#its litterally the first week of school

[iamunabletothinkofablogname]

I'm getting bullied for my nuetral face :D

[common-pipistrelle]

.

[attapullman]

Bob From Stats | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: College is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: f!reader, smut, 18+ ONLY as always, dry humping, alcohol, drunken party games, mentions of studying because that gives me PTSD, semi-exaggerated Greek life for theatrical reasons

A Note From Mo: Somehow my frat!Bob, drunk Bob is Rhett, and 7 minutes in heaven ideas all rolled into one fic - wild! Massive shoutout to everyone who listened to me talk about Stats Bob (who is now officially my #2 Bob, I love him) and for supporting this here lil blog. May you find a hobby-horse-wielding future WSO to sweep you off your feet too!

“I hate this. I’m going to quit school and become a stripper.”

Anna gives you a wry look. “That joke was only funny the first time you said it.”

“So you admit I’m funny!”

The two of you have been spread out in the library the majority of the evening. Textbooks, snacks, and highlighters littering the glossy dark wood. You’re on hour five of assignments and your brain is pounding against the front of your skull. Your other classes aren’t too bad, a bit time consuming, but Statistics is a foreign language. Thinking in probable numbers? It was one thing when the nice guy who sat behind you helped explain concepts, but Anna does not have quite the same analytical mind.

The sky outside is an inky black and the library is quiet except for your frustrated huffs. It’s Saturday night. The rest of campus is indulging in cheap beers at Barney’s, slinking along Greek Row, or enjoying tonight’s episode of Saturday Night Live. It’s time to get out of here and crawl into your soft bed. Torturing yourself with Stats homework will be just as painful on Sunday.

“If I buy us a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough, can we blow this off and hang out back at the dorms?” Anna is nodding before you’ve even finished. Stuffing notebooks into backpacks and capping pens low on ink, you’re strolling down the library stairs not even five minutes later.

As the balmy evening campus air hits your face, you already feel fresher. Campus is quiet, late enough that most people are settled into their Saturday night plans. As the two of you near Greek Row, there’s a comfortable silence as you appreciate the breeze through the trees and the warm glow of campus housing windows.

That is, until a low whoop rings out. An undercurrent of boisterous cheering and what sounds like stomping feet. You exchange eyes with your roommate. What is that?

As if summoned, a group comes galloping through the neatly trimmed cypress trees around the corner. They’re stomping their feet in a rhythm, hands held mid-air to imitate holding reigns. Drunken laughs ring out between cries of “Whoa!” and “Steady there, Lucky!” To round it off, the leader of their horse play (literally) is full-on cosplaying as a cowboy, his jeans tucked into boots and a Stetson perched atop his head. 

Wait, is he holding a hobby horse? It’s been decades since you’ve seen those horse heads stuck on a stick. The stuffed felt Appaloosa head is reigned in the cowboy’s hands, where he pretends to spur it back into action. 

Just when you think you’ve seen it all.

The group continues its way toward you and you’re equally secondhand embarrassed and amused. As they grow closer you recognize a few guys from the Pi Kapp house and wave. But it’s Anna who makes the most shocking discovery when Mr. Cowboy tilts his brim up.

"Is that Bob from Stats?" 

It takes a second to look past the brown felt hat and the hobby horse he's taking for a spin, but that's definitely the same pink-cheeked Bob Floyd who has lent you a pencil all semester. 

“Howdy, ladies.” He tips his hat to you, all toothy grin and droopy drunk eyes. "Can I offer you a ride?"

You stare open-mouthed. Shocked. That slow rancher drawl is new. The unbridled confidence is new. Actually, the entire getup is new. For nine weeks you’ve seen him in the same trucker hat and sweatshirt combo while going over homework answers together. What is going on?

He’s clearly in the middle of his house party crawl, bright blue eyes half open behind his metal frames. Just as gorgeous as ever as a tendril of sandy hair curls against his forehead. Normally your reaction to him is tender, a puppy dog crush. But this wild, inebriated version of him? You’re hot under the collar.

“You think there’s room on your horse?” Ever since that first Stats class he’s made your brain feel like it’s on RedBull. The way he noticed you missing a writing utensil and offering you his extra. His kind smile when you get a homework answer completely wrong. Anna hasn’t noticed your crush, but it feels obvious with the way you can barely keep eye contact with him yet are unable to look away. Especially with that stupid cowboy hat on.

He bites his lip, considering your response, and his buddies all razz him as he drawls out, “There will be if we squeeze in.”

The wink makes your mouth dry.

Someone from the back of the group complains of the cold and the group prepares their steeds to head back to Pi Kapp. Anna explains you’re headed back to the dorms, tone deaf to the sexual tension, and Bob nods with his brow furrowed. 

“Another time then.” His white tshirt practically glows in the moonlight. “Have a good night, chickadees. Get home safe!”

With another tip of his Stetson to you, Bob Floyd gallops away toward another keg. 

You’re sprinting across campus, cursing how late your meeting with your advisor went. There was ten minutes to get across campus and he had spent four of those questioning whether you really needed another semester of French. You make it into the lecture hall with a minute to spare, finding your preferred spot in the lower rows where you can actually see the board. Right in front of Bob.

“What? No cowboy hat for class?” His cheeks flame red, the hope you’ve forgotten about his Saturday antics lost. He looks like himself today, his signature trucker cap keeping the hair off his face. Those friendly ultramarine eyes shyly focusing on his notebook because god forbid he makes eye contact after you’ve seen him gallop across campus on a fake horse. 

He rubs the back of his neck over his soft-looking crewneck, an awkward smile playing on his lips. “It’s at the cleaners.���

You give him an amused grin before settling yourself into one of the classically uncomfortable lecture seats. Anna waves to you from where she’s rushing in, historically always late. The professor is shuffling notes at the podium as she collapses into the seat next to you, nodding her head in greeting to you and to Bob. She raises her eyebrows to you, a “remember when Bob was dressed as a cowboy” gesture, and your lips twist happily. 

“Alright, class, who’s ready to talk probability?” The collective groans and hollers mark the start of lecture. You flip open your notebook and start digging around for a writing instrument in your bag. Like usual, you seem to be missing a pen or pencil when you need one most.

A tap on your shoulder. You turn and lock eyes with the frat boy-turned-cowboy with the shy smile. He holds out a pencil to you. Taking it sheepishly, you mouth a thank you and turn back to lecture. After nine weeks it shouldn’t be this embarrassing, but every week he’s given you a pencil since you whispered shoot! a little too loud on Week 1.

Risking a quick glance back at him, engrossed in the Empirical Law of Averages while he twirls his pencil, you’re not sure you can survive the rest of the semester.

By the end of the Stats lecture on Thursday, you have one brain cell to your name and seven pages of notes. What a brutal class. Midterms were quickly approaching and not a single professor had any mercy. As you pack up your stuff - including the borrowed pencil that would promptly disappear before next class - you make a study plan with Anna for that evening. She brings the chips, you’ll supply the vodka.

“Are you two not hitting the houses tonight?” He looks uncomfortable having interrupted the two of you.

Bob shifts his backpack to his other shoulder, adjusting the collar of his navy blue sweatshirt. Other than when he’s kindly exchanged homework answers before class - or been drunkenly galloping across campus - the two of you don’t speak much. The odd quip here and there, but overall the two of you exist in pencil-sharing quiet. “Everyone’s having pre-midterm parties before buckling down to study.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” You look at Anna encouragingly. As needed as a vodka-infused study session was, one night out couldn’t hurt. And it was Thursday. No classes tomorrow meant you had three days to buckle down and attempt to understand anything you’ve learned this semester. 

She eyes you warily, but agrees that Greek Row sounds like a better option than highlighting textbooks. Bob flashes you his timid smile beneath the brim of his cap. “It’ll be a fun night. Maybe I’ll see you? If not, have a good weekend!” 

