of him inside of you, forgotten how deep he could go, touching you, reaching you in all the areas no one else could. And you had tried. God, you tried. Had your hookups, but no one was checking Joe’s box when it came to length, girth, and skill. And that tongue. Fuck, Joe ate your pussy like you were his last supper every single time.

Never a miss.

He doesn’t need to ask if you’re good. Joe sees the way you back your ass onto him, eager for him to fuck you like only he knows how to.

And he obliges. 

He slams into you with a force that has you wanting to scream out bloody murder. He feels so damn good inside of you. He stretches you so good, and you take him just as well.

“You on the pill?” He suddenly asks, slowing the speed and force of his thrusts, watching and enjoying your moans as he cruelly teases you, halting at your entrance before gradually re-entering. He’s playing with you, and it’s both blissful and miserable. 

Whining, you manage to answer, “fuck—n—no.”

“Good.” You shout when he slams back into you with such force that you reach for the headboard, needing something to keep you leveled. “Gonna fill you up with my cum.”

“Joe….” His words register, but it’s hard to think straight with this man fucking you so good. Shit, you missed this. “We—” You’re cut off again when he reaches in front of you, hand ghosting over your pussy, index finger circling your clit. “We ca—”

“I’m not pulling out.” He groans above you, the way your shit grips him. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“You’re just big,” you counter and cry out when he slides out of you and slams at a different angle that has your big breast slapping against your chest. “Shit, Joe.”

“Can he fuck you how I can?” For a second, you’re confused cause who the fuck is he talking about? There’s only one person that exists in your world right now, and that’s the man blowing your back out. “Answer me,” he demands, bringing a hand down on your ass. 

You cry out, “no, baby.” Your eyes water. He’s so deep in you. “N–no one fucks me like you do.” 

“Exactly,” he continues to play with your clit as you work hard not to let your entire apartment building know you’re getting your entire insides rearranged. “Your moans are for me,” he slows down momentarily, no doubt enjoying the view of his thick dick sliding in and out of you, coated in your cream. “You scream out my name.” 

“Yes, baby,” you whimper. You and Joe have fucked plenty of times, but this is different. There’s a meaning in every word that leaves his mouth, an oath behind every declaration. You know that after tonight, there is no turning back. 

“You’re mine,” he growls, big hands moving to the small of your back, holding you down and against the bed as he rams into you, determined and focused. “You’ve always been mine.”

Tears burn your eyes when he suddenly yanks you up by your hair, pulling your body flush against his. His hair fans part of your face, mouth pressed against your temple. “I can take care of you. Take care of this pussy. You don’t need nobody but me.”

Reaching your hand behind to caress his scalp, you murmur, head laid back against him. “I don’t want anybody but you.”

There’s something about your words, so vulnerable, so sincere. With a gentleness that’s contrasted all of his fucking thus far, he pulls out of you and lays you on your back. A whimper leaves your mouth at the loss of him inside of you only for him to move his body over yours and lift your legs to his waist. He sinks into you again, and you moan together, his head resting in the crook of your neck as he finds a pace that pleases the both of you.

Ankles locking above his ass, you enjoy the different kind of depth this allows. People shit on missionary, but it’s one of your favorite positions with Joe. It’s a level of connectedness and togetherness that makes you feel so close to him. Like you two are one and the same. 

“You're so good for me,” he continues to talk you through it, tears streaming down your face as he repeatedly thrusts against your g-spot. “So fucking good around me, fucking made for me.”

His words send you over the edge.

Hands on his face, forcing him to meet your gaze, you encourage, gently, “come with me.” He looks at you, and you know. You just know that there's not much, if anything, you could ask that he wouldn't do for you.

His thrusts become more uncontrolled, erratic, and that’s how you know it’s coming, building up until there’s a blinding white light behind your eyes, toes curling and head rocking back against the pillow. Joe is not far behind, staying true to his promise as he empties inside of you every bit of his cum until there’s nothing left.

Joe doesn’t move from off you, doesn’t remove himself from inside of you, instead his body rests on top of yours. Panting, you bring your hands to his scalp, nails gently raking through his hair as he lays against your chest, muttering, “let me stay like this in you for a little bit.”

You don’t want him to move anyway, don’t want him to go anywhere. You never did, just followed what you felt and believed was right. Joyce’s wise words from earlier suddenly return to the forefront of your mind. 

“You don’t lose love by sending it away. All you're doing is making it grow stronger.” 

That’s never felt and rang more true than in this moment.

[toothplant]

Sammick Soulmates/Fated mates (a/b/o) Pt. 2

Sammie yearning for something since birth, maybe even since before he was even born. But for as long as he could remember, he’s always felt a strong connection stretching far beyond the fields, beyond the town, beyond the Delta, beyond time itself. As a child this confused him, made him odd, made his parents worry. This connection, this longing, felt like steady, old, deep, as if God has recycled the bones of an old lover and with it made his, torturing the pair with a distance felt across the land and the heavens. He didn’t understand the meaning of it, this soul-deep yearning, but he also understood in every other sense. 

Sammie always had a strong fondness for the night. When he got older, It became a bit of a joke between him and his mom. She recalls countless times when he would get fussy as a baby, but could always be lulled to sleep under the blanket of the stars, and once he got old enough to see, he would gaze up at each and every pinprick of light with wonder unseen like anything she’s witnessed before, resting his head on her shoulder until his eyelids got too heavy to ignore. He’s never been able to go to sleep when he should, even when he spent long, grueling days out in the scorching heat, back sore and fingers blistered from picking cotton. He always had to indulge himself, take in the atmosphere of the night: calm, quiet, cool. It tugged at that constant in his heart, in his bones. Plucked at his soul until the notes of a tune left his dried lips, but he took it further. At ten years old, a few feet into his backyard, he sang in the moonlight.

He loved singing. Was humming ever since he was little, would stretch his ear to the Blues musicians playing on the street as he tended groceries with his Momma, would beat rough rhythms into whatever surface was sturdy enough and would make noise. Music was his escape, his life, his soul. His father was indifferent and his mother tried to act the same, but he caught her tapping her foot to his rhythms a few times. Some people around the neighborhood said he was like his uncle, though he was never around the man enough to know if that was true. Regardless, it also gave him a way to voice the hardships he faced, the yearning in his chest, the aching pull to out there. He wondered what’s out there waiting for him. He wondered if it’s a who out there instead of a what. If they felt this same pull, however many miles apart they are. He sang about it.

He did that a lot, wondering and singing. 

Then a few years later, word gets out that his cousins killed their own daddy, and they skip town. Sammie was a good boy and had good friends, but he felt lonely all the same. Lots of things changed. His cousins left a hole in his heart, one he didn’t know how to deal with. This added to everything he was feeling, all the wishing that things would go back to how they were. He sat with it one night, thinking about how he could turn it to words, to rhymes, to song. He was frustrated that nothing was coming out right; it just wasn’t the right time. He instead decided to feel the hole, to face his yearning. His yearning for his cousins, for how things used to be, for the great world beyond the town, for his soulmate.

His soulmate… his soulmate…

His soulmate, it’s what he calls it now (yes, because what if!), ebbs at daylight and grows under moonlight, but never quells or overwhelms. He doesn’t know what that means, so he chooses tonight to investigate why. He focuses on it, feels the warmth in his chest, really feels it. 

It feels like… a tug? A pull somewhere up north. Far northwest. Faint, but there. Lil’ teen Sammie almost jumps from his place on an old bucket. He’s mindful of his excitement (he shouldn’t be out at night) but progress! He can sense it!

If he had doubt before, then he’s definitely sure it’s a soulmate now.

His long-time suspicion is confirmed a few months later, when Smoke and Stack return one last time before going up north. They leave a guitar in his care, a beautiful black guitar with an intricate silver disk in the middle. Said they’ve had it for a while and ain’t got no taste for music, not like he does. It looks almost brand new, hardly a scratch to be found. He strums his fingers across the strings for the first time, excited but inexperienced, and feels something unlike he’s never felt before. Like the whole world opened up before him. Like it wasn’t just his guitar that was plucked, but the pull connecting him to his other half was turned into a string and plucked, forming a otherworldly chord that, for an instant, lit up his soul like nothing before. 

He chased this feeling all day and that night when he went to sleep, he saw him.

He didn’t know if it was a terrifying man, a handsome beast, or a weird mixture of the two; all he knew is that he wasn’t fully human. Moonlight highlighted his pale skin, showing planes of muscles and fat; his eyes black beautiful pools he could get lost in; lips lifted in a charming smile that makes Sammie feel guilty for finding attractive. Every part of him was solid and strong. He carried a banjo, the instrument kept on his person with a strong twine string. A musician, like him. This feeling of silent adoration didn’t last long. He transformed into something much worse.  

His ears elongated, his eyes burned blood red, his teeth sharpened to daggers, tongue lay long and thick. His fingers grew sharp claws. Sammie watched in silent horror as his body morphed into a grotesque creature he’s never seen walk the Earth before. It scared him. It enamored him. 

But he was confused. This man is old as dirt! Almost as old as his father! No way is his soulmate supposed to be an old man. An old White one at that!

He continued to be plagued by these… dreams? Nightmares? as he developed his craft as a Blues musician, practicing on his trusty guitar whenever he could. When he did, his body sang and the connection to the creature got clearer. He could feel him, feel his desperation, his anguish, his longing, much deeper and intense than he’d ever known, but emotions he understands perfectly all the same, strangely enough. He’s incredibly lonely, and maybe he is too. The beast could feel what he felt too. Sammie felt him through the pull, basking in all of him almost always. He didn’t know how to feel about it most days.

So he sings about it, these feelings. Does that for years. And every night he lays his head down to rest, he hopes that when they finally meet, it’s as sweet and romantic as he, albeit hesitantly, imagines it to be.

On the grand opening of the Juke Joint, after his performance, right after his time with Pearline, he feels it. A tug so strong he almost feels his bones rip out of his skin. It’s him! His soulmate! He’s quick to make himself look presentable, body strumming with an emotion he can’t determine as he made his way over to the door. 

Staring him down inside his cousins Juke Joint, unease pooling in his stomach and alarm blaring in his head, was never a situation he conjured.

Now for the A/B/O verse {: >

He’s always been attracted to the smell of petrichor. Since he was a baby he loved rain, loved the smell of it on dirt. Zooming out the house to play in the muddying ground before quickly being snatched back into the house by his Momma, opening the doors however much he could to take in the strong scent of “rainy dirt” or “smelly soil” or whatever his endearing name for the wet land was, wandering the woods after the storm was over just so he could be surrounded by the smell. Finding a good place to lay down at so he could bask in it for as long as he was allowed. The smell would reach the deepest parts of him, in some odd way — reach into his head and overtake it like fog over a swamp, like it belonged there, like it was natural. It brought him comfort and notes, little notes forming a harmonic, happy hum as he took in the scent that reminded him of… of…

He could never name it, but it was something great, perhaps he’s been needing his whole life. Maybe… maybe it was connected to the ever-present pull in his heart, which was made more known when he surrounded himself in the aftereffects of rainstorms. 

He loved it so much, there was just something about it that made him think he wouldn’t mind having a wife or alpha husband who smelled like that. Wouldn’t mind sharing a heat with them. Letting their scents get all mixed up, combining candied nuts to petrichor. He knew that they were out there somewhere, he could feel it in his bones. In his bones, it told him that that soulmate, that lover, was not here. 

The omega felt odd in that way, the instinct rejecting his peers and suitors caused some pretty hard times for him. Sure he had crushes on people — alphas, betas, even other omegas — but when he they would get close, let their scents get all thick and flirty, he couldn’t stand it; it just didn’t feel right. It was easier to ignore with people born with earthier scents, but it was still there.

His heats were worse. Spending the few days of pre-heat hot, bothered, and sensitive — not just all over, but to the pull in his chest. It’s harder to ignore it, threatening to overwhelm him, but never does. He spends the following week glued to the uncomfortable bed inside the heat house, calling for someone he doesn’t know to quell the cramping, the pain, the ache felt all the way to the center of his soul. 

 It’s like something, some higher power like the Lord, was stopping him, telling him “no, not this one.” It frustrated him as much as it saddened him. Scared him too, once he swears he sees the man, the creature, in a dream.

He was a man and a beast, or perhaps a beast wearing human skin. He looked like a White man. Old and handsome, yes, but that wasn’t all. He had blood red eyes, a mouth lined with bloody, sharp teeth, and inhuman claws that could tear skin like paper. Hell, he was more monstrous than that. He kept changing until he looked like…

… like the Devil.