As he starts to walk out, a feeling takes over you. “Bob?” You watch him slow down and turn, wide blue eyes watching you from behind those unconventionally cute glasses. “You’ll be at the Pi Kapp house, yeah?” He nods. “Cool. See you around!”

Despite standing next to it the entire conversation, neither of you notice the pencil sitting on the desk, left behind as you head out for your respective weekends.

“What did you say?” You’re practically yelling to be heard over the EDM that Sigma Chi is blaring. They’ve turned their house into a rave with glow sticks, body paint, and music so loud your eardrums must be burst. The beer is warm, your arm has supernaturally purple paint smeared across it, and Anna has been unsuccessfully telling you a story for ten minutes.

Huffing, she grabs your arm and drags you toward the entrance, tossing your cups onto a random hallway table where a heated makeout session is taking place. They move out of the way just enough so the two of you can slip out of the old colonial house and out into the cool night. The ringing in your ears subsides slowly as you lean against the columns of the front porch. 

“House number three? Also sucked. Three strikes and you’re out? Can we go home?” Anna grabs your wrist and pouts. She wanted movie night with vodka and a pizza from Pietro’s. You wanted to blow off steam.

But Alpha Sig had mostly been freshman and Phi Delt, while not a terrible party, had the most smarmy men on campus. The bleeding eardrums of Sigma Chi was preferable to pushing off men in polos just to grab another drink. You just wanted a semi-decently flavored alcoholic beverage - maybe three - while chatting with some friends. You weren’t asking for much.

Allowing Anna to drag you in the direction of the dorms, ready to admit defeat, you slow to a stop seeing the bricked entrance to Pi Kappa Phi. Bob’s fraternity. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt, right?

It takes a little convincing, but soon you’re in the warmly lit foyer of the Pi Kapp house. The vibe is more relaxed than Sigma Chi, with a keg in the corner, an array of liquor bottles in the kitchen, and hip-hop softly filling the house. You’re impressed they’ve even gone the extra mile with multi-colored string lights across every surface to brighten up the otherwise dark house. 

“Yooooo, how’s it going?” A drunken loaf of snapback and Deep Eddy envelopes you in a hug. It’s Tyler, one of your freshman seminar PK friends. Exchanging pleasantries - the best you can with someone that far gone - he drags you further into the house. Miscellaneous groups of Greek and geed litter the hallways. Anna sees her friends from Delta Gamma and ditches you, promising to get home safe. Tyler continues on his mission to god knows where.

At least he’s considerate enough to stop in the kitchen so you can grab a whiskey lemonade to sip.

Eventually you’re spat into a sitting room of sorts, groups crowding the ring of sofas while drunkenly jeering at the game. You set yourself on the arm of one, trying to make sense of the theatrics. The latest victim laughs out a “Truth!” before everyone giggles wickedly. Are they playing truth or dare? 

Your eyes gloss over the group, trying to figure out who else you know. A few PK’s you recognize, a girl who smiles but looks unfamiliar, and…a cowboy hat that is a dead giveaway.

Standing up and walking around the group, you tap him on the shoulder. The biggest blue eyes meet yours, a surprised smile splitting his face. 

“You made it!” That deep drawl is back and that tingle reappears on your spine. Bob jumps up from the couch, beer bottle dwarfed in his hand, and comes to stand with you. “You having a good night?”

Ironically, your night is much better now that you’ve found him. He’s back in his cowboy gear, a worn denim shirt tucked into his jeans and those same cowboy boots scuff against the hardwood. You’re tempted to steal the felt hat from his head just so he looks a little bit more like Bob from Stats. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, letting the alcohol be an excuse, you succumb to the obvious question. “I need to know - what’s with the…cowboy?” You gesture up and down, drawing a chuckle from him.

He blushes under the felt brim. “You know I have a slight accent, yeah?” You attempt to stifle your laugh as he incidentally talks in a thicker accent. “When I was a pledge they started calling me cowboy. Saw the hat while I was in town one week, ended up leaning into the joke.”

“And the hobby horse?”

He beckons you closer, bringing his lips to your ear. “Stolen from my little sister over summer break.”

There’s that wink again making your knees weak. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and takes another sip from his beer. Despite the party raging around you, nothing else seems to exist past him asking about your night and if you want another drink. You’re wrapped in the warmth of his words, itching to snuggle into his broad chest. 

The spell is broken when “Cowboy Bob!” rings out from the crowd. The entire room is turned to you two. “Truth or dare, man?”

In the background of your intimate conversation with Bob, the truths and dares have reached full raunchiness. People have been stripped of clothes and dirty secrets. A bead of sweat gathers at Bob’s collar, aware that neither option is safe. 

His worried gaze flits to you, as if you hold the correct answer, before tipping his hat back and exhaling, “Dare?” 

It’s gutsy, but if there’s one thing you’re learning about the quiet guy from Stats, he’s full of surprises. The crowd bubbles with excitement, anticipating what dare will be dealt out. Next to you, the wannabe cowboy looks more annoyed than anything. He was enjoying talking to you not in a classroom and with a little liquid courage.

An evil smile crosses the dare-dealer’s face. He knows Bob and isn’t blind to what’s going on. He’s gonna help his buddy out on this one.

His arm stretches out and he points (with the red plastic cup in his hand) to the coat closet at the end of the hall. “Hmmmmm, I dare you to, hmm, play Seven Minutes in Heaven with…” It’s no surprise when the cup-turned-pointer lands on you.

Ice water down your back wouldn’t be as panic inducing. It’s hard to tell who swallows harder, you or Cowboy Bob. Every instinct is telling you to run, but that little voice in the back of your head wins out. As Bob starts to tell you it’s okay, they’re joking, you don’t have to, you grab his thick wrist and give him a nervous smile. You don’t even care what the punishment is for not completing a dare, this stupid drunken game has given you an opportunity.

The dealer of the dare follows the two of you down the hallway, leading the whoops and wolf whistles. Bob’s cheeks flame scarlet in the low light. You keep your chin high and eyes forward. He can definitely feel the way you’re trembling around his wrist.

Whether in anxiety or excitement it’s hard to tell.

The inside of the closet is dark, the faint light under the door casting only the faintest of shadows. Your heart is pounding, blood pulsing through your ears. Bob rubs his lips together nervously. It’s all you can do to not run your tongue along them. 

“We don’t have to do anything, we can just talk.” The way he prioritizes your comfort makes heat pool between your legs. The brim of his hat is as far back as it can go, his eyes tracing the lines of your face as he gauges your emotions. He’s welcome to figure them out, you’re unsure of them yourself. 

His large, warm hand rubs your forearm comfortingly, your skin too cold without his touch. You’re suffocating under his sweat-and-bergamot scent, citrusy and warm.

You bite the bullet. “What if I want to?”

His breath stops. Fingers find yours in the dark, interlocking on either side of your hips. Eyes you know are the deepest blue lock onto your gaze, a million emotions passing behind his irises. Face descending upon the space between you, tentatively showing his intentions. You meet him in the middle, caution out the window.

The kiss is gentle, puzzle pieces slotting together for the first time. He tastes like malt sugar and peppermint. Mouth warm and soft, enveloping you fully in his comfort. It’s even better than what you’ve imagined for the past nine weeks.

Bob begins to pull away, ever the gentleman. Your hand finds his collar, holding him in place. “Not yet, we still have, like, five and a half minutes.”

Despite the low light, his smile lights up the closet.

His lips return to yours in a rush, swallowing your mouth in a passionate heat. The press of his body to yours is delicious. Hands previously at your side meet your hips, lightly squeezing as you moan into his mouth. You reach up and hold the back of his neck, bringing him even closer as your lips toy with the tiniest bit of stubble along his jaw.