Sammie didn’t know what to make of this.

The teen never told his Pops about this problem, too afraid of confronting the shame of being repulsed by other’s scents, the guilt of having a monster parading as a White man as a mate, and what those meant for him, so he went to Annie. It was in the hoodoo practitioner’s house that he learned about soulmates, people destined to be together. He was both elevated and horrified. Elevated, because there is a perfect mate hand-crafted by God Himself just for him out there, waiting for him. There is someone out there who feels this pull, someone out there who feels just as much age-old yearning in their chests as much as he does, and it’s all for Sammie. Horrified, because he does not know who they are at all. The warning Annie gives him that not all soulmates are good mates, that they can bring suffering just as much as they can bring happiness, leaves Sammie shook to his core on his way back home. 

He doesn’t know what the outcome will be, doesn’t know what plan God has set out for him or why he chose such a creature as his mate, and this makes him scared, petrified even.

But… if the feeling of desolation within his lover, the unadulterated grief and desperation and need that wracked his form nearly all the time, was anything to go by, then Sammie thinks he needs the him just as much as Sammie needs the beast. He’ll take that chance.

So he sings to him, under the moonlight. Hopes that his tunes of a lover and life imagined makes their way to his ears and if even for a moment, assuages his anguish. Almost every night, he travels with his guitar and a lantern to his own little spot deep in the Delta woods, a sizable shed left abandoned, and plays just about anything he can think of. A recollection of his day, a song he’s been working on, regular old practice — all sung out into the moon and stars and comets, making the distance over people and towns and land to reach his lover wherever, if not to find their way to him, then to find comfort in his songs.

Years later, it happens on one starry night. The pull had been strong for the past few days, making him ache, making him excited. He has his head on a swivel for the past few nights, keeping an eye out for any pale man coming his way because he hopes to God they have the sense to not come to him anytime during the day. He felt them get close once, called out to them, smelt the scent of copper and petrichor permeated throughout the air, but they were gone. So he tried again the next night (a little desperate, but can you blame him?) and felt it again. He finished his last song, let the last chords fade into nothing, and opened his eyes. 

Candied nuts and coppery petrichor, the scent Sammie has spent his life loving, mixed in the air between the shed and the outside world. The source clad in causal wear and a face that could sweep Sammie off his feet if he isn’t careful. 

There stood his monster, his creature, his soulmate. The source of all his yearning, the other side of the pull he’s been living with for years, the one hand-crafted for him by God. The alpha picked only for him. 

His alpha, his mate, his…

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Moving on to You

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Summary: Aaron finally tells his longtime crush about his feelings when he almost loses her (Sequel to Move On)

Warning: jealousy, pining, awkward dates, canon level violence, non-accurate medical stuff

Word Count: 4.5K

Masterlist

A/N I've had this in my drafts for months and I finally decided to finish and publish it per request

Aaron Hotchner is the definition of levelheaded. He’s renowned in the FBI not only for his success rate at catching criminals but also for his professionalism. And snapping a pencil with his fist whilst staring at his subordinate through his office window as she smiled up at an unknown agent was incredibly unprofessional. He knew this wasn’t the first man she had gotten to know over the past year but this was the first time he was forced to actually witness her flirting with another man.

He knew he had no right to be jealous, their relationship had never progressed beyond friendly in the year that Y/N had been on the team. Still he couldn’t help but feel the slight clench of pain in his chest every time he saw her smile at her phone or overheard one of her conversations with another team member about a new guy.

Nonetheless his professionalism prevailed as he began to review potential cases. He noted one regarding a serial killer just outside of DC, setting it aside to pass onto Garcia.

~

The next morning the team was assembled in the conference room as Penelope relayed the information about a killer who had been targeting strippers. Although Aaron’s attention was on Y/N as he observed her clearly exhausted body language. Probably a date night with that agent, he thought cynically.

Soon enough Penelope was done speaking. “We’ll head out in 30. Meet in the garage then,” he ordered as the rest of the team. He was headed out towards his office when he stopped as he heard Morgan’s voice.

“Up late with the new boy toy?” Derek teased.

“I guess you could say that,” Y/N answered casually. “I’m not seeing him anymore.”

“Wait why?” JJ asked suddenly. Similar to what Aaron wanted to ask.

He was still turned away from the group but Aaron could practically hear Y/N’s shrug. “Just weren’t clicking anymore.”

“What was he into something weird? Like a foot fetish?” Derek asked with full seriousness.

Y/N laughed. “I’m not answering that.”

“So he was!” Derek shouted as she passed Aaron down to the bullpen.

The rest filed out of the conference room as Aaron continued to pretend to be busy with the file. “She’s single again,” Rossi sung quietly.

“I am aware and I don’t see how that affects me,” Aaron tried to deflect.

“Oh come on, I see the way you watch her. I also noticed a broken pencil in your trash can. Did you Hulk-out when you saw her with that agent yesterday?”

“Wait why were you in my office?”

“Doesn’t matter. The point is she’s single, you’re single, and you’ve been in love with her for the past year-”

“No I haven’t,” Aaron suddenly cut in, sounding like a teenage girl. He cleared his throat. “I’m not in love with her. Besides she’s my subordinate-”

“And you don’t want anyone to think she’s on the team for the wrong reason blah, blah, blah,” Rossi finished. “You said that a year ago. Besides, at this point, no one would think that. You deserve to be happy, Aaron. Get out there and get the girl!”

With those words Dave left, leaving Aaron in his thoughts. Could they actually be together? Would she even want him?

He pushed those thoughts aside, getting ready to head out with the rest of his team. Including the girl who consumed his every thought.

~

“I’m SSA Hotchner, these are SSAs Jareau, Morgan, Rossi, L/N, Prentiss, and Dr. Reid,” Aaron introduced his team to the town’s sheriff.

“We appreciate you guys coming so fast. The people here aren’t used to this type of crime,” Sheriff Osborne explained, leading the feds through the police station.

Aaron tried to listen to the sheriff’s information but rather he was keenly aware of all the police officers stares. Pushing through it, the agents followed the sheriff into a conference room that would serve as their setup.

“Alright, JJ and Reid, head to the medical examiner. We need to figure out what exactly he’s doing to these girls. Morgan and I will go to the clubs these girls were working, see if there was anyone who stuck out to the other dancers. Rossi and Prentiss, head to the most recent crime scene. L/N, I want you to work on the geographical profile,” Aaron ordered.

That last order raised an eyebrow for everyone on the team. “But… Reid usually does the geographical profile,” Y/N suggested gently, a confused twinge in her voice.

“Yes, well since it seems you can’t stop talking about your personal life I figured it’d be best if you work alone for a little while.” The second those words left Aaron’s mouth he instantly regretted them. Y/N looked taken aback by his rude words but having never questioned his authority she just lowered her gaze to the ground. Looking around the other members of his team looked aghast at his words too. Aaron’s soft spot for the newest agent had been noticed by everyone on the team (except of course the agent in question) so seeing him be so outrightly rude was jarring. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, especially not humiliate her in front of the team, but he was so frustrated having to hear the others question Y/N on her love life around the office and in the car.

Seeing that he shouldn’t continue barking orders, Aaron turned to exit the room, the rest following. Unseen by him was every member of the team giving Y/N sympathetic looks.

Once buckled inside their SUV, Morgan began to question his boss. “What was that with L/N back there? We all talk about our personal lives all the time and it’s never affected our work, Y/N included.”

Aaron sighed, really not having a good reason for his outburst. “She brought that agent into our office unauthorized. He shouldn’t have even had access to our floor.”

“So you yell at her a day later in front of an entire precinct?”

“Morgan, drop it,” Aaron said sternly, not wanting to continue this. Seeing as there was no point in continuing, Derek kept his mouth shut but the ride to the club was tense the rest of the way.

~

“Hey, sorry about your boss,” a voice interrupted Y/N’s intense concentration on the map in front of her. She whipped her head around to look at him, a little startled. Seeing her alarm the young officer took a step back. “Didn’t mean to scare you, just thought you might like some coffee.”

“Hmm? Oh! Thanks,” she said, her brain catching up to his words. She took the coffee gratefully, taking a sip. It was made wrong but not wanting to seem ungrateful she gave the officer a smile.

“Thought you could use it after your boss treated you so badly,” the officer empathized.

Y/N sucked in a breath. “You saw that, huh?”

“I think everyone saw it,” the officer chuckled awkwardly. “I’m Officer Olson, but you can call me Cole.” Y/N took a second to observe the man. He wasn’t necessarily her type, her having a thing for the dark, brooding types, but he was certainly attractive.

“Agent Y/N L/N,” she introduced.

“So what are you working on, Agent Y/N L/N?” he asked, saying her name flirtatiously.

She let out a small laugh at his tone. “Um it’s called a geographical profile. We take every significant location like homes, workplaces, abduction sights, crime scene, disposal sights, etc. to get an idea of these killers comfort zones. Which often leads us to where they will either strike next, where they live or work, or what their holding place might be in cases where victims are abducted.”

“Wow, this profiling stuff is crazy. I’ve heard you guys can tell someone’s entire life story from just one look,” he teased.

“I don’t know about that but yeah, you can learn a lot about a person from just a conversation if you pay close attention.”

“What can you tell about me?”

Y/N looked him up and down. His body language screamed that he was interested in her but she didn’t want to embarrass him too much. “You have the confidence of a youngest son and let me guess, you were in a frat in college?” The officer blushed, surprised she sussed that out so quickly. “You’re here as an officer for glory and you got it, the people here already admire you. You actually got the chance to move onto something bigger, probably DC, but it’s easier to stand out in your small hometown.” Cole just stared at the pretty FBI agent, slightly mortified that she saw through him so clearly. His first instinct was deny it but something about her made him think twice. She just smirked at his silence. “Gotcha.”

Before Officer Olson could say anything, two other FBI agents walked into the room. “Careful L/N,” Rossi interrupted the pair, “Hotch was pulling up as we walked in.”

“Guess I better go,” Cole said sheepishly. “Nice to meet you Agent Y/N.” She couldn’t help the smile that found it’s way onto her face at the use of her title and first name.

“Damn, already moving onto a different guy?” Emily asked with a chuckle.

“No, he just came in and introduced himself,” Y/N brushed off. Emily and Rossi both just hummed in disagreement.

As the BAU chief walked in he didn’t notice the burning gaze of Officer Olson. What he did notice was the way Y/N seemed to shy away from his very presence. As he stepped into the conference room his heart clenched when she met his gaze but just turned away, busying herself with the board that showed the geographical profile.

~

After a fitful night of regret, Aaron decided to apologize to his young agent in the morning. But as he opened his door to his crappy motel room into the crappy hallway he could hear two voices.

“Thought I’d bring you some coffee that didn’t come from an old police station coffee pot,” a masculine voice flirted.

“Thank you,” came the giggle from Y/N. Aaron practically groaned to himself. This couldn’t be happening again.

“I was wondering… if you’re not too busy,” the voice changed, gaining a nervous lilt, “if you’d like to get dinner with me on a slower night before you and your team leave? I know you’re actively chasing a serial killer so it doesn’t have to be fancy.” The voice seemed to have caught themselves, changing their pitch. “O-or it can be really fancy! Whatever you want! I’m not picky I-”

“I’d love to have dinner with you,” Y/N’s calming voice interrupted, putting the boy out of his misery. “We can do tonight. Just grab something easy and nearby.”

“Ye- yeah, I’d like that.” Aaron internally rolled his eyes at being able to hear the bright smile in this guy’s voice. “I’ll uh see you then.”

“See you later.” Aaron sighed internally, hearing the door to Y/N’s room close softly. She had been single for what? 24hours? And he had still lost his opportunity? Deciding that his emotions were running too high to talk to Y/N right now, he just let his door fall back closed, deciding to just get ready for the day.

~

“When I graduated from the FBI academy I was placed in the Human Resources branch because of my psych degree. Obviously, that wasn’t exactly what I wanted to do so when I heard about an opening in the Behavioral Analysis Unit I jumped at it and fortunately my boss, Hotch, was willing to take a chance on me. Agent Rossi and the rest of the team pretty much taught me everything I know,” Y/N explained as her date stared at her in awe.

“Wow, that’s quite the resume you have,” he chuckled nervously, taking a sip of his drink. “I’ll admit it’s been a long time since I went on a date where the girl’s career was more impressive.” Y/N quirked her eyebrow at that but didn’t say anything. “Not that it’s an issue, just not a lot going on around here.”