“You know,” he starts, holding the moan in the back of his throat. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since September.”

You pull back momentarily, a crinkle upon your brow. “Bob, we didn’t start Stats until January.”

He kisses the confusion from your face, his hands wrapping further around your body. “And you looked very pretty in that green dress at the homecoming barbecue.”

Bless your love of school spirit and free food. “Why didn’t you? Kiss me?”

“I don’t normally make a habit of kissing girls I don’t know. And clearly it takes an entire fraternity for me to get you alone.” The way his chuckle bounces against your skin has you squirming. Your schoolgirl crush on him wasn’t one-sided, and suddenly you’re hot for teacher. 

You capture him in another kiss, tongue searching the seam of his lips for entrance. He obliges immediately, groaning as you explore his taste. Four hands roam skin, finding purchase in anything and everything. Your body has a mind of its own as you press against him, chest heaving with your passion. The right shift of fabric on fabric reveals that he’s equally as affected by the chemistry.

Reluctantly, he pulls away once more, threading his fingers across the back of your neck. Takes a moment to capture his breath as he sees the lust in your eyes. A deep breath. “As much as I like you, I don’t want to do anything if you’re drunk.”

Soft fingers follow the line of his arm to where it wraps around your waist. How is he this impossibly sweet? Thoughtful, respectful, and looking hot as sin with swollen lips. It’s unfair.

“I promise I’m not.” You stroke the back of his hand. “Please kiss me?”

His large hands unwrap from your waist and travel down, shifting behind your legs and pulling you up, resting your back against the wall. You tangle your legs around his waist as best you can in the small space, relishing his firm body pressed deliciously close, warm and solid. Kisses smeared across lips and jaws as noises crescendo. You’re panting as you trail down to his impossibly long neck, desperate to cover it in affection.

You’ve barely explored the expanse of skin when the door flies open, the boisterous party sounds flooding in. Reality strikes like a slap across the face. The truth-or-dare ringleader takes you in - legs wrapped around Bob and hands creeping toward your ass - and whoops in delight. Who knew Cowboy Bob had it in him!

“Time’s up, lovebirds!” He crows and reaches forward to slug Bob lightly on the shoulder. 

Not skipping a beat, Bob shoves his friend back and throws up his middle finger. “Fuck off, Milburn.” 

The closet door slams shut, blanketing you again in the intimacy of the moment. You’re looking at him with unsure eyes and he’s praying the moment hasn’t been ruined. He’s waited seven calendar months for this opportunity and his fingers are so close to enjoying the plump squeeze of your ass.

“We can go back to the party if you want?” Your voice is so small, nervous outside of those bold seven minutes. Tentative breaths exist between you. 

In lieu of an answer, he bows his head to give you a searing yet gentle kiss.

That cramped coat closet suddenly is an inferno, his tongue slipping inside your mouth and groaning at the burning sweetness of your taste. Your hands grip his shoulders as you fight for dominance, fingers tangling in denim. Hips brushing together, still clinging to the idea of this being innocent. 

An innocence immediately lost when Bob strikes up the courage and palms your ass. Soft and pliable and perfect to squeeze in his palms. He remembers the exact day you came to class in the tightest jeans known to man (laundry day) and the way he had dug his pencil in his palm to avoid a semi as your curved ass met the lecture seat. Something unavoidable now as you squirm against him, moaning your pleasure against the pulse in his neck.

Nothing has ever felt as good as rubbing against Bob Floyd’s clothed bulge. One glance down and you’re dizzy with arousal. Rutting yourself against him as best you can with your limited mobility, sloppy kisses exchanged as the two of you can barely keep your mouths closed. It feels so good, too good. 

Lost in the moment, one hand slips below the hem of your skirt, warm skin on skin. Any noise from outside the closet dims to a hum. Two hearts beating rapidly as desire fully consumes, directing lips to too hot exposed skin. You murmur your need in his ear. You don’t care where you are, you need him.

Bob tucks a finger under your thong, feeling the slick coating your folds. The whine that leaves him is desperate and gruff. He groans against your throat. “Shit, I don’t have a condom.”

Undeterred, your lip catches between your teeth, core muscles contracting as you grind your hips forward. “Doesn’t mean I can’t go for a ride.”

He’s immediately on board, teasing you briefly before extricating his hand to support you better against the wall. His hands practically swallow your ass, flooding you with lust. You thrust your chest against him, desperate to touch every spot on his handsome body as your hips begin to grind. 

His hands are sweltering as they trail down, effortlessly clutching the back of your thighs to give you leverage. Your clit finds friction against his jeans and your mouth hangs open as you buck frantically into him.

“Look at you move, cowgirl,” he breathes out, infatuated. The nickname spurrs you on, whimpering against his lips.

One hand clutching his bicep, holding on for desperate life, while the other snakes its way atop the damned cowboy hat that’s stayed on the entire encounter. Gripping the top of it and holding fast as you ride his clothed bulge with everything you’ve got. Denim and lace against your clit, rubbing deliciously as your brain fuzzes. His hot mouth focused at the hinge of your jaw, sucking soft bruises into the skin; moaning when you brush him just right. 

“I’m close,” you whisper against his cheek. Time has stood still, but it’s embarrassing how close he’s gotten you to orgasm with just his clothed cock and strong hands. 

He ruts his hips forward, meeting your thrusts in heavenly synchronization. You’re panting as the pressure on your clit catapults you, so close to the ultimate prize. Whispers of you can do it, cowgirl, cum for me, doing so good riding me, just a bit more, cowgirl fizzle your senses. 

“O-oh!”

It’s intense, the blinding pleasure coursing through your body. Prolonged by the thick bulge still rutting against you, ready to burst itself. Lips tickling your ear as he praises you. You want to live in this perfect moment of bliss. A moment only perfected when Bob’s fingers grip too hard and his hips stutter up into yours. His all-consuming orgasm only muffled by the skin of your shoulder as he rides it out. 

The rhythmic slowing of your breaths is all you can focus on. You breathe in, he breathes out. Small smiles and a blush barely visible in the low light. 

Delicately, like he knows you might break, he releases you back to the ground; taking his time to smooth down your skirt and straight out your top. Your own hands reach up to his chest, fixing the fabric that had bunched up in your passion. Adjusting his fogged glasses to look into his beautiful eyes.

It doesn’t matter how much you clean up, one look at you two and anyone would comment you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.

With one final kiss to your lips, you feel something land on your head. The brown cowboy hat with the rip along the edge. Cowboy Bob showing off his cowgirl.

You tentatively open the closet door, eyes adjusting to the normal light. Painfully aware of the wet splotch on the obvious front of his jeans, Bob holds your body against him as a human shield. The party is still going strong - your antics have not interrupted anything - and you slip toward the front door without notice. Well…mostly, as a few wolf whistles reach your ears.

“It’s not that late, you want to go back to mine? I’m just off Thornton. It’s quiet since everyone is here.” His eyes are so hopeful in the dark night. So desperate for you to say yes. For you to be his cowgirl beyond tonight.

You wrap your arms around him and pull him close, careful to avoid the spot where your bodily fluids have drenched his jeans. “I’m in.” Your smile is blinding. “We have about nine weeks of Stats to make up.”

The brick is uncomfortable behind your back, but it’s hard to care when his lips feel so good. Broad shoulders shielding you from the hallway, trucker hat turned around and glasses in his pocket so there’s not an inch between your faces. Agreeing to meet outside before lecture was such a good idea.

Despite spending most of the time between Thursday night and Tuesday afternoon in Bob’s apartment trying every position in the book (with teasing hollers from his Pi Kapp roommates adding to the soundtrack) you can’t help but steal these five minutes. He looks so cute, to not kiss him would be a crime.

Bob squeezes your hips, lips trailing down your jaw. “What’s on your mind, cowgirl?”

“I’m trying very hard to convince myself that we pay a lot of money to attend this school and should go learn about statistics. Even though I really only want to head back to my dorm and see how sturdy that loft bed is.”

From where his nose traces your ear, a guttural whine leaves him. “You can’t say something like that and expect me to go to class.”

You pull back to look at him, fingers tickling the close cropped hair at his neck. God, he makes it so hard to want to be responsible.

“Let’s make a deal, okay? We’ll go to class, learn, and tonight you come over and for every study guide question you get right I’ll take off a piece of clothing. Sound good?” He’s practically panting as he smothers your mouth in another kiss. He’s really good at Stats. A steady stream of students files past Bob’s back, a sign that class is about to start.

You press another kiss to his lips. “Let’s go or we’ll miss out on seats. Plus I need to dig through my bag for a pencil.”

“Do you think you actually have one today?” He smirks, amused. The eighteen pencils he’s lent you say otherwise.

Your cheeks are hot under where he kisses them. “Uh…if I don’t can I borrow one? If you have one, that is.”

He lets out a soft chuckle and holds you closer, rubbing your noses softly.

“You do realize I’ve been buying pencils all semester just to give to you, right?”

Turning his cap around - insides fully melted - you know you’re in this rodeo for the long run.

Like this? Reblogs and comments make more of this happen!

taglist: @berryvanille @bobfloydsbabe @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @drxgxnslxyer @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @maryelizabeth13 @petersunderoos96 @rhettsluvr @roosterforme @seitmai @sorchathered @sweetwhispersofchaos @topherwrites @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

join attapullman's taglist

[rebelspykatie]

Part 3

Part 1 - Part 2

Eddie’s pretty sure he’s never thought about kissing another guy. He rarely thinks about kissing anybody. For the longest time, he was convinced that no one would ever want to kiss him, so he never saw the point in dwelling on it. 

But maybe that was unusual. He might have mistaken his apathy for normalcy when really he’s the freak. The average person probably thinks about kissing an awful lot. He’s listened to Jeff talk about asking out Lacy from his calculus class and Gareth go on and on about how unfair it is that he can’t make out with his boyfriend behind the bleachers to know that the average high schooler is pretty horny. 

Yet, Eddie’s childhood wasn’t littered with school yard crushes. There aren’t fond memories of girls that he imagined sneaking off with during lunch period or recess. There’s just…nothing. A part of that was his rocky childhood and jumping from his parents, to just his dad, to Wayne. But a lot of it was pure disinterest in the hottest girl in their grade growing breasts before all the other girls, or how tenth grade Mandy would make out with anyone with the right incentive. 

He’s never thought about it long enough for anything to stick. He figured, one day, when he was old enough to escape Hawkins and all the small minded bigots who think he’s a devil worshiper, that he would find a girl that appreciated his specific eccentricities. That he’d settle down somewhere quiet, a little closer to the city than Hawkins, and find some blue collar job and start a family. That’s just what everyone does, right?

He knows that’s not true, though. That everyone doesn’t follow that path. He knows people like Gareth and Robin, and apparently Steve, don’t get to just walk into happily ever after. There’s no white picket fence in their future, and Eddie’s never had to confront that reality so head on before. He knows what it’s like to be different. To have a target on your back. But, it’s nothing like the ostracization of being gay. 

Thinking about kissing Steve scares him. When he closes his eyes, it’s a looping replay of that day. Steve’s soft lips on his unmoving ones. Big hands cradling his face. He can perfectly recall the terror and confusion. It’s seeped into his bones now, because he’s realized something about himself and he doesn’t know what to do with the information. 

He can do nothing. He can move forward and pretend that he doesn’t wake up panting, picturing Steve on top of him pressing him into the mattress with their faces attached. He doesn’t ever have to acknowledge that for the first time in twenty years of living, he’s having honest to god wet dreams that involve another person. And that person he’s envisioning is a guy. Everything can just be swept under the rug.

But he’s pretty sure it scares him more to know that he can’t. It’s eating away at him. Eddie feels trapped in his own skin. The truth is clawing its way to the surface, wanting to break free, even if Eddie’s shutting down as it tries to spill out. He knows it’s inevitable, that overflow. The dam breaking. 

It takes an intervention to set everything in motion. Wayne’s been fussing over him for weeks. He’s been doing that worried parent thing that he thinks Eddie doesn’t know about, where he stands outside Eddie’s closed bedroom door like he wants to knock and say something, but doesn’t. He’s studying Eddie over their morning cereal like the little floating letters are going to spell out why Eddie’s been holed up in his room almost mute. 

But the final straw is when Wayne comes home from work to Eddie painting figurines on the stairs of their new trailer while pretending that he’s not watching Steve help Max fold laundry next door. There’s this polite distance between them and Eddie that didn’t exist before, this wide expanse where before Eddie would’ve been sitting on the picnic table in front of Max’s trailer teasing both of them, or maybe helping if it was a low pain day. 

Instead, he’s sat like a toddler in timeout, taking furtive peaks over the little paint brushes and praying that Max’s sharp intuition about situations like this is dulled by her literal lack of being able to see Eddie from over there. Steve can see him, though, and Eddie’s feigning that it doesn’t bother him. What a grave he’s dug for himself here. 

“Boy, don’t you think this has gone on long enough?” Wayne sighs as he climbs out of his truck, this world-weary, too knowledgeable sigh that makes Eddie squirm. 

“I don’t know what you mean, old man.” Better to just play ignorant. Even though Eddie’s pretty sure he can’t escape Wayne’s withering gaze. He hasn’t in over ten years, so he likely won’t be starting now. 

Wayne just stares at him. A raised eyebrow and crossed arms that tell Eddie he means business. He’s not getting out of this. 

Eddie’s jaw shifts and he looks down at the figure in his hands. “I don’t really know what to do, Wayne.” 

“Move over,” Wayne says, settling down beside Eddie until they’re shoulder to shoulder, barely waiting for the little shuffle Eddie does to make room. He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just stares across the yard in the same direction Eddie was moments before, a contemplative look on his face. “This about that boy?”

Eddie follows his gaze over to Steve. His silence goes on a little too long before he softly says, “yeah.” 

Wayne hums, still looking at Steve. “You know, you always were a late bloomer.”

That grabs Eddie’s attention. He turns towards Wayne, who takes that as his cue to continue, and sets down the figure behind them. 

“Nothing ever happened when I thought it would when you were a boy. Lizzy said you took forever to walk and talk. I kept waiting for you to come to me about the birds and the bees, but you didn’t. Not sure if that was a good thing to let go, but I knew you weren’t getting yourself into trouble. Probably wasn’t much I could offer you that public school wasn’t already teaching you.” 

Eddie wonders briefly if he should’ve hidden the condoms in his room better, but maybe that’s what gave Wayne the confidence to leave Eddie to his business. Even if they were collecting dust before they became dust that day the trailer cracked open.

“You never brought anyone around.” He nods in the direction of Steve. “Not until him.” 

The conversation with Steve is distantly replaying in his head. How he went over their every interaction with Robin and they came to this same conclusion. Maybe Eddie really is an idiot. 

“It wasn’t intentional,” Eddie adds. “I didn’t know what I was doing.” 

“I don’t think anyone knows what they’re doing, son. That’s part of life.” He pats Eddie on the back. “It’s ‘specially a part of being in love.” 

Eddie’s not sure he’s willing to start that train of thought, yet. He’s grateful for the quiet, unspoken acceptance, but he’s not ready to think about labeling it something as profound as love. He flounders for a second before saying, “I think I’ve missed my chance there,” as he looks back over at Steve. 