She just hummed looking down at her food. She tried to covertly push away the peas in her food, not wanting to insult Cole’s food choice.

There was an awkward beat of silence between the two that was fortunately broken up by Y/N’s phone ringing. She felt a sense of relief reading her boss’ name flash across the screen. “Hey Hotch,” she answered.

“L/N, where are you?” his stern voice cut to the chase.

“Um, this place called Vincent's with Officer Olson. It’s like 15 minutes from the station. Why?”

Aaron pushed through the reoccurring pang in his chest. “Some other officers cornered our unsub, James Stevens, in a strip club. He’s holding five girls hostage inside.”

“Where is it?”

“125 North St. 5 minutes east of you.”

“I’ll be right over,” Y/N quickly cut in.

“L/N, do not engage before the rest of us get there. Got it?”

“Yeah, I understand,” she agreed begrudgingly. She hung up the phone, already collecting her things. “I have to go, the unsub is holding a group of girls hostage inside a club 5 minutes from here.”

“Oh shit,” Cole exclaimed, grabbing his things and leaving some cash on the table. The pair quickly jumped into their respective cars, lights and sirens blaring as they headed to the club.

As soon as Y/N jumped out of the SUV several officers flocked towards her. “Scene is yours agent, what do you want to do?” Sheriff Osborne asked.

“Any shots fired? Do we have confirmation the girls are alive?”

“Snipers have eyes on three of the girls and we have no reason to believe the other two are dead. Upon entering he fired randomly, killing a few patrons per witnesses. Thing is, when he took control he let every man leave but held all the girls.”

“Okay,” she acknowledged, trying to figure out what her next move would be. Based on the profile she knew he was negotiable but if he felt any sort of threat he’d go down guns blazing, taking down anyone he could. “I’m going in to talk to him.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Cole’s voice suddenly interrupted. He had grabbed Y/N’s arm, looking at her with pleading eyes. She just stared at him, confused before sliding her arm out of his grip.

“Agent, shouldn’t you wait for your team?” The sheriff’s voice interrupted the awkward encounter.

“This guy’s going to get more agitated and unstable the longer we wait. I’m going in now,” she said, pulling the gun out of her waistband and handing it to the sheriff. “And don’t let anyone in there until I call for it. We could lose a lot of lives if we spook this guy.”

The sheriff nodded as she approached the door.

~

“Agent L/N is entering the building,” crackled over the radio as Hotch and the rest of the team raced through the streets.

“What?” Aaron’s mind was going a mile a minute. “Repeat that,” he called over the radio.

“Agent L/N has entered the building to begin negotiations,” the police reporter called over the radio again.

Derek stared at the radio in shock from the passenger seat. “Hotch-” he began, wanting to slam his foot on the gas.

“I know,” he said, already pressing the car to go faster than they had been going previously.

They arrived on scene in record time, Hotch barely taking the time to throw the car in park. He was immediately heading for the door, not bothering to get all the information he would normally wait for, too set on getting the woman he was in love with out. “Stop him!” he heard a sudden shout. Several officers flocked to him in an effort to block his path. Whirling around furiously he found a desperate looking sheriff. “Agent L/N said that if anyone goes in there a lot of lives will be lost. And I’m guessing your agent would be one of them.”

Aaron wanted to pull rank and argue but he knew the sheriff was right but he was desperate to get his agent out of there safely.

“I tried to stop her,” an officer interrupted. Aaron recognized the voice from the hallway. All he could muster was an annoyed look before turning his attention back to the sheriff.

“Do we have a line of communication?”

“Yeah, we have Stevens on the phone. No one’s talked in a while though, we’ve just been listening to your agent try to calm him down.”

Soon enough the BAU chief had the phone. “Agent L/N, exit the building, that’s an order.”

It took a second but he got a shaky, “Not gonna happen, Hotch.”

“L/N-”

“You heard the lady,” a new voice cut him off. James Stevens. “She doesn’t want to leave yet. C’mon, let me keep her for a little while longer?” he pleaded sarcastically. “The pretty girls rarely keep their clothes on nowadays. Agent L/N is a breath of fresh air.”

Aaron clenched his jaw at his words. “We can work something out James.” Covering the microphone he leaned over to one of the officers. “Tell the snipers to take the shot of they get it,” he whispered.

“Come on you know there’s no walking out of this a free man, just let us walk out and we’ll talk this out,” he heard Y/N’s voice. There was a minute of silence and Aaron could only imagine what the psychopath inside was doing. “At least let the girls go. I’ll stay, I’ll be your collateral.”

“Agen-” Aaron immediately began to reprimand.

“Shut up!” James shrieked through the phone so loud Aaron had to pull it away. “Fine,” he heard more quietly. “You five, go! You stay.”

Once again Aaron covered the microphone. “As they’re coming out, go.”

~

All the girls started immediately scrambling up, heading for the door. It happened so fast there was hardly time to register it.

The first girl reached the door, wrenching it open. She was immediately met with a wall of SWAT officers. They pressed inside, guns up as the girls shrieked and scrambled away. “No!” Y/N heard herself shout, going towards them. Mistaking her attempt to salvage the situation as an effort to escape, Stevens was on her in a second.

She felt a sharp pain pierce her abdomen as he tackled her to the ground. She then felt him slump against her before being quickly pushed off, a SWAT officer kneeling over her, calling for a medic.

~

“Agent down, agent down,” Aaron heard the report come over the radio. He was immediately tearing away from the phone, running towards the entrance of the club. But Rossi intercepted him before he could go inside.

“I know, I know, I heard,” Dave tried to calm down his friend. “But EMTs just went in and you don’t need to be in the way.” Aaron began to protest but was cut off again. “I know it’s hard to watch the woman you love be hurt again but Y/N will be fine.”

Before Aaron could continue arguing he caught sight of Y/N being rolled out on a gurney. Dave let him go as he followed the EMTs to the ambulance. But before he could climb in the same officer from earlier ran up. “I-I’m her boyfriend,” he explained as he tried to climb up into the ambulance.

With those words Aaron nearly snapped. Despite his insecurity in his place in Y/N’s life, he knew that was a complete fallacy. She would never move that fast with a complete stranger. “Officer,” he caught the young man’s attention.

Cole visibly paled seeing Y/N’s boss. “A-agent Hotchner.”

Satisfied with the boy’s scared shitless expression, Aaron turned back to the EMT’s. “SSA Aaron Hotchner,” he introduced, pulling out his badge. “This is my agent and I will be accompanying her to the hospital.” And with that, he sent Officer Olson one last glare before climbing in.

Upon entering the ambulance the EMT stepped out, shutting the doors. As he took a seat, he realized his agent was still awake, albeit in agony. “Y/N? I’m right here,” he said, taking her blood soaked hand. Her shirt had been removed, allowing him to see the stab wound that had been tightly wrapped with blood soaked bandages. “I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault, Aaron,” she said through gritted teeth, her face twisted in pain as they hit a bump in the road. “I’m so cold an-and tired.”

He couldn’t help but notice the way she said his first name. It was refreshing, almost a relief, to hear his name come from her lips. “Hey, no just stay awake for a little while longer. We’re almost to the hospital.” Y/N just nodded, tears of pain and fear running down her cheeks.

“Why’d you come?” she suddenly asked. “I thought you hated me.”

It physically pained Aaron to hear that. “I’m so sorry I’ve been treating you the way I have on this case. I just couldn’t help but…” Aaron hesitated with the next words. He didn’t want to be vulnerable but she deserved the truth. “…be jealous.”

That took Y/N’s mind off of the pain. “Jealous?”

Aaron hung his head. “Yes, I-I’ve had feelings for you ever since you joined. I understand if you want to take some time away after this or even transfer to another team of your choice. I just thought you were owed an explanation for my behavior.”

“Y-you’ve had feelings for me for that long?”

Aaron squeezed her hand again. “Please don’t make me say it,” he asked but inside, he’d humiliate himself a million times to make up for what he did and earn her affection.

“Just this once,” she requested, tears pricking her eyes, whether from pain or emotion. “I need to be sure it’s not the blood loss.”

Aaron sighed softly, admiring her face. “I’m in love with you. I’ve loved you for the last year.”

“I’ve felt the same about you,” she confessed.

“Say it,” Aaron pressed, his other hand now clutching onto their already joined hands.

“I love you, Aaron.”

A smile tugged at Aaron’s lips. He hadn’t realized how much tension had gathered and with Y/N’s confession it all dispersed. Reaching a hand up to her face he cupped her cheek, tangling his fingertips into her hair. “You’re gonna be okay,” Aaron promised. “You have to be okay.” But he could see her eyes slipping closed and he could feel how clammy her skin was. “You gotta stay awake, sweetheart. C’mon.”

“It hurts,” she groaned through half closed lids.

“I know, you’re almost there.”

~

It took a few hours of surgery and another couple days of rest in the hospital but Agent L/N was finally discharged to go home. Unfortunately, she had to have a caretaker for that period of time. Fortunately, her boss/the man who was in love with her, was more than happy to take responsibility for his agent.

“Almost there,” Aaron tried to soothe a very tired and pained Y/N. Taking a few deep breaths, she found the strength to hobble over to her bed with a lot of support from Aaron.

She let out a groan as Aaron helped settle her on the bed. As he gripped her hand, he couldn’t help but see flashes of blood, remembering that night in the ambulance. “I’m gonna grab your bag from the car. Be right back,” Aaron promised with a peck to her lips.

While grabbing her bag was a legitimate excuse, he really just needed a minute to calm himself down. He needed to remember that Y/N was safe, not lying on a surgical table or in the back of an ambulance bleeding out.

He quickly hurried back into her apartment after grabbing her bag, re-entering the bedroom. “Here you are,” Aaron said, leaning the go-bag up against her dresser which was placed next to the bed. “I guess I’ll um let you rest,” he murmured out awkwardly. As much as he’d rather stay over she probably wanted some time to relax. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Aaron,” her voice interrupted him as he turned towards the door. Pivoting on his heel, he looked back at her. “Can you… um… just stick around for a little while? Every time I closed my eyes when I was alone in the hospital all I could see was him.”

That surprised Aaron a bit but it felt as if his entire being melted. She wanted him to protect her?

“Yeah, of course,” he agreed. There was no place in her bedroom to sit so he settled on the end of the bed. “‘M glad you feel safe with me,” he murmured.

“I do,” she confirmed. “You’re like my personal bodyguard,” she said, recalling memories of him barking orders at doctors when she was in pain or when annoying officers came to visit.

“I’m glad,” he smiled. He helped her settle into a lying position before resuming his place at the foot of the bed, regretfully letting out a yawn. After all, being a personal bodyguard was exhausting.

She noticed his yawn and immediately began demanding he lie down too. “You’ve been up helping me for days. Help me by sleeping now, please.”

“I really don’t want to intrude,” Aaron excused. “You don’t need me accidentally hurting you.”

“You won’t,” she swore. “Please. I’ll feel better knowing you’re resting too.”

Sleeping with her did sound nice. An irrational part of him thinking he could keep her nightmares away by doing so. So he complied, sliding under the covers she had pulled back for him. As he settled, she scooted closer to him as much as her surgical wounds would allow. Until she ended up tucked under his arm, head resting on his shoulder.

“Sleep,” he murmured the order, thumb stroking her cheekbone. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Masterlist

[couldawouldashoulda50]

From Completely Different Worlds - William Nylander

The Sweden Chapter - Part One

A/N - This is a continuation of the above mentioned series between William Nylander and Loren Girard. Link for the all previous chapters are here.

it is also an early birthday submission for my dear @misshoneyimhome in advance of her actual birthday in October. Since she has been a such a big part of this William x Loren journey, I wanted to dedicate these final parts to wrap up this story (for now at least) to her. I just hope I can get Part Two done in time 😉💕

As ever, thank you for taking the time to read, like, send in comments and asks. It's beyond encouraging and is very much appreciated. I hope you like these final parts.

Warnings/Notes - this goes along the lines of the Leafs, and William himself stating he suffered from migraines at the start of the playoffs. Additional warnings based on symptoms (severe headaches, nausea, vision impairment), profanity, allusions to sex/smut

Word Count 8.6k (sorry) 18+ only please.

Recap - In March of 2024, after meeting at the Easter Seals Skate charity event in Toronto, a bittersweet romance unfolded between hockey superstar William and personal support worker Loren. Their chemistry was undeniable, and they quickly fell for each other, creating a whirlwind between them that felt so incredibly right.