“Are you dead and I don’t know it?” He squeezes Eddie’s shoulder. “Seem pretty real to me.” He whacks Eddie’s head gently. “Ain’t nothing missed if you’re still alive to make things right.” 

“Hey!” Eddie laughs, mock offended at the attack, rubbing the back of his head and leaning away from Wayne. “Isn’t it socially unacceptable to joke about someone that was legally dead for almost three minutes?”

“I think I get leeway as the one that kept you alive for ten years by myself.” Wayne wrangles him into a side hug, pulling him to his chest with an arm around his neck. “Just cause things are broken, doesn’t mean you can’t fix ‘em, son.”

[huramuna]

growing on you - oneshot.

modern aemond x (ex) girlfriend reader

content: smut (specifics under the cut), afab reader, angst, unhealthy coping mechanisms, descriptions of depression and its effect on the body, probably an unhealthy relationship, aemond being an idiot, probably ooc aemond, reader not described, no use of y/n, targtowers seek therapy: the story, fluff at the end bc hehe

work is 18+, minors do not interact or you shall be smited.

word count: 7.4k (oops)

a/n: i've had this one in the drafts for a while. tweaked to be a fun 'lil angsty end of year holiday fic. as is my motto: fuck it we ball. a/n 2: i pivoted from a third person pov fic to a second person pov fic 3/4 through writing this using the find and replace tool, so if there are grammar errors, i apologize! also my first time doing second person pov, weehee.

monsters - all time low ft. blackbear • why do i - set it off ft. hatsune miku

warnings: p in v, creampie, cockwarming, slightly tipsy sex

Everything in your life was enveloped by him. your clothes smelled like him, small strands of his hair were woven into every nook and cranny of your apartment together, his fitness regime protein powder and ketogenic supplements were littered in your kitchen cabinets. 

You couldn’t get rid of him, not even if you tried. Aemond was all you'd ever known— you have known one another since the age of seven, and have been in a relationship since fourteen. You were both now twenty-six. Twelve years you’ve been together romantically (longer, even, but you were both too stubborn to admit it) and nineteen years you’ve been in each other's lives in some capacity or another. 

You’ve been involved together longer than you’ve not known each other. You hardly knew who you were without Aemond— a thought that scared you deeply. 

It’s been two weeks since he moved out, only temporarily he’d said. He needed space. He would still pay his share of the rent and you didn’t need to worry about that. 

But what about everything else? What about him warming you at night? Comforting you when you had nightmares? What about his items in the fridge, surely you’d spoil if he didn’t use them soon. What about Vhagar? Their— no, his geriatric cat that he took with him to God knows where— she must be terrified, surely. 

Was he giving Vhagar her medicine before bed? Of course he was— he was the more responsible one anyway. 

You paced back and forth until the soles of your feet ached and then some. Knowing Aemond for so long, you had intimate knowledge on everything about him, you were woven into each other's DNA like vines on a trellis, growing and expanding until you swallowed all of the other plants whole. 

That is what happened, wasn’t it? You grew too large, too comfortable and became stagnant. You weren't unaware of his rising workload at his firm, but he had always been a workaholic— throughout their teenage years, through college and grad school. It never slowed him down so you didn’t understand the change in behavior. 

Aemond was closed off. He always was a bit emotionally stunted due to his upbringing or lack thereof from his father and everything that happened surrounding his eye, but he had a soft side for you, always for you. You could retrace every part of him perfectly from memory, always could make him laugh, could comfort him when he recused himself, and the rare times he did cry, you were there. 

But the last few months there was a shift— a change in him. Where he had been hard to open before, like a rusty hinge just requiring some oil, he was now padlocked, ironclad and impenetrable. Attempts to talk were shrugged off, ignored or diverted. 

“Please, just talk to me, Aemond,” you said one night as you sat on the couch. You were watching your collective favorite show and he wasn’t even commenting on it like he usually did, he was silent and deadpanned. “I don’t understand what’s wrong if you don’t talk about it.” 

“There's nothing wrong, therefore, nothing to talk about. I’m just tired from work,” he responded gruffly. “Stop whining.” 

His tone was clipped and harsh, sending a wave of hurt trickling through your body. you were overly emotional, where he was under emotional— usually, you balanced each other out and struck a good middle ground, but in times like these, during fights, things would get explosive. 

The tears started right away, your little sniffling cries stifled by a hand over your mouth. You turned away, wrapping yourself in the blanket. 

“Seriously?” he growled, “I didn’t even say anything and you’re fucking crying again.”

“I d-don’t appreciate your tone, Aemond— you’re being mean,” you sniffed, wiping away tears that were soon just replaced by new ones. “Please, don’t be mean to me.” you were always soft hearted, and it was one of the things Aemond loved about you— or he had loved at one point. 

“I’m not being mean,” he pinched his brow, “you’re overreacting and I do not have the capacity to deal with your antics anymore.” 

Of course, your mind hit the panic button. ‘Anymore’ meaning that he didn’t want to deal with you at all, ever. The tears increased and you recused yourself further into a ball. 

“Fucking hell.” he cursed, getting up from the couch and stomping outside to the balcony, lighting up a cigarette. He was out there for about an hour— you had cried yourself to sleep. 

It was many situations like that for weeks that finally just… broke him. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said one day, slamming his keys down on the kitchen table, “I seriously cannot deal with your childish shit anymore— I’m working my ass off at the firm, actually bringing in money and I still have to come home and tend to you. you’re twenty-six, grow up and stop crying at every little thing. It’s fucking infuriating.” 

“You know I can’t control that part of me!” you screamed back, your temper rising immediately to match his. The words flowing out of your mouth didn’t feel like yours, but some sort of defensive mechanism. “You can’t do this anymore? You’re not doing anything Aemond, except pushing me away. God, you haven’t even touched me in weeks.” 

“Oh, so this is about sex?” he countered, getting closer to you, nostrils flaring. “You’re mad because I won’t fuck you? Are you that desperate?” 

That one stung, to be sure. Aemond had been your first and only— you only ever knew him, only ever had him. “No, not just sex,” you murmured, “you haven’t even… just touched me normally. No hugs, no little caresses, nothing— it's as if I’m an aversion to you.”

He backed up from you, “Maybe we’re just too close,” he admitted, “We’ve been together too long. It's not fun anymore, it’s not new— it’s the same old, same old, going through the motions for release, not because I actually like it.” 

“I don’t understand.” you said, your voice sounding disconnected from your body. The tips of your fingers felt numb, the numbness spreading through your body, your heart pounding in your chest as if it wanted to escape. 

“I need space. I need to think about this.” 

“This?”

“Us. I need to think about us and if this is something I really want,” he paused, “You’re… too much and not enough right now.” 

“Wh— Aemond, please,” you whispered, your voice broken, “What can I do? I’ll… I’ll change, I won’t cry or whine anymore— please.” 

He stared at you, his prosthetic eye unmoving while his remaining one bored into you, “I will think about it.” 

“What… does this mean?”

“We are taking a break, alright? I’ll have my essentials out and I’m going to stay with Aegon.” 

“Please— don’t go. I need you.” 

That was the end of that conversation. That was the last time you spoke, two weeks ago. You expected him to text you at some point, to check in on you, to maybe try to talk things out. 

Nothing. There's been nothing. Radio silence. 

You felt isolated— you had no family, as your parents were estranged from you. you couldn’t go to Aemond’s family, as close as you were to them all, it just simply wasn’t an option. 

You didn’t have friends. All you knew was Aemond. 

It was early in the evening and you were in a deep pit of self-loathing. You decided to text him. 

You swallowed thickly— the green meant he either turned off his phone or blocked you. You hoped that it wasn’t the latter. 

The next few weeks were a blur. You felt like you were barely living, merely going through the motions to stay alive— not that you really were. 

You woke up, went to work, came home, scrounged up food and then went to sleep. Rinse and repeat.