For Loren, each encounter with William felt like it might be her last with the hockey star. She approached their time together with a mix of excitement and caution, trying to balance a level of detachment. She knew his star was too big, too bright for a small-town girl working two jobs to pay the bills. Yet, she couldn't help but fully embrace the amazing person he proved to be.

As the NHL season progressed, William's performance on the ice—which had already been declining—became increasingly noticeable. The mounting pressure left him at a crossroads. Under intense scrutiny from both himself and the media, William made the difficult decision to limit distractions and focus solely on his game.

William and Loren parted ways with heavy hearts. Despite her attempts to remain detached from William's magnetism, the breakup deeply affected Loren, leaving her full of sadness. William, though seemingly despondent while delivering his decision to Loren, maintained a cool demeanor afterward, as if nothing outside the arena bothered him. Despite his scoring slump in the final stretch of games, William had already surpassed his career-best point total by a double-digit margin. He finished just two points shy of 100—an impressive season for him overall.

And so it went, the Toronto Maple Leafs would be facing the Boston Bruins in Round One of the Stanley Cup playoffs. The city seemed nervous but hopeful the team would be able to trounce the Bruins and make it to the second round of the playoffs for the second year in a row.

April, 2024.

As the season drew to a close, Loren couldn't bring herself to watch the Maple Leafs' final games when she turned them on for Gary during her shift at the group home. The team struggled against their remaining opponents and William’s lack-luster performances added even more discourse, leaving everyone seemingly wondering what had gone wrong in the end.

As always in Toronto, playoff season evoked either excitement about the possibility of winning more than two rounds or dread, as if the team were already doomed to failure.

Just before the playoffs began, Toronto media reported that William, citing an undisclosed issue, didn't skate with the team for their final practice held in Boston. His absence sparked speculation and worry among fans and sports analysts alike. The concern was particularly intense given that William did not seem to be playing through an injury and hadn't missed a single regular season game in years.

The timing of William's mysterious absence, coupled with his recent poor performance, fueled rumors about his physical state. Some speculated about a possible injury, while others wondered if the coach, Sheldon Keefe, was so livid about William’s poor performance in game 82 that Keefe was possibly benching him for Game One of the playoffs.

The speculation intensified when William was notably absent from the team's morning skate on the day of the crucial playoff opener. Fans and media alike were left wondering about the true nature of his situation, with theories ranging from a hidden injury to illness. The uncertainty surrounding William's status added an extra layer of tension to an already high-stakes game, leaving everyone questioning how the team would fare without one of its star players.

As the playoff game approached, the uncertainty surrounding William's status cast a shadow over the team's abilities to compete against their rival. The lack of transparency from the Maple Leafs organization only served to intensify the speculation, leaving everyone to wonder about the true nature of William's absence and its potential impact on the team's playoff performance.

As the media cries of “Where’s Willy” saturated every sports channel, Loren tried - and failed - to not get sucked into all of the inflammatory opinions that somehow showed up in some of her social media feeds. She tried to stay off of her phone altogether but with her new self-employment venture hitting the ground running, the use of her cell phone was a necessary evil.

As she scrolled through her notifications, a headline caught her eye: "William Nylander's Mysterious Absence: Injury or Something More?"

It certainly got her rattled.

Despite her best efforts to move on, she couldn't help but worry about William. The thought of him potentially being injured or facing some other issue made her realize that, despite everything, she still cared deeply for him.

She quickly reminded herself “not your sink, not your dishes” and resumed getting Gary ready to take him for a stroll in his wheelchair.

But sometimes, the nagging worry about what was going on with William got the better of Loren. She couldn’t stop her mind from thinking about why he appeared to be MIA at that moment. Even if she wanted to forget about it, she couldn’t because every Toronto media outlet that was in her feed was talking incessantly about it.

Later that evening as she slid into her bed, the “Where the F*ck is William Nylander” headline appeared on a reel for a popular hockey podcast that Loren occasionally listened to. The two ex-hockey players further fueled rumours surrounding William’s absence with saying he may have hurt his back in the “champagne room” of a Miami strip-club while celebrating the end of the season.

Loren’s heart dropped and shattered as she visualized William plowing a beautiful and stacked bombshell in the back room of a Florida strip bar. It was one possibility out of many, and Loren had to accept that.

Maybe it would have been better to have never met William in the first place.

Loren tossed and turned in her bed, unable to shake the intrusive thoughts about William. She knew she shouldn't care, that their relationship was over, but her heart refused to listen to reason. As she stared at the ceiling, she was completely consumed by regret and self-doubt.

The bitch of the situation was she still cared about what was going on with him. It was so out of character for him to miss a game, let alone the all-important Game One of the playoffs, and that fact gnawed at her conscience.

"Fuck's sake…" Loren muttered aloud.

With severe trepidation, she reached for her phone, her fingers hovering over William's contact information.

Loren typed a short message, apologizing for texting him, let alone sending it in the middle of the night. She simply wanted to know if he was going to be okay.

As she hit send, a wave of anxiety washed over her. She placed her phone face down on the nightstand, trying to calm the ache that had settled into her stomach, as she played the whole "will he/won't he" game in her head.

Loren lay there, cheeks blazing, mind racing and becoming more agitated with herself for being so fucking foolish with getting tied up with William. Why the fuck did she still care?

That question plagued her endlessly.

And she came back to the same conclusion. That's just simply who she is and what she does. She cares about people.

Just because William was more or less a memory at this point, she still needed to hear that everything would be okay with him—and hopefully soon.

Eventually, somehow, something in her musings lulled her to sleep.

The next morning, Loren awoke feeling tired and unsettled. She rolled onto her side and stared into the emptiness of her bed and throughout her bedroom. The quietness in her home, which she normally loved, bothered her this morning. She couldn't quite place why she felt so irritated—she had a much-needed day off with no pressing events on her calendar. She was caught up with errands and bill payments. She slept well, once she fell asleep that is. She had nothing in front of her that day to warrant her crusty mood.

Then it all came flooding back in her mind. Thoughts of William possibly blowing out his back after being serviced at a strip club. His poor performance. His absence. The fact that he still had never left her brain since they met, hung out, and broke up—with everything in between those moments still lingering too. She then remembered the text message she sent him.

Oh fuck… the text message….shit…..

Loren coached herself in her head. Okay, Loren. Just be prepared. Please be prepared that he may have blocked you. He may never respond. Please. Do not spiral if there’s no response.

She swiped her phone open. The text message icon appeared, indicating multiple messages received. They all had William's name attached to them, with the first messages being sent not long after she had fallen asleep.

Anxiously, she read each one. She had to read the messages multiple times as her sudden increase in blood pressure made her head ache and her eyes blur.

His messages were sent with a small period of time between each one.

He told her how glad he was that she reached out.

He told her he was okay but he had some “medical issues” going on

Then he told her not to worry.

Loren slowly laid back down resting her head on her pillow and closed her eyes. She laid her phone, screen side down once again next to her on the bed.

Placing her hand over her heart that was galloping, she tried to get a hold of every thought running wild in her head. Images that were a mix of intimate moments spent together and then the low moments that came when he left that fateful morning with his sweet dogs happily in tow.

Her phone buzzed and chimed which made her stomach lurch. It’s not that she thought it was William, or even hoped it was him. It was the fact that she was already overwhelmed with an influx of unsolicited emotions, and it was barely 8am.

Loren hesitated for a moment before picking up her phone again. She knew she should check it, but part of her wanted to stay in this bubble of uncertainty just a little longer. Taking a deep breath, she flipped the phone over and glanced at the screen.

It was another message from William. Her heart raced as she read his words: "Can I call you?"

Loren stared at the screen. More dots bounced as William continued to type. She set her phone back down, and pressed her hands against her face. She really did not like that William could send her reeling like this.

For fuck sakes Loren….this is bullshit. He’s just a fucking hockey player. He’s not a God…stop acting like he is.

Her internal reprimand gave her enough piss and vinegar to remind her that she’s got a fucking backbone.

She slowly typed that he could call, her thumb hovered over the “send’ button for an extended period of time. She hit the button before she could talk herself out of it.

Within seconds, her phone began to ring.

Loren sat up in bed with her legs crossed, straightened her back, took a deep breath and tapped to accept the call from William.

"Hey," William's voice came through, soft and hesitant. There was a brief pause before he continued, "I'm sorry for calling so early. I sorta saw that you read my messages so….yeah. How are you?”

Loren's breath caught in her throat, her initial resolve already beginning to falter.

“Good, William. I’m good. I’m sorry to hear about - …if - that you’re not doing well,” Loren’s words stumbled a little as she spoke. She could feel heat blotching her neck and her cheeks were blazing red.

“Yeah - it’s not great. I can’t really talk about it much right now but I’ll be ok.”

“I’m glad, William. Hoping you’ll be cleared soon…give Pasta a little run for his money.”

William chuckled at Loren referencing his good friend and fellow number 88 for the Bruins, David Pastrňák.

“That’s my plan.”

There was a hesitation at William’s end but despite her desire to avoid awkward pauses, she simply waited for him to speak.

“So, I was wondering if I could ask a big….I mean - a huge favour, really. I know I’m probably the last person you would want to help but I’m really hoping you can.”

“That’s not true. If I can, I’d be happy to help you out.”

The warmth in Loren’s response made William’s heart crack.

“So, the stuff I’m going through sort of prevents me from getting around on my own sometimes. I’m in Boston right now so I’ve got the medical staff nearby but I think I might need help when I get back to Toronto. There’s kind of a lot of stuff going on right now and I need someone close to me that I can trust and keep everything private.”

If they were on a video call, William would have immediately seen Loren's confused expression.

“…..okay….so - what exactly can I do to help…?” Loren asked cautiously. She had no idea where this was going.

“The thing is part of what’s happening involves - what can I call it…”

Loren thought about what he might mean. “Like do you need….personal care?”

“Yeah….exactly. I know that sounds kind of, I don’t know…like something else. The thing is, part of what happens when I have migraines…I tend to….well, like nothing stays down….”

“Vomit…?” Loren clarified.

“Pretty much, yeah. I just need some help getting through the next 4 or 5 days maybe? I know how bad it probably sounds with me asking you this. I mean….I’ve wanted to talk to you anyway but -”

“I get it…” Loren wasn’t sure if she wanted to sound curt or not, but she didn’t want to hear that “he’s been meaning to call.”

Loren rubbed her forehead with her fingers. “Hmmm…let me see what I can do. When do you get back?”

“Tonight. There’s kind of a lot to explain -,” William paused for a moment, unsure how to broach the next subject. “There’s going to be a camera crew around me at some point this week as well. Fucking shitty timing.”

Loren just shook her head. This was all too strange.

Loren chuckled. “Jesus William, I’m not even going to ask…but I swear this shit can only happen to you.”

This is exactly why William often missed Loren. She could poke fun at life a little and ease some of the tension. That’s what he needed right now.

She heard his hallmark giggle softly through the phone before adding “Fuck - tell me about it.”

“Well, okay….I can’t say yes right at the moment. I’ll see if I can juggle some stuff around. I’ll message you back when I know more.”

“Or…you can call. I’d like the company - if you can….things have been really fucking shit lately.”

She rolled her eyes mockingly but then felt bad. “I can imagine,” she said, sounding as sympathetic and supportive as she could.

There was a pause - so Loren decided to wrap the conversation up. “Alright then, I’ll be in touch one way or the other once I know more. Take it easy William - ok?”

“Wait - Loren….look, I’m s - I’m really sorry.” William’s hesitation between his words and his low tone softened Loren a little more.

“William - you’ve not done anything wrong. There’s no need for an apology…. not in my mind anyway.”

“Yeah, but I am sorry for the way things turned out. Bad timing I guess.”

Loren wasn’t sure she believed in bad timing. Despite how she felt for him, she had faith that things happen in life the way they’re supposed to. Bad timing had nothing to do with it.

“Well, then…I’m sorry too William.” Loren paused again and then tried to sound upbeat. “Okay, let me get going on this and I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Hey - uh, thanks Loren. I really appreciate it….for sure, talk to you soon. Call, okay?”

Loren mumbled a half-assed acknowledgement before ending the call. Hanging her head, and then looking up at the ceiling, all she could mutter was “what the fuck - really?”

She flopped back on the bed. Her head was hurting and her stomach was a mess.

Her phone buzzed and chimed once more. Loren’s irritation was beginning to simmer.

Swear to God - if this is William again….I’m going to fucking scream….

It was William. He sent a picture he took of Loren, Pablo and Banksy on his couch that was taken weeks ago. She remembered that moment when the dogs were vying for her attention but never knew William had witnessed it, let alone taken a photo.