Weeks become months of your monotony, and no word from Aemond. He still had half of his stuff left in the apartment, you felt like you could barely breathe. At every turn there was something to remind you of him. 

You’d lived in this apartment together for four years, the evidence of your relationship etched into the very walls. It was like the space was closing in on you and you couldn’t catch your breath, barely keeping your head above water. 

You had to move out— you had to get away. 

You managed to find a place, a cheap studio above a coffee shop downtown. The landlord was an old lady who was sympathetic to your situation and agreed to let you take the space quickly. 

There was still the matter of your and Aemond’s current apartment— or, rather, it was just Aemond’s now. 

Saving yourself the embarrassment of seeing if you were still blocked, you called Aegon. He was a better messenger than none. 

“Hey, Egg,” you said, sitting on the couch. you bounced your knee up and down, biting at the skin of your lip. You and Aegon were amicable, not necessarily as close as you and Aemond, but you grew up together. Aegon ran in different social circles than you and you were somewhat polar opposites so you never really stuck— you did have your phases of friendship, though– which pissed Aemond off to no end. “Um, I don’t know if this is the right way to go about things but, do you mind relaying a message to Aemond for me?”

“Yeah, ‘spose I could. What’s up?” Aegon replied, his tone nonchalant like usual.

“I’m moving out of the apartment into my own place, so I guess he can go back. I’ll have all my stuff out by tomorrow.”

“Fuckin’ finally,” Aegon said, “He’s been driving me up the wall with his tidy, feng shui bullshit. He rearranged my whole place like five times and has taken up all the space in my cabinets with that nasty no-carb shit,” he paused for a moment, “I… didn’t mean that in a bad way to you, ‘course. I’m sorry it had to come to this. He’s a fucking idiot.”

That made you laugh, genuinely. Your first laugh in months. “Yeah– he… tends to do that. He left half of his stuff here, it feels like I’m living in the twilight zone. I just… gotta get away, you know?”

“Hey, I get that– you don’t have to explain yourself to me. He’s a dickhead and doesn’t understand how good he has it. If you want, I can bring my truck over tomorrow and help you move stuff.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Egg.”

“I want to– please.”

Your brow furrowed– Aegon usually wasn’t so persistent on anything unless it involved drinking or drugs. But, you hadn’t had real human contact in eons besides at work so… maybe it could be good.

“Okay, see you tomorrow. Thank you, really.”

–

It was rainy the next day– nasty and wet, droplets pouring down like tears. It felt somewhat familiar.

But, Aegon showed up like he promised, rolling up in his old, fading yellow pick-up truck. His hair was much shorter than you remembered and he looked actually well kept– Aemond must’ve been whipping him into shape.

He waved and ran through the rain, standing under the eave, “So– it’s raining.”

You snorted, “I think I can see that,” you teased with a tiny smile, “Not sure when it’ll let up.”

“I brought uh…” he paused for a moment to think, stretching out his arms in a square shape, “Y’know?”

“A tarp?” 

“Yup– that,” he gave a lopsided grin, inviting himself in through the open door, “you aren’t going to kick me out if I don’t take off my shoes, right?”

You glanced down at his boots– they were a bit muddy and definitely wet. Aemond wouldn’t have let him step two feet through the threshold without taking them off. But– you weren't Aemond. “No, keep them on if you want. It’s not my problem if you track dirt through the place anyway.”

He nodded, taking his phone out of his pocket for a moment and shooting a quick message to someone. “Sorry I haven’t been around, it’s just… he’s my brother. It would be kind of… I dunno, crossing some sort of unsaid boundary if I visited his… girlfriend?”

“Ex-girlfriend. I guess,” you corrected softly– but you didn’t really know yourself what it was. He wouldn’t talk to you, “It’s fine. I didn’t expect anyone to really reach out anyway, because of that… unsaid boundary thing.”

“We should’ve. you’re a part of our family with or without Aemond. Me, Helaena and Daeron have a whole group chat about it. Even mom asked where you’ve been,” he scratched the back of his head absentmindedly as he sent out another text, “Someone should’ve checked up sooner.”

“You’re acting like I’m some sort of neglected puppy, Aegon,” you turned to him, “... do I really look so terrible?”

Aegon glanced up at you, his mouth formed in a hard line. He cracked his knuckles, shrugging his shoulders. “I won’t lie to you. You look half dead.”

You blinked. Hard. Moving towards a mirror in the hall, you looked at yourself. Dark circles under sunken eyes, your skin was a pale pallor and your hair needed a trim desperately, your split ends curled and fettered. You were gaunt, as well– having lost a bit of weight over the months. “Jesus,” you muttered. Glancing over at Aegon, he was texting again. “Sending an update to the group chat, I guess? ‘Good news, she’s still alive, barely’?”

He snorted, “Yeah– something like that,” finally, he locked his phone and slipped it in his pocket. “I made sure to text Aemond, too.”

Your mouth felt dry at the mention. “Why?”

“He asked.”

“Asked?”

“He asked me to… make sure you were okay.”

Goosebumps prickled at your skin, the ever familiar feeling of nausea and despair swirling in the pit of your stomach. Nibbling at your lip more, you turned away, feeling a bit too exposed. “And what’d you say?”

“I said you were alive but you are not okay.”

Your lips pursed into a line as you tasted a bit of copper in your mouth from chewing on your lip. “I guess that’s right,” you muttered, “Why would he ask?”

“Aemond is… complicated. you know that better than anyone. I don’t know what kind of bug he has up his ass these last few months but… even through all of this, he still cares.”

“Like hell he does,” you snapped, feeling the sting of tears, “If he did, he would’ve given us a chance to talk it out, to… to try, maybe even go to therapy, I don’t fucking know– he would’ve reached out– anyone should’ve reached out,” your hand went to your hair, right at your hairline at your scalp, picking at the hairs there– another self-destructive habit you’ve picked up in your months of isolation, “I’m so fucking alone, Aegon. He knows… you all know I have absolutely no one else. I’ve been going through this on my own. I have no friends, no family– no brother to go live with when I need space, no family group chat. I don’t have shit, Aegon. All I’ve ever known in my life is him and you and Helaena and Daeron and mom. Why… why does it feel like I was cast off the island without even… a tribal council or something?” you sniffed, the tears coming in full force now. 

Aegon was silent, coming up behind you. “I’m… sorry,” he murmured, putting his hands on your shoulders, as frail and skeletal as you were, “We should’ve been better. We… will be better.” he turned you around and pulled you into his chest, enveloping you in his arms. “We thought you would’ve been… fine without him. He made it seem like that– that you were strong enough. I only figured it out yesterday when he was up my ass about texting him as soon as I saw you. He needed to know if you were feeding yourself, if you were keeping up with your medication, if you still had nightmares. A fuckin’... laundry list of questions– I told him to stick his questions up where the sun don’t shine and to see for himself,” he took a breath, “He settled on one question– if you were okay.”

“I think he got his fucking answer, then,” you whispered, “I am not okay. I haven’t been okay in months. I… I need help.”

“I know,” Aegon shifted you slightly to look at your face, “We’ll help you– I promise, you won’t be alone anymore. Look, I’ll even add you to the group chat, okay? I’ll rename it to ‘Aemond Sucks’, how does that sound?” 

You cracked a tiny smile, sniffling. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

– 

You ended up moving your belongings to your new place the same day, effectively ridding yourself of the constant shadow of Aemond’s memory.

Aegon even took you to Michael’s and HomeGoods to get stuff for your little studio, so you could really make it yours. It was a bit intimidating at first– you weren't used to being able to decorate things the way you wanted, as Aemond always opted to keep things simple and minimalistic. 

You, admittedly, went all out. Your new studio looked like a Pinterest board titled ‘cottagecore’. You were incredibly happy with it all, practically jumping up and down at it.

“It looks so good! I love these little mushroom chairs you picked out, Egg,” you hummed, patting some plush felted stools in the shape of mushrooms, which you put near the window. “I bet Helaena would love it.”

“Let’s take some pictures for the group chat, Hel will literally be all over this. you two always love that cottagecore, fairycore, fantasy… shit.” he grinned, stooping down to take some very out of perspective pictures of the mushroom chairs, making them look fifty feet tall.

You settled into your new place quickly, having Helaena, Aegon and Daeron over quite often for drinks and movies. Your health steadily improved until you were mostly back to normal physically– there would be a lot of scars internally, however that would take longer to heal, if you ever would. You had developed a trust issue complex since Aemond’s unceremonious exit from your life and hadn’t gone on any dates, you didn’t know when or if you would ever be ready. They did you the courtesy of not mentioning Aemond, until Daeron said something odd.

It was about four months after you moved in, and almost a full year since you’d last seen Aemond. You were all a few mixed drinks in, Aegon had made them and you were heavy on the alcohol, light on the ‘mix’, and you were all kicked back on the couch, with Aegon laying on the mushroom chairs stacked next to each other, lazed back like a cat. 

“Mom says she wants you over for Christmas dinner,” Daeron said, taking a sip of his drink, “She figured it’d be fine with Aemond going off with his new…” he blinked, catching himself. 

Helaena nudged Daeron in the ribs as a warning, staring at their friend warily.

“... his new? His new what?” you asked, your voice so quiet that it must’ve been like a squeak.

“... new girlfriend.” he finished.

You were silent for a while before sighing. “I figured it would happen eventually. I can only hope that it… wasn’t too soon after we broke up– or whatever… happened.”

“We all told him it was fucked up that he just left and ghosted you, lovey. Even mom got on his ass about it, and he is her favorite child who usually can do no wrong.” Helaena put her drink down, wrapping her arm around you. “You should come to Christmas dinner, everyone would be super happy to see you! And Aemond won’t be there, so even more reason to come. Please.” she whimpered, using her best puppy-dog face.

You mulled it over in your mind for a few moments. You couldn’t think of anything more painful than being alone during the holidays, so you nodded.

–

It was snowing on Christmas day, the flurries coming down and melting against your skin as you waited for Aegon to pick you up. You were wearing a red checkered tapestry dress with a flannel jacket, a white fluffed scarf wrapped around your neck and lower face. As soon as you saw the familiar color of Aegon’s truck, you practically booked it into the passenger seat. 

“Merry Christmas, you look fantastic,” Aegon mused, ever the charmer. “I’ve got the heater on full blast, I promise– but y’know my old boy’s puttering these days. We’ll need to get some speed for it to really warm up.” 

“Mmm,” you murmured, your teeth chattering, “S’cold.” 

He reached back and grabbed a well-used blanket, draping it over your legs. “Better?”

“... yeah– but,” you blinked, raising a brow. “What do you have this in the truck for?”

Aegon laughed as he began the drive to his family’s estate. “I think you know.”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve fucked someone on this blanket, Aegon.”

“Someones– not just someone. But I keep it clean, no worries!”

The drive to the Targaryen estate was about an hour and a half from town, nestled deep into an expansive forest where there weren’t any other homes in at least five miles. It was a gorgeous, Victorian style mansion and according to Daeron, was most certainly haunted. You had been here numerous times, of course, but it’d been a while. As you pulled up in the driveway, you saw Alicent standing outside the door dressed in a gorgeous red and green festive dress, hair curled to perfection. Nothing less was expected of Alicent, though.

“Oh, my darling,” Alicent cooed, holding her arms out to caress who she thought of as her fifth child. “It’s been too long, I’ve missed you.” 

Your heart warmed under Alicent’s caress, someone who had become more of a mother figure to you than your actual mother. You sniffed, pressing your forehead into Alicent’s shoulder. “Missed you too, mom.” 

“Come on, you both can cry inside in the nice toasty house, yeah? I’m freezing my balls off here, mom.” 

Alicent huffed, ushering both of you inside. “Don’t be vulgar, son– it’s Christmas.”

Helaena and Daeron were already there, as well as Otto, who gave you a stiff nod as a greeting, as was his usual means of communication.

You settled into the kitchen, Alicent pouring everyone apple cider and dishing out at least six types of holiday themed cookies. About an hour after arriving, there was a knock on the door. 

“Oh, that must be Rhaenyra and Laena. Can you answer the door, darling? I need to take the roast out of the oven. I’m sure they would be happy to see you!” 

“Mhm!” you mused through bites of cookies. You loved Rhaenyra and Laena, who were technically married with husbands, as was Alicent, but the three of them were in a secret, not so secret to anyone with eyes, polyamorous relationship. It always amused all of their kids when they tried to hide it. 

You turned the doorknob, fully expecting to see Rhaenyra and Laena. It was not. 

Aemond.

“Fuck.” you blurted out, eyes wide. It had been the better part of a year since you had last seen him. His hair was longer now, gathered into a low bun at the nape of his neck, his cheeks a bit more gaunt. He still wore his earrings and his rings– including the one you had given him almost a decade ago. 

“Shit.” he responded, seemingly caught equally off guard by seeing you again. The pupil of his non-prosthetic eye dilated until the iris was almost consumed in black, before he flexed his hand and reeled himself in. 

You couldn’t help but notice he was alone– no ‘new girlfriend’ as Daeron had put it. “Aemond,” you breathed, feeling like you were outside of your own body, your head filled with fluff and static. “Merry… Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” he responded gruffly, “Can I come in?”

“Oh– yeah, duh,” you chastised yourself, stepping aside to let him in. “Sorry.”

“Mm.” he grunted in his usual manner. That seemed to be a habit he hadn’t dropped. 

You all but retreated to the kitchen, the expression on your face telling everything. Aegon, Daeron, and Helaena gathered around you.

“I didn’t invite him, I swear.” Aegon whispered.

“Well, neither did I!” Daeron professed.

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t invite him. He left me on read three weeks ago when I sent him a picture of a bug on my windowsill.” Helaena sniffed.

A new voice chimed in. “I invited him,” Alicent spoke, breaking up the little posse, “I told him to come over or he would be grounded for three months.” 

All four of you stared at Alicent, deadpanned. 

“Mom– he’s… almost twenty-seven. you can’t ground him,” Daeron said, confused. “And moreover, why? Wasn’t he busy?”

“Well, first off, he is my son, so I wanted to see him for Christmas. Two, I believe we have someone here who has some unresolved issues with him.” Alicent responded, staring right at you pointedly.

“... I don’t know… I… I don’t know if I can talk to him. It’s been too long… I feel like I was just getting over all of this.”

“Well, do I have any say in this?” Aemond barged into the circle, his hands in his pockets. 

You suddenly felt overwhelmed, the familiar bubbling of everything being too much rising in your stomach. You were teleported back to months ago when you were barely alive, trapped in your own mind. “I… I need… I need a minute.” you muttered, your voice sounding distorted as you made your way to the bathroom, turning on the faucet. Chest heaving, you were already crying, the waterworks starting somewhere between the hallway and the sink. 

“You’re always fucking crying, I can’t take it anymore.” Aemond’s voice from months and months ago echoed in your head, causing the tears to flow more. You bit against your lip, tasting blood right away as you willed yourself to stop crying. 

“S-stop… stop crying,” you whispered, fingers messing up your hair as you held fistfuls of it. You couldn’t catch your composure for the life of you, sliding against the bathroom wall onto the floor.

Vision blurring, you don’t know how long you were incoherent for. When you came back to yourself, Aemond was in front of you, crouched down.

“Hey,” he murmured softly, the door closed behind him, “It’s okay.”