His caption read “I meant to send this to you awhile ago. Really great picture. Hoping you can come visit. The boys would be happy to see you.”

Seeing the still shot of a memory which William kept for whatever reason, helped soften her mood.

Hopping into the shower, she visualized her calendar for the next week, making mental moves in her head like a chess game. She had no idea why she was even doing this other than the simple fact she liked to help people in need, first and foremost.

Within the hour, schedules and plans had been altered, financing for the missed hours from work was accounted for, and she placed the call to William, asking him when he'd like her to come.

"Tonight, if possible?" was William's response. "I haven't been feeling that great today and this stuff might hit me harder when I get home," he added for clarification.

Loren was apprehensive, but she agreed to stay.

Later that day, after William confirmed he was en-route to the airport in Boston, he asked if she could start venturing down to his place.

It seemed that "fuck me" was her mantra that day. Loren repeated her mantra again and again for the entire drive down to Yorkville.

◇◈◆◇◈��◆◈

William had already secured Loren parking in the visitors section at his building. Pulling into a well-lit spot, she hurriedly grabbed her bags from the trunk. Despite the level of security the underground garage had, she was still a little nervous being in a parking garage at night by herself.

Loren rode the elevator to the main lobby and approached the security desk to advise which tenant she was visiting and the make and model of her vehicle. Having seen her previously, one of officers, by the name of Warren, advised that William had requested that she be escorted and given entry to his place prior to his arrival. There had been a fog delay at Boston’s Logan Airport and William’s arrival was far behind schedule.

Warren smiled warmly at Loren as he handed her the key fob for William's unit and the two chatted amicably during the elevator ride to William’s floor. "Mr. Nylander mentioned you might be staying for a few days. It’ll be nice to see another friendly face around here.”

When it came to William’s day to day goings on, the only other people that would know what he did and who he saw would be the security officers at his building.

Loren chuckled and smiled, but felt a twinge of unease wondering if the guard was secretly implying something. She wondered how much the security staff had witnessed of William's personal life and visitors. As she stepped out of the elevator, she pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on sounds of Pablo and Banksy slight whimpers at the door. Loren asked Warren what time the dogs’ caregiver would have dropped them off, trying to understand if they would be desperate for to go outside. Warren informed her that the dogs had been dropped off about an hour ago, so there shouldn’t be an urgent need. Loren had never taken the pups out by themselves, and she wanted to ask William before she went ahead anyway.

Loren thanked Warren for his help as she unlocked the door to William's condo.

As she stepped into the apartment, Pablo and Banksy greeted her with enthusiastic yips, both standing on their hind legs to accept Loren’s affectionate rubs. Loren knelt down to pet them cooing at their sweet faces and accepting their voracious wet kisses in return. It was so bewildering to be standing in William’s place without him there, and she felt a little out of sorts.

She scouted out where it would be best to sleep, talking softly to Pablo and Banksy as they followed her room to room. It was difficult not to feel something as she carefully padded through William’s space. Loren tried to breath deeply to calm her nerves, but instead, she would catch a scent that belonged to William, and her stomach would flip once more.

Her phone chimed which startled her. William messaged her that he would be home soon. The messages were just a few words that barely made a sentence and it had her wondering what kind shape his was in.

Loren sat in the dimly lit living room with the memories of their first meeting, their first meal, their first glass of wine.

Their first kiss.

That kiss is why there are love songs, poetry, and Hallmark greeting cards.

It was a small part of what made her insides hurt that things ended between them. The other part was simply him. William’s exterior was one thing, but what lived inside his head is what she missed the most. He was a little bit of everything. Quirky. Nerdy for sure. Intelligent in many things but undeniably clueless with others. His curiosity. If he was interested in a topic, the long list of questions he asked were thoughtful and thought-provoking.

She had not experienced being around a man like William before. But now that she had, at the very least, she has a better idea of what she’s truly looking for in the future.

With her body stretched out on the couch, and both dogs lying lengthwise on her, Loren eventually drifted off to sleep.

With the sound of voices approaching from the hallway, the dogs leapt off of Loren’s body and bolted towards the door.

As Loren stood up from the couch, there were two things she was not expecting when the door opened.

The first was Calle Järnkrok leading William inside while carrying his bags, and the second was William's alarming appearance. His typically bright blue eyes were bloodshot and sunken, with dark circles underneath.

Loren greeted the men softly, taking William's bags and placing them by the hallway. The look of concern on her face was very apparent, and Calle quickly explained that the combination of fog delays and the flight itself had triggered a severe migraine in William. With the shuffling from airport, to plane, to car, the pain in his head had reached excruciating levels. Along with feeling terribly nauseous, his vision was blurred and compromised.

Calle thanked Loren for being there and taking over. He quickly mentioned instructions in William’s bag for his home care requirements as he headed for the door. It hurt for William to speak but he managed to thank Calle, his voice low, gravelly and almost slurred.

Once Calle had left, Loren suggested she help him into bed. William didn’t object, but he before he moved, he grabbed Loren’s hand and pulled her into him.

The same despondency he showed on her doorstep weeks before could be felt in his embrace. Loren gently wrapped her arms around his broad frame, whispering that he should get into bed. As she began to reposition herself by his side, his grip around her waist was firm, and stopped her from moving as he pulled her even closer to him.

She felt his warm breath against her cheek as she stood motionless, unsure and caught off guard with the way he held her. He began to thank her, but instead he grit his teeth as a wave of throbbing pain traveled through one side of his head.

Loren gently coaxed him to walk slowly to his bedroom, her voice sounded both melodic and soothing as she guided him down the hallway.

Passing the guest bedroom, William saw Loren’s bags just inside the door.

Loren followed William’s gaze. Although nothing verbal was said, she sensed his dismay.

Entering his room and stopping at the foot of the bed, Loren stood in front of William, groaning inside her mind knowing that she might need to help him undress.

She instructed him to sit on the bench at the end of his bed, helping him lower himself down. She knelt down in front of him and began untying his shoes, removing them silently as William watched every move she made.

She looked up at him and smirked. “Don’t get any ideas…I’m just down here to take off your shoes.”

William only smiled. It hurt to laugh.

“It the pain still really bad? Can you see anything?”

“Vision’s coming back. Fucking head though…and my stomach.”

Loren gave him a sympathetic nod, saying she’d get him into bed in a second.

With minimal movements, she removed his hoodie and t-shirt underneath. His scent made her hungry to kiss every bit of bare skin that she just exposed.

Removing his sweatpants was worse. Way worse. She scolded herself mentally when she kept glancing towards his concealed dick. She hated the fact she still craved it as badly as she did. It was literally making her salivate.

She gently helped William into bed, leaning over him to adjust pillows supporting his head and neck. Once he was settled, she pulled the covers over him.

The light from the hallway provided just enough illumination to see William's face as he closed his eyes. Loren told him she would turn off all the lights once she got the cold gel compress she brought and a lined bucket to set next to his bed in case he needed it.

As she turned to exit the room, William's hand lightly clasped onto two of Loren's fingers. "I don't know many girls who would look after me like this. Thank you so much." His voice sounded dry and croaky, and Loren made a mental note to get him some fluids.

She looked at William for a moment before a faint smile spanned her face. "Well, then I guess you're Snapping the wrong girls… I bet I could find a thousand and one ladies in 30 minutes or less who would shank their own mother to be in my position right now. Could have them here faster than a Domino's pizza."

William smiled, but his eyebrows furrowed. "I'm trying to say thank you, y'know…"

"You're not supposed to be talking at all." Loren stroked his hand with her thumb, acknowledging in her own way that she appreciated him saying it, but it wasn't necessary. "I'll be back in a sec."

She pet the pooches that had already nestled between William's legs on top of the comforter and glided out of the room. William opened one eye enough just to glance at her backside as she left the room.

She quickly dissolved the electrolyte package that had been sent home in William's home care package from the medical staff on the team. She retrieved the gel compress mask from the refrigerator and a few other items. But as she entered the room, William was leaning over the edge of the bed, groaning that he was going to be sick. Loren quickly set everything aside and went to William's side just for some support. She leaned over next to him and quietly asked him if she should stay by his side. He nodded his head.

After his dry heaves had subsided, she helped him lay down, and sat next to him on the edge of the bed as he drifted off to sleep. Once she heard his breathing slow into a specific rhythm, she moved quietly about the room, disposing of the contents of the bucket and replacing the bag, setting the strong electrolyte mix next to him with a straw, and plugging in his phone.

It was around 4 a.m. when she had cleaned and tidied everything up and decided to head to bed. She turned off all the lights, closed the blinds, and ensured William's room was now completely shrouded in darkness. As she closed his door, he quietly called her name.

She stepped lightly to his bedside, and he asked if she would sleep there with him.

Loren was exhausted and knew he had the most comfortable bed imaginable. She quietly agreed, citing "just in case he's sick again" in her head as an additional excuse to stay.

She quickly got ready for bed. She wondered if she could get away with just sleeping on top of the comforter, but the condo was far too cold for her light pajama set.

She crawled in next to William, asked him if he was okay, and as he nodded, she wished him a good sleep.

He thanked her once again for everything she'd done. He thought to himself how amazing she had been to him so far, and he felt like he didn't deserve her kindness and care.

He moved his hand close to her bent leg under the covers. Just having her there next to him was good enough for tonight.

—

The following morning, Loren awoke to a dog barking. The sound came from nearby, not from the dogs that she felt were still nestled between William and her.

She looked around slowly, getting her bearings. She saw William’s bedroom door slightly open which let some light in from the main living space.

She didn’t want to shift and wake William up, who’s body seemed to a little closer to her than she remembered when she fell asleep.

Turns out, she needn’t worry.

A low "good morning" purred behind her. Before she could stifle it, a soft giggle escaped her lips as a smile spread across her face.

She turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse of William's face. His eyes still looked heavy and tired, and his five o’clock shadow had added 6, 7, and 8 o’clock to it too. A soft grin teased his lips as he looked at Loren while laying on his side.

This was not faring well for Loren as part of the getting over William Nylander program that she was on.

She shifted onto her side, pulling up the blankets to cover her boobs that appeared much more voluptuous in this position bunched in her tank top.

God, he is so fucking beautiful Loren thought.

Fuuuuck me….look at her William thought.

Loren peeled her gaze off of William and onto the dogs - Banksy had flipped onto his back while Pablo looked unimpressed and pouted at the end of the bed.

She motioned for Pablo to come up towards her, which he did. Licking her face, she quietly told him how smart of a boy he was.

Hers eyes met William’s again, behind his glasses this time, and she asked him how he was feeling.

“Much, much better. My eye sight seems to be pretty normal…. have a little headache but nothing like last night.”

“Good, I’m so glad - I can’t imagine that pain.”

"Fuck—yeah, the headache was really starting to build in the plane, so I just leaned my seat back and closed my eyes. When we were landing, that's when it hit badly—I couldn't see out of my one eye."

He then backtracked to the point where his recent headaches had begun.

"Pretty much right after I left your place, I could feel one side of my head starting to ache," William confessed.

Loren looked perplexed. "It started right after you left?"

William looked at Pablo and began scratching him under his collar. Pablo's hind leg began to thump as he scratched himself in sync with William's fingers.

"I was thinking about it all the way home. It wasn't your fault that my scoring fell off a cliff. I'm pretty sure I made you feel like you were the problem. Y'know… with the whole distraction thing."

Loren's eyes remained cast downward as she lightly stroked the tufts of fur on Pablo's back. "I don't really remember anything, other than feeling — I know it sounds juvenile maybe but — feeling just really sad. I think you're a pretty good guy… I knew I was going to miss hanging out with you." Loren's cheeks flushed with her admission.

"Wait — just pretty good? Not a great or awesome guy… I only get a pretty good?" William teased.

"Never got the chance to fully find out before you ditched me," Loren deadpanned, followed with a little snicker.

William hung his head in defeat. "Ok — yeah… take it easy… I'm not well…," he smiled.

Loren mockingly whispered at Pablo as he craned his head around to sniff her face. "You hear that Pablo — your Dad can dish it out but he can't take it…"

Pablo wagged his tail at Loren as she scratched under his ears, telling him how great and awesome he was.

She heard William giggle and scoff at her.

William grabbed his phone from the nightstand, unplugging it as he adjusted his body in bed. "I'm guessing you plugged in my phone — thanks for doing that. I actually don't know if I remember much, other than you being here when Calle walked me up."

"You were in pretty rough shape… it was not at all prepared to see you like that actually."

William scrolled through the gazillion messages, finally selecting one to read through. He turned to Loren, adjusting his glasses as he glanced back at his phone. "So seriously, how long do I have you for? Think you can drive me to the arena today? They want to do another check-up."

Loren smiled and turned onto her back, stretching her arms over her head while yawning. "That's what I'm here for… you definitely shouldn't be driving." She looked at William, eyes bright and wide. "You wanna take my car?" she asked, and then giggled. Her car was essentially a shit box and not nearly as nice as William's—for some reason, she was geared to egg him on a little today.

William shook his head and chuckled. "We'll take my car—your car....well, it does enough travelling." He thought for another moment. "You never answered my question… how long do I have you for? And don't change the subject…" he said light-heartedly.

"You said four or five days, so I took five. But I don't think you'll need me for that long… you already seem a million times better."

"Don't get upset at me for asking but… you ok with not getting paid for that long? We can figure out something to get you reimbursed—you just need to tell me."

"I'm okay. It'll be okay."

"Loren—seriously—please…"

"I promise… I got a little side business going....there's been a little extra money coming in lately. So, I'm good… but thank you. Truly… I appreciate the offer."

"What is it—the side business?"

Loren looked away sheepishly. "OnlyFans," she replied quietly.

William's head nearly swiveled off of his shoulders and his mouth dropped open.

Loren's face turned red. "What—you told me once that I should try it—that I would do well on there…"

"Fuck—I—really—I didn't… are you serious?"

Loren looked down at Pablo and then back toward William, before she grinned at his shocked expression. "No, I'm not serious. My side gig is tutoring French—conversational and otherwise."

William looked up at the ceiling. "Fuck… shocked the shit outta me. Ow—fuck…" William winced, squinting his eye and pressing his palm over top of it. "Thanks for the jolt, my headache is back."

Loren sat up. "Oh fuck… oh no—shit—really? I am really—I'm so sorry!" she said panicking. "You see why I never joke around much? My timing sucks…"

William laughed. "Ha—gotcha…"

◇◈◆◇◈◇◆◈

If there was a word that would describe the 2024 Leafs versus Boston series, it would be "dramatic."

Add in pre- and post-game media scrums, plus a camera crew following William at certain points during his illness, there was rarely a moment in his life that wasn't complicated.

What was unsurprising, but perhaps unexpected is how Loren naturally provided a buffer between William and his professional life. There was a sanctity with her presence in his home. She brought warmth, comfort, and offered unwavering and nonjudgmental support when he allowed himself to unload some of the thoughts that clogged his mind.

William discovered the friendship side of his relationship with Loren. She slept in his bed the first night, but stayed in the guest bedroom for the nights that followed. It's not what William had wanted, and if Loren was being honest, she still deeply desired William too. But, for that moment, she did what she felt was best for both of them and kept their reunion platonic.

However, after Game 4, where it seemed all but over for the Leafs — the game where William was caught on camera clapping back at his teammates — William arrived home in an abysmal mood.

Although he was quiet, Loren sensed he was like a pressure cooker ready to pop. The vein in his neck, the one she had once kissed while William gripped onto her from a powerful orgasm, jutted out under his skin. Loren treaded lightly, and gave him time to process how the game unfolded now that he was home.

It was when he grabbed his phone and saw how many notifications there were, on top of the millions he already had, that totally set him off. He whipped his phone at the adjacent plush chair, yelled expletives, shoved some furniture around and paced around the living room, letting every single thought he had — unfair or not — out into the universe.

Banksy curled onto Loren's lap but Pablo stood on the arm of the couch and watched William devotedly. Each time William passed Pablo, he would rub him or kiss his head, but he continued to unleash whatever he had pent up. There was a lot. Far more than Loren ever suspected.

She listened intently. If he asked her for her thoughts, she somehow balanced being supportive while remaining neutral.

One of many benefits of having an open concept kitchen and living room space is that one can still listen to a person vent and make them something to eat while not missing a beat. Which is exactly what Loren did as William let out all of his frustrated thoughts, then finally sat down at his kitchen island as he wound down.

With the sourdough bread that Loren bought the day before, she stood in William's kitchen making him a light meal of Croque Monsieur.

The day before, William and Loren had taken the dogs on a long walk to a bakery Loren was eager to visit. Though she'd offered to go alone, William insisted on joining her. The beautiful spring day began cool and crisp but quickly warmed as it progressed.

During Loren's stay, William had noticed a change in her demeanor. While still kind and caring, the wide-eyed excitement she'd once shown when they first met had dimmed. She now seemed guarded, as if holding back her emotions.

However, as they entered the bakery together, William watched Loren come alive. Her eyes lit up at the sights and smells surrounding them. She looked absolutely radiant—this was the Loren he remembered.

William watched her finish up at the stove, and she plated the French style sandwich and handed it to him. William's eyes widened at the sight of it -- the bread was toasted perfectly golden and the rich cheese slightly oozed onto the plate.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck…" William groaned.

Loren's back was turned as she washed the dishes. Hearing his groan, her first thought was that he saw something upsetting on his cellphone. She turned around with a concerned look, just to see William taking another massive bite of food.

His mouth was still partially full as he rolled his eyes at Loren. "This is so fucking good… like — fuck… oh my god."

William eyed the pan that she was just about to clean. "Wait — could you pretty please make me another one? Pretty please? I'll do whatever you want me to…" William said wryly, but there was a suggestive flavor to it too.

Loren blushed as her thoughts turned sinful.

Fucking guy, she laughed to herself, shaking her head.

After making another, in no time, he was already halfway through the second Croque Monsieur. Loren suddenly felt a grumble of hunger in her stomach. "Think I could have just the tiniest bite — if you can spare it…" she said with a little wink.

William had this look. It was a combination of pretty boy, frat boy, fuck boy, cocky boy and sweetheart rolled into one, and it made Loren weak.

He lifted the piece of bread up and motioned for her to go ahead and take a bite. It had unnerved her a little, with his eyebrow cocked and raised, but she was hungry now. There was a small window of opportunity to look as sexy as she could while sinking her teeth into the sandwich. If not sexy looking, she would at least try for not awkward.

She gently wrapped her hand around his which held the base up, and took a slow bite.

Goddammit — that is fucking good, she thought.

She swiped some crumbs from the side of her mouth while William watched how pretty she looked with her cheeks flushed.

"Wait — there's a bit of mustard still left."

She wasn't sure if there really was or not — she was too busy kissing William back. He had pulled her into him and mumbled something about "being so amazing", and began kissing her urgently.

They remained in a lip lock the entire way to William's bedroom.

There in the low light from his bedside lamp, they undressed each other, their hands worked in sync as pants were unfastened and clasps were undone. Their hands smoothed over each other's skin which filled them each with profound desire and admiration.

They both knew what they yearned for from each other, and neither was willing to try and fight it.

Still, Loren worried about William overexerting himself. She had experienced William's voracious sexual appetite before — it was a marvel to experience his level of cardio and stamina. Given he had just made his first appearance in the playoffs after his blinding migraines, she was not going to be the reason he missed out on the rest of the series.

He pulled her in tightly, her hands raked through his hair as he kissed and nipped her neck.

"I think it might be too much if you…" — Loren's voice trailed off into a moan as William's mouth made contact with her nipple — "…I think you should lie on your back… fuck William…" she groaned.

He was almost lifting her off the ground with the way he held and kissed her.

Loren smoothed his hair as he latched onto her nipple again. "William… please… your head… don't overdo anything… let me — here… lie on your back." He kissed back up her neck, stopping to look at her face.

The way she cared for him was extraordinary.

After he lied down for her, the way she worked his cock in her mouth was indescribable.

But the way she rode him until the muscles in his thighs quivered was otherworldly.

Once again, in the still bliss afterward, William's world felt calm as he lay with Loren sleeping next to him.

The next morning, William opened his eyes and saw the silhouette of Loren's side profile. Her eyelashes, her nose that turned up at the end. Fuck, that mouth of hers.

He could tell that she was awake as she lazily glided her hands through Pablo's fur.

"What are you thinking about?" William's low, morning croak made her smile while her gaze remained fixed on the ceiling.

"Just thinking about your next game. Maybe you should pull a Marchand and go up and lick Pasta on his face. Get him off his game."

William laughed, moving closer to kiss Loren's shoulder. He motioned for her to turn into his chest, knowing how much she loved it there. "Nah, Pasta might like it and try and kiss me back. I think I've been in the news enough lately anyway — don't need anything else for them to write about."

Loren kissed and nuzzled his chest. "I guess. It'd be something to see though."

It was quiet in the room, save for the drone of traffic from the streets below.

"I got a text from my manager at the home. The person covering for me dislocated his shoulder. They could really use me, and it seems like you're on the right track."

William knew at one point she would need to go back to her own life. It was a hard pill to swallow though, after all she had done for him. "Oh wow. Yeah, ok… I understand. Although… I'm feeling a little light-headed, dizzy… and my back's sore — and I've got a toe cramp…" William chuckled.

Loren smiled against his skin. "Oh — okay…well, in that case…" she purred, gliding her hand up his bare back, "you better tell Paul and the med staff when you go in for practice this morning." She giggled knowing that wasn't the response he was aiming for.

"Ooof — okay… was I that big of a pain in the ass?"

Loren reached up to kiss him along his jawline. "The biggest," she responded, her voice just above a whisper.

—

Loren had agreed to drive William to practice before she headed north to go home. The drive to the rink was understandably quiet as William thought about the aftereffects from the dumpster fire of Game 4 the night before. Added to that was the uncertainty of what the future held for the two of them.

As they inched along in traffic nearing the rink, William started to fidget a little, rubbing and scratching his beard as he often did while talking to reporters. Loren noticed it, but remained quiet. She was lost in her own thoughts anyway.

"Are you nervous?" Loren finally asked.

William's eyes seemed like a pale blue that morning as he looked toward Loren. They were still gorgeous she thought, but they were a little sullen. Tired.

"A little. Just don't know what the mood is going to be like in there. Cameras are going to be on me and Mitchy, I think." William leaned his head back on the headrest. "So, what happens next — you know… with this?"

Loren smiled and shook her head. "I wish I knew." William couldn't help but laugh at her expression — her bright smile, biting her lip and with a look of "fucked if I know."

Loren pulled into the entrance of the rink and into a parking spot. Looking to William, she continued her thought. "I guess for you, either you'll be going on to the next round, or you'll be packing up to go home for the offseason. Either way, I am excited for you, and I'm so glad you asked me to come help you."

William looked down and smiled. "You know I'm bad with words, but this time we just spent was really… amazing. The fact you even said that you'd help me after… after I… after things ended the way they did."

"William — stop saying it like you did something wrong a few weeks back. You did nothing wrong. You were faced with a decision and you made one."

"Yeah but it really fucking sucked. For both of us."

"Well, you still get to be you so… I guess it sucked more for me, but whatever… I won't argue," Loren laughed, nudging William.

William smiled and started to unbuckle his seatbelt. “Alright, I'll message you later," he said as he opened the car door and slid out of the seat. He came around to Loren's side, leaned through the open window and kissed her tenderly. He leaned his forehead against hers, and sighed. "Better go. Talk soon."

Loren grinned and nodded, giving him a wink and wished him luck.

As she drove away, she felt an unexpected feeling of peace. It was almost like closure somehow. She had no illusions about William. She had another quick glimpse into his world, and she was not sure - given the chance - if being a WAG is something she would want to entertain. But she truly was grateful to be there for William when he needed someone, and that he trusted her with his very private life.

All Loren knew is that she would return home, resume her life and let the chips fall where they may.

[mywordstovictor]

I’m sick of people hating on allies. Let them come to pride. Let their queer friends drag them along in queer spaces for moral support or just because they’re a fun time. The cishet who loves their queer friends with their whole heart could probably benefit from being around some queer joy too, right now. Let the people who worry about us in on some of the fun parts so they know that sometimes we’re ok. I dunno sometimes I talk to that cis person who’s around trans folks as much as I am, who’s thoroughly versed in the culture, and it heals my heart a little that the divide just doesn’t seem to exist beyond a handful of community norms. I, a socially awkward, like chatting with the straight boyfriend at his first queer event because we’re both outsiders and he’s usually genuinely curious about what’s going on around him and if that’s not an opening for an infodump I don’t know what is.

I don’t mean Deborah from work who put a pride flag sticker on her computer and called herself ally of the year, I mean Harold, who’ll travel two hours for a protest in another town, who’s more or less the full time chauffeur for his bi daughter and all her little queer friends, whose house is where little trans boys ship their first binder so their parents don’t find out. Beatrice, who’s been giving politicians who aren’t doing enough a piece of her mind since the 70s. Hailey, who’s the butt of token straight jokes in all her friend groups and laughs along but checks in after with a few close friends that she’s actually ok to be there and she’s not intruding, who comes to take pride in knowing how to be there for her queer buddies. Spencer, who’s so fluent in queer culture he’s sure to wear an ally pin when he tags along to pride because no one expects straight guys to know those references and it gives the wrong idea that he does. Cis queers who gravitate toward the trans crowd at events and shut down anything even remotely terfy they catch in the broader community with a vengeance.

Plus, people don’t listen to us like they do cishet folks who speak up for us. Even if we ignore how chill allies usually are and that’s it’s generally just fun to have them around and that leaving it open to allies is also leaving it open to questioning queer people it’s a horrible strategic move to be assholes to them. When straight folks want to fight with us, we need to let them in enough that they can learn how. Ideally, we let them see into the worlds of the people they’re fighting for and celebrate the wins with us.

I know we’re all scared right now and straight people feel unsafe, but separatism is not good for us as individuals or as a community. As a community, we need allies to make progress. It’s a numbers game. As individuals, it’s good for us to see that there are cishet folks who don’t hate us. It’s important to have kind people around to remind us that it’s not us against everybody else. And it’s important to have people around who remind us that we’re not fundamentally so inherently different a divide is inevitable. And I dunno the lady in the ‘I ❤️ my trans grandchild’ shirt last year was really sweet and I still think about her when I start to feel hopeless.

[mariacallous]

In the summer of 2008, I was 19 years old, halfway through college, and an aspiring poet with a notebook full of earnest stanzas of questionable quality. I loved writing. I loved literature. As I considered what sort of career might suit me, I became curious about the life of a book editor. So I made my way to New York City for an internship I had received at a major publishing house. Joining me were four other interns—two Black women and two Asian women. The idea was to open industry doors to students from backgrounds underrepresented in the field.

I felt primed for the experience, fresh from a transformative college course that introduced me to the history of Black American letters, anchored by The Norton Anthology of African American Literature. Published in 1996 by W. W. Norton and edited by the scholars Henry Louis Gates Jr. and Nellie Y. McKay, the book traversed three centuries of writing, from the Negro spirituals of the 18th century to the poetry and prose of the late 20th century. This was the volume, many said, that had assembled and indexed a Black American literary canon for the first time. Toward the anthology’s close, I found myself spellbound by Toni Morrison’s 1973 novel, Sula, and intrigued by a single line in her biography: Not long after she published her first novel, “Morrison became a senior editor at Random House.”

I’d never known that Morrison had straddled the line between writer and editor. Perhaps naively, I hadn’t envisioned that someone could do both jobs at once, especially a writer of Morrison’s caliber. And I didn’t know then how many of the writers who surrounded her in the Norton volume—Lucille Clifton, June Jordan, Leon Forrest, Toni Cade Bambara—as well as figures beyond the anthology, such as Angela Davis, Muhammad Ali, and Huey P. Newton, had relied on Morrison to usher their books into the world. I certainly did not appreciate how dynamic—and complicated—both the art and the business of those collaborations had been for her.

Now readers can discover Morrison the bold and dogged editor, thanks to a deeply researched and illuminating new book, Toni at Random: The Iconic Writer’s Legendary Editorship, by Dana A. Williams, a scholar of African American literature and the dean of Howard University Graduate School. Decades of path-clearing and advocacy had preceded the Norton anthology, and Morrison, as the first Black woman to hold a senior editor position at the prominent publishing house, had played a major part. In a 2022 interview, Gates remarked that Random House’s hiring of Morrison, at the height of the civil-rights movement, was “probably the single most important moment in the transformation of the relationship of Black writers to white publishers.”

A pronouncement like that runs the risk of hyperbole, but Williams’s meticulous and intimate account of Morrison’s editorial tenure backs up the rhetoric. How Morrison handled the pressures of wielding her one-of-a-kind influence is fascinating—and, in retrospect, telling: As an editor, she was not just tenacious, but also always aware of how tenuous progress in the field could be. And it still can be: The recent departures of prominent Black editors and executives who helped diversify publishing’s ranks after George Floyd’s murder in 2020 are a stark reminder of that.

Morrison’s arrival at Random House in the late 1960s, a fraught and fertile moment, was well timed, though her route there wasn’t direct. She was born Chloe Ardelia Wofford in 1931 in the midwestern steel town of Lorain, Ohio, to parents who, like so many millions of Black Americans in that era, had fled the racial violence of the South in search of safety and economic opportunities farther north. They recognized their daughter’s brilliance early (as did teachers) and began scraping together money to make college possible. Morrison went to Howard, majoring in English, minoring in classics, and throwing herself into theater. After getting a master’s degree in American literature from Cornell University and teaching at Texas Southern University, she went back to Howard in 1957 and spent seven years in the English department. She joined a writing group, whose members loved some pages she shared about a young Black girl who wishes her eyes were blue—the seeds of her debut novel, The Bluest Eye.

Morrison also married, had a child, and divorced, before returning home to Ohio in 1964, pregnant and in search of a new start. One day not long after, three copies of the same issue of The New York Review of Books were accidentally delivered, carrying an ad for an executive-editor job at a small textbook publisher in Syracuse that had recently been acquired by Random House. Morrison’s mother said the mistake was a sign that she should apply. Morrison’s first novel was still several years off, and she needed a steady job that would allow her to focus on her writing in the evenings. She was hired and spent a few years at the publisher before it was fully absorbed by Random House, one of whose top executives had been struck by her intellect and editorial adroitness. She was soon offered a job as an editor on the trade, or general interest, side. She accepted.

Amid racial upheaval and widespread student protests, Black studies and African studies were on the rise, transforming how the history, literature, and culture of the Black diaspora were taught. “I thought it was important for people to be in the streets,” Morrison later said. “But that couldn’t last. You needed a record. It would be my job to publish the voices, the books, the ideas of African Americans. And that would last.”

Her galvanizing insight as an editor was that “a good writer,” as Williams puts it, “could show the foolishness of racism,” as well as the many facets of Black life, “without talking to or about white people at all.” Morrison came to appreciate the power of directly exploring the inner and outer dimensions of Black life as she edited two groundbreaking anthologies: one that brought together some of the best African fiction writers, poets, and essayists, Contemporary African Literature, and another called The Black Book, which documented Black American history and daily experience through archival documents, cultural artifacts, and photographs. A frustration with the focus she found in the work of some homegrown Black writers also shaped her thinking. As she said later,

I realized that with all the books I’d read by contemporary Black American writers—men that I admired, or was sometimes disturbed by—I felt they were not talking to me. I was sort of eavesdropping as they talked over my shoulder to the real (white) reader. Take Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man: That title alone got me. Invisible to whom?

Morrison recognized, Williams writes, that this “editorial aesthetic” of hers made her work harder. Famous for giving its editors unusual freedom, Random House was all for unearthing new writers and creating a new readership. Still, reaching a general audience remained a trade publisher’s mandate. A salesman at a conference once told Morrison, “We can’t sell books on both sides of the street”: There was an audience of white readers and, maybe, an audience of Black readers, he meant, but those literary worlds didn’t merge. “Well, I’ll just solve that,” Morrison decided. She was determined to “do something that everybody loves” without losing sight of her commitment to Black readers.

To pull off that feat, Morrison’s mode was to be relentlessly demanding—of herself, her authors, and her Random House colleagues. She tailored her rigorous style to the varied array of Black writers she didn’t hesitate to pitch to her bosses. But whether she was editing her high-profile nonfiction authors—Newton, the Black Panther leader, and others—or largely unknown and highly unconventional fiction writers, among them Gayl Jones, her protective impulse stands out.

As they worked on their books with Morrison, Newton as well as the activist Davis resisted the pressure to lean into the sort of personal reflections the public was curious about, and she supported them, while insisting that their thinking be clearly laid out. For Newton’s 1972 collection of writings, To Die for the People, that meant tossing weak early essays and reediting the rest, even those that had already been published. But her aim was not to present his ideas “all smoothed out,” Williams writes. Morrison emphasized that “contradictions are useful” in accurately tracing the evolution of the Black Panther Party away from a focus on armed revolution and toward the goal of creating social infrastructure within communities, offering programs such as free breakfast for students. She felt that a reflective Newton should emerge from the book’s pages. Aware of the public narrative that positioned the Panthers as unhinged, violent racial nationalists, Morrison encouraged him to describe “what he believes are errors in judgment in the Party line behavior.”

She worked more intimately with Davis, whom she sought out right after Davis’s acquittal on charges of murder, kidnapping, and criminal conspiracy (resulting from a courthouse raid in which guns that were registered to Davis were used). For a time, Davis even moved in with Morrison and her two sons, then living in Spring Valley, New York. As they progressed through what became Angela Davis: An Autobiography (1974), their friendship seems to have made Morrison fiercer in deflecting calls for more personal revelation (which she considered sexist code for sensational romantic-life details). She bridled at one reader’s report asking for, among other things, more signs of Davis’s “humanness” in the draft. In a memo to Random House’s editor in chief, Morrison remarked that humanness is “a word white people use when they want to alter an ‘uppity’ or ‘fearless’ ” Black person.

At the same time, she pushed Davis for more vivid storytelling, and less academic vagueness in her account of her political life, her time in prison, her trial. At one point, Morrison chided her that “humanity is a vague word in this context,” evidently referring to Davis’s discussion of incarceration:

You repeat the idea frequently throughout so it is pivotal. “Breaking will” is clear; forcing prisoners into childlike obedience is also clear; but what is erode their humanity. Their humaneness? Their natural resistance?

Morrison bore down on publicity for the book too, famous though its author already was. She secured a blurb from the well-known British leftist Jessica Mitford, who wrote about prison reform too. Still, Morrison’s commitment to Black readership was unrelenting, and Random House arranged to provide hosts of book parties for Davis in Black communities with copies at a 40 percent discount. The party conveners could sell them at regular price and keep the profit.

Always on the lookout for new talent, Morrison asked friends who taught in creative-writing departments to send promising work by their students her way. In 1973, she dug into a box of manuscripts sent by the poet Michael Harper at Brown University. The writer was Gayl Jones, then in her early 20s, and Morrison was stunned by her narratively experimental prose. “This girl,” she felt, “had changed the terms, the definitions of the whole enterprise” of novel writing. Morrison, confessing that she was “green with envy,” immediately set up a meeting with Jones and soon persuaded the higher-ups at Random House to give her a book deal. She and Jones turned first to the draft of a novel titled Corregidora, which tackled the sexual exploitation of women entrapped in slavery, and its psychological and spiritual toll, in a more devastating and effective way than Morrison had ever encountered.

Spurred on by her fervent belief in Jones’s talent, Morrison was determined to ensure that Corregidora made an impression, well aware of how a successful debut could define a fiction writer’s career—particularly that of a Black woman fiction writer. She set exacting standards, bluntly calling Jones out when she thought she was taking shortcuts: “For example, Ursa’s song ought to be a straight narrative of childhood sexual fears,” she wrote to Jones, and went on: “May Alice and the boys—the fragments are really a cop out. You know—being too tired or impatient to write it out.” Understanding how shy Jones was, Morrison joined her for interviews and used her own literary capital (Sula had recently appeared to acclaim) to advocate for her work. “No novel about any black woman can ever be the same after this,” Morrison declared in a 1975 article in Mademoiselle.

Two years later, with the publication of Song of Solomon, Morrison also saw how her stature could get in the way. “In terms of new kinds of writing, the marketplace receives only one or two Blacks,” she later lamented in an interview in Essence magazine, wishing that the books she edited and published sold as well as the ones she wrote. In 1978, after the publication of Jones’s second novel, Eva’s Man, and a story collection, White Rat, Morrison’s once-close relationship with her unraveled amid mounting tensions with Jones’s partner; he had begun to represent Jones, and his behavior had become ever more erratic and aggressive.

By then, Morrison had just published a second novel by Leon Forrest, whose debut, There Is a Tree More Ancient Than Eden, had been a daunting, and thrilling, foray into novel-editing for her, back at the start of the decade. Together they had worked on an introductory section, describing the novel’s large cast of characters, not just to help readers but to orient Morrison herself as she went through the whole manuscript—and to get Random House’s editor in chief to offer Forrest a contract. With a foreword by Ralph Ellison (Morrison saw that two pages of comments he’d sent in would serve that purpose well), the novel was hailed for its risk taking and, Williams writes, for dwelling “in Blackness without reducing Blackness to an object of racism.” Though Forrest’s books lost money, Morrison’s support never wavered, and Random House, following her lead, stuck with him.

After scaling back on editing for a while, Morrison officially left Random House in 1983. She was eager to stop working on her fiction at night and “in the automobile and places like that,” she joked, and also to stop feeling “guilty that I’ve taken some time away from a full-time job.” The hard-driving editorial mission that had defined nearly two decades of Morrison’s life had never been peripheral for her—and hindsight reveals what a versatile catalyst she’d been in American literary culture. Though her departure was a boon for her own writing, it came at a cost. The number of Black authors who were published by Random House nose-dived after she left.

That probably didn’t come as a big surprise to Morrison. Seven years earlier, speaking at a conference on the past and future of Black writing in the United States, she had a message for the audience of major Black writers and critics: Don’t expect structural racism within and beyond publishing to disappear—but also don’t let that stop you. “I think that the survival of Black publishing, which to me is a sort of way of saying the survival of Black writing, will depend on the same things that the survival of Black anything depends on,” she said, “which is the energies of Black people—sheer energy, inventiveness and innovation, tenacity, the ability to hang on, and a contempt for those huge, monolithic institutions and agencies which do obstruct us. In other words, we must do our work.”

[ranikyani]

The Richmond Archives 🏛️ III [S-Z#]

A collection of fics centered around Terry Richmond as a main character, exploring different stories, relationships, and adventures.

💌: Make sure you read warnings before engaging + Take care of yourself while reading, mwah💋

🏡: Return to Daddy's Library or…

💬 Readers Remember: Supporting our writers goes beyond just liking a post! Yes, likes are cool but comments/reblogs and kudos can be incredibly meaningful and make a huge difference! Many talented writers feel discouraged by the lack of engagement and recent foolishness, so let's uplift them by showing appreciation for their work. Don't make our favs beg for a crumb of attention!

✍🏾 Writers, this is a work in progress... but if anything needs to be changed or removed immediately pls lmk.

Status: Completed 🏁 - Ongoing📝 - Hiatus ⏸️

Length: Drabble✨ - OneShot 🎯 - Series 📚 - MiniSeries ⏳ - Universe 🌎

Note: Summary will be provided for stories without one included. If anything should be changed pls lmk. I haven't read 1/2 these fics yet… will continue to update summaries/emojis as I make progress.

S

Said I Wouldn't 🏁⏳

Summary: Babysitting for Terry had its perks. You were able to see his gorgeous ass every night before heading off to your own house next door. And because he went to the gym on Wednesday nights, you had extra time to explore his room and live in your delusions. But when Terry catches you, you are unprepared for what comes next.

Author: @megamindsecretlair

Santa's Little Tease 🎯

Summary: When Janae catches Terry admiring his holiday handiwork, she decides it’s time for a reward he’ll never forget.

Author: @planetblaque

Savage 🎯

Summary: Valentine’s Day was the one day a year where Terry gave you what you yearned for. To be in control. You tease Terry all day, getting him worked up with the knowledge that he couldn’t touch you yet. That he wasn’t allowed to touch your body until you said so. Not until he surrendered to you. 

Author: @megamindsecretlair

Save Me 🎯

Summary: After years of no contact, Terry shows up on your doorstep in need of help.

Author: @planetblaque

Secret Admirer 🎯

Summary: Terry has been obsessed with the reader for 3 years and he finally makes his introduction.

Author: @nayaxwrites

Semper Fidelis ⏸️📚

Summary: Dre something something

Author: @ranikyani

Sexual Healing 🎯

Summary: Reader is depressed and Terry fucks her out of it.

Author: @writingsbytee

The Show Goes On 📝📚

Summary: Stone (Aaron Pierre) x Tirian Brenae

Author: @zillasvilla

Sins of the Flesh 🏁⏳

Summary: Terry Richmond x Black!OC [Riley]

Author: @brattyfics

Slangin' Tail 🎯

Summary: ...

Author: @motheroffeline

Slow Dance 🎯

Summary: ...

Author: @hotgrlcece

Slow Kissing ✨

Summary: What would slow kissing be like with Terry?

Author: @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

A Small Exchange ✨

Summary: In which Terry hopes for the best

Author: @slippinninque

Snug! ✨

Summary: In which Terry wasn't ready

Author: @slippinninque

Something Seasonal 📝📚

Summary: Not every princess lived in a castle. Terry learns this when he meets what he considers a celestial being in the dirtiest of places. Too enamored, he forgets about all his spoken promises to another.

Author: @simplyzeeka

Southern Triad ⏳

Summary: Summer in the South called for people from every region of the States to come down and reunite with their loved ones. It called for family reunions during the day and enjoying fried sweets and rides at the fair during the night. Iris McKay returns to her hometown with her boyfriend, Terry, and surprisingly her old fling, Bakari, returns as well after years overseas. Iris learns that Bakari and Terry have a history of their own; them being friends during their military days. This reconciliation between these three proposes an idea that Iris has always fantasized about and believes that it’ll soon come to fruition.

Author: @hotgrlcece

Spinning the Block 📝📚

Summary: What happens when the man you once arrested returns to your troubled town seeking you out for closure after the death of his cousin? That's where Officer Jessica "Jess" Sims finds herself after her past tumultuous run-in with Terry Richmond catches up to her.

Author: @uzumaki-rebellion

Stale 🎯

Summary: in which terry, despite never being one for birthdays, realizes maybe a push was all he needed?

Author: @wonderlustwrites

Stay A While 🌎 (bigger than a ongoing series, this is a ENTIRE universe and I LIVE for finishing all the parts when I get the time)

Summary: Terry Richmond x Black!OC (Patrice Ellis)

Author: @kumkaniudaku

The Story of Us ⏳

Summary: ...

Author: @hotgrlcece

The Strangers 🏁⏳

Summary: Home. A place that is your sanctuary. Somewhere you can escape from all the problems of the outside world. A place that provides you with a feeling of warmth and a sense of safety. What happens when it isn’t?

Author: @dxddykenn

Study Buddy 🎯

Summary: Studying with Terry

Author: @skvrpion

Surprise 🎯

Summary: You and Terry have been broken up for 3 months. You’re injured in an accident and the hospital calls Terry to notify him and… surprise

Author: @writingsbytee

Swampbound 📝📚

Summary: Set against the eerie backdrop of the Florida swamps in the 1980s, this supernatural tale follows Adla Bennett, a woman navigating life after her father’s death. When she discovers a wounded creature resembling a wolf on her porch, she shelters it for the night, only to learn the creature is a shapeshifter named Terry Richmond. He enlists her help in locating his missing cousin, Mike, intertwining their fates in unexpected ways.

Author: @brattyfics

Sweet Confections 🎯

Summary: In which Terry finds his woman in every confection.

Author: @simplyzeeka

Sweet Dreams 🎯

Summary: Terry has night terrors, luckily he's found you and his love for you keeps him grounded

Author: @sweettea-and-honeybutter

Sweet Escape 📝📚

Summary: You are on top of the world as one of the world’s most popular R&B singers. But behind the glitz and glam, you were unmoored, lonely, and aching for something you couldn’t put a name to. With freakish threats escalating, you turn to your stoic bodyguard, Terry, in hopes that you’ll finally feel safe and like you belong.

Author: @megamindsecretlair

T

Take You There ⏸️📚

Summary: Terry gets inspired in so many ways by a tattoo artist. 

Author: @sweettea-and-honeybutter

Taken Care Of 🎯

Summary: in which Terry wants to watch you and his homeboy.

Author: @theblacklewinsky

A Taste of Fire 🎯

Summary: Mica had a curious request of her husband. He denied her numerous times and with Terry, she learned to take what she wanted.

Author: @keyaho

A Tattoo and the Bloodsucker Blues 📝📚

Summary: Celeste thought the tattoo on Terry Richmond's arm marked him as one of those Hoteps or Nation of Islam brothas that hawked bean pies on the corner with the Final Call. But little did she know it meant more than that. That's why she has to track him down and kill him… before the baby in her belly can turn into his kind.

Author: @uzumaki-rebellion

Testing Testing ✨

Summary: In which Terry plays a very stupid game.

Author: @slippinninque

Three's A Crowd Two. 🎯

Summary: You were sent to a cozy cabin Christmas retreat in the secluded Rocky Mountains picked by two of your wealthy bosses Terry and Kelvin, for a much-needed break from the hustle and bustle of your corporate lives.

Author: @notapradagurl7

Tick 🎯

Summary: It's Terry birthday! While he is out with his homeboys, you decide to send him a video you made, but what happens when the reaction you get is something you never expected?

Author: @dabratzchronicles

Ties That Bind 🏁⏳

Summary: You and Terry Richmond, the mysterious billionaire with a magnetic presence and a dark edge, are bound by an arranged marriage that neither of you anticipated.

Author: @notapradagurl7

To Lose You ✨

Summary: Breaking up with Terry

Author: @dpennedit

Touch Me Like You Care 🎯

Summary: See Ask. Story by @uniqueoutlierblog . Terry comes home to find you reading in bed, all thoughts of getting dressed out of your mind as you rest. He was prepared to let you, truly, but then he finds that you’re not wearing the bracelets he bought you. And well, he can’t let that slide, can he?

Author: @megamindsecretlair

Try Not To Mess Up The Seats 🎯

Summary: ...

Author: @2neaky

'Twas the Night 🎯

Summary: Treating yourself to a winter writing getaway, you are startled when the homeowner forgot to mention the 6’3 handyman that came by to fix things around the house. You find an unlikely friendship with the man, opening up about your romance novel. But when you confess that you need some inspiration, Terry is all too happy to be of service. 

Author: @megamindsecretlair

U

Unexpected Visitor 🎯

Summary: Reader is a housewife who is home alone and receives a visitor that’s not who he seems.

Author: @nayaxwrites

Untitled ✨

Summary:...

Author: @alldthoughtsinmyhead

Untitled dad!Terry blurb ✨

Summary:...

Author: @ripeandsoft

Untitled date blurb ✨

Summary: Joya learns more about Professor Richmond

Author: @ripeandsoft

Untitled pregnant!reader blurb ✨

Summary:...

Author: @ripeandsoft

Up Late ✨

Summary: toxic baby daddy!Terry

Author: @ripeandsoft

V

Veiled Intentions 📝📚

Summary: black male x black female

Author: @tvchi

Venus ⏳

Summary: After a long, draining week, Terry and Cleopatra spoil each other for Valentine's Day the only way they know how; love languages and love making.

Author: @venusincleo

W

Want You 🎯

Summary: Terry x female reader, you unlock psychopathic behavior within Terry

Author: @sweettea-and-honeybutter

Warm In December 🎯

Summary: You convince your husband, Terry, to slip away during your annual Christmas Eve party.

Author: @mermaidchansons

Where You Going? 🎯

Summary: Toxic Husband!Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC

Author: @theereinawrites

Wild 🎯

Summary: You went on a small camping trip with Terry, who graciously helped to introduce you to hiking. After a critter destroys your tent, you stupidly volunteer to share his. Shouldn’t be too bad, right?

Author: @megamindsecretlair

Wolf By Night 🎯

Summary: Halloween Smut Fest

Author: @nayaxwrites

Worst Behavior ✨

Summary:...

Author: @dxddykenn

X

Y

Yes Day 🎯

Summary: She was supposed to sl*t him out, but Terry said no, not happening and just took the reigns.😔

Author: @simplyzeeka

You Don't Know My Name 🎯

Summary: Terry comes into your diner every. single. day. He don't even know what he's doing to you. Or does he?

Author: Me @ranikyani

You Knew What You Were Doin' 🎯

Summary: all you wanted to do is show Terry your new pajama set (maybe), but things take a different turn

Author: @overthedeadsea

You Scared? 🎯

Summary:

Author: @miyuhpapayuh

Z

# - Emojis

11:11 ⏳

Summary: Biker!Terry Richmond x Charlie

Author: @nayaesworld

30 Whole Days 🎯

Summary: Aaron is having a get together at his home with his colleagues and his wife has had an attitude with him all day… he ends up fixing it tho.

Author: @mymindisneverhere

💓🌦️🏃🏽🏃🏾‍♀️🌦️💓 - ✨

Summary: Fluff!!! Kissing in the rain!! Rainy day vibes, no real plot

Author: @slippinninque