You swallowed, still numb as he pried your fists from your head, out of your hair, smoothing it down.

“Look at me, can you do that? Nod if you can hear me.”

You nodded slowly, the feeling coming back to your extremities in a sprightly tickling sensation. You blinked tears from your eyes, the liquid smearing your vision. 

Aemond rasped a thumb over your eyes, effectively clearing the obstruction from your vision. “Just breathe,” he continued to whisper. It was ever reminiscent of when he would calm you down after a nightmare, voice low and scratchy in a way that comforted you. He was so close now, closer than he’d been in forever. He still smelled the same, the scent triggering a deep aching within your chest. A scent that took you forever to get rid of, but you never truly could. “Can… we talk?” he asked then, his voice sounding more vulnerable than ever. 

It felt like whiplash, visions of your previous fights plaguing you, where he had been so closed off, so far away, so distant that you couldn’t reach him– and now, he was here. In the present, in the flesh. In front of you, opened. Not opened completely, but you could see it, like the slit of a cracked door, the light bleeding through. It was there.

“... yeah.”

“I… I’m… I’m sorry. What I did was fucked up. It was fucked up and wrong and you didn’t deserve any of it.”

“You’re right about that,” you muttered, pulling your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. “I didn’t deserve it.” 

Aemond’s mouth twitched slightly before he sat down next to you, propping up his legs in a criss-cross. He opened his mouth to speak a few times, before closing it. His hands flexed and unflexed in quick succession– he was clearly thinking very carefully about his next words. “... I’ve… got issues. You know that better than anyone. I don’t know what was going through my head those months that we fought. I can hardly remember it now, it was like… I was in a fog, a haze– I was working myself half to death, I just wanted dad to notice, to fucking… appreciate me,” he put his hands on his head, “I was so… tied up in this illusion that if I made junior associate at the firm so young that he would congratulate me on my achievement and…” Aemond let out a sigh, “And… in the process… I pushed you away.”

You looked at him, feeling your gaze soften ever so slightly. You knew that his father was a sore spot for him and that trauma ran deep. “You didn’t just push me away, Aemond,” you sighed, reaching out a shaky hand to pry one of his from his face. “... if you would’ve just talked to me, I could’ve helped. You didn’t push… you… you shoved, you shoved and ran in the other direction.”

His one violet eye danced towards you. “I know. I’ve been kicking myself for it. When Aegon told me you weren’t doing well… I almost left work to see you.”

“... you did?”

“Yeah. Aegon basically told me not to– that… this was something you needed space for. Kind of like I did but… maybe in a more healthy way.”

“A text wouldn’t have hurt.” 

He reached into his pocket and took out his phone– his wallpaper was still the same as it was, a picture of you, him and Vhagar very unhappy in an elf costume. He scrolled to his notes app, which was filled with messages addressed to you. “... I thought it might, after what Aegon had said. I was… ashamed of how I acted, how I handled the whole thing– how I left you alone without a word. He told me how you looked… dead. I didn’t want to make it worse.”

Your eyes scanned the messages, picking out some words. The main ones that caught your gaze were ‘sorry’, ‘love’, ‘regret’. A huge breath left your lungs, feeling as if everything had been knocked out of you at once. You felt like you were being whipped back and forth in the wind, trying to grab onto anything. If you both weren’t so stubborn and just messaged one another– well, no. You did message him, one time. “I thought you blocked me.” 

“... for five minutes, maybe.”

“God, we’re so fucking stupid, Aemond.”

“You aren’t– don’t say that. I’m literally a dumbass. All of my siblings told me so, even my own mother, and you know she never curses.”

The tiniest of smiles cracked onto your face as you jostled his shoulder. “Yeah… you are a dumbass. I am allowed to say it at least once. So, um,” you shuffled slightly, “Daeron kind of let it slip that you had a new girlfriend?”

Aemond pinched his brow. “Of course he said that. He is twenty-one years old and still doesn’t know how to use his goddamn ears. I said I was seeing a new therapist, not that I had a fucking girlfriend.”

“A therapist?”

“... things got really dark for me after I moved back into our… no, my… place. After you officially moved out. It felt lifeless, all of your things were gone, the fucking warmth sucked out of the place. It felt like it’d been sterilized of anything… good. I feel into something– I don’t know, a depression? I guess, that’s what Aegon called it. He suggested I see a therapist, citing me as ‘an emotionally stunted asshole who needs more therapy than him’.” he exaggerated the last bit with air quotes, rolling his eye.

“... he isn’t wrong. I mean, I love your family, but all of you are all kinds of fucked up. Maybe I am too, practically being a part of it.”

Aemond chuckled, giving a tight lipped smile. “We are fucked up. I realized that… I really do not give a shit what my dad thinks, because nothing will ever be good enough for him. He’s so far gone now that he probably doesn’t even know we exist. I’ve come to terms with that and honestly… it feels like a weight has been lifted.”

“I’m glad you could… work through some of that, Aemond.” you say sincerely, resting your cheek on his arm absentmindedly. 

“... I want to talk about us.”

“... us. Okay.”

“I don’t expect you to want to jump right back into things. It would be unfair to think that– but… maybe we could try?”

Your chest feels a bit tight at his admission– he wanted to try. Every fiber in your being wanted to say yes and jump back into it like you’d never left. But you knew you couldn’t. There were still parts of you scarred by this whole experience, some parts that may never heal. It would take a long time and a lot of talks like this to even get some semblance of what the both of you had. “Well… before we were together, believe it or not, we were friends. Could we… try that for right now?”

His chest visibly deflated a bit, but he nodded. “Whatever you need, okay?”

–

The days following Christmas, leading up to New Year’s were… different. You and Aemond were back in contact, going out for coffee and lunch a few times.

On the day before New Year’s eve, you texted him.

Turns out, timing the movie to sync with 12 am on New Year’s day to Toby Maguire saying ‘Pizza time’ was difficult. Well, it wasn’t difficult for normal people– but you and Aemond were a bit tipsy, as Aegon had left some hard apple ciders in your fridge, to which you both indulged.

“Okay, okay,” Aemond stared at his phone, “5… 4… 2… wait, no, fuck, 3… 2… I think we fucked it up– just go, go!”

Quickly, you started the movie. “Maybe we should’ve practiced– can we start over?” you plopped on the couch, sinking into the sofa and taking a swig of the cider.

“Doesn’t work like that, sweetheart. Can’t turn back time.” he mused softly, squatting down on one of the mushroom stools. “Pretty comfy.”

“Aegon picked those out, nifty, huh?”

“Nifty.” he parroted. 

The movie continued on, but as it went on, there was an unspoken tension growing. Aemond hadn’t sat on the couch, but rather, the stools that were on the other side of the room. It felt like a chasm had formed, the strain almost palpable. 

You chewed on your lip anxiously, contemplating whether or not to say anything. But, you had both been trying a new technique called ‘communication’ – a pretty cool and helpful thing that Aemond’s therapist had taught him. You remember laughing when he posed it that same way– but it was extremely important. You cleared your throat. “Why are you sitting all the way over there?”

“... um. I wanted to try the mushroom seats, I guess.”

“You don’t want to sit next to me?” you countered, feeling especially brave. 

“Is that… alright?” 

“Um, duh. I invited you over for pizza and a movie so we could… sit together. Not for you to be half a mile away sitting on a mushroom.”

“As long as it’s alright with you.” he murmured, sitting up from the mushroom stool and making his way over to you, sliding onto the couch, still a few feet away from you.

You weren’t sure if it was the atmosphere, the pent up emotions, the small buzz of alcohol, or a destructive cocktail of all three, but you inched closer to him. Closer, closer… until your thighs were touching. You glanced up at him beneath fettered lashes. “Hi.”

“Hey.” he responded, his voice low and warm. It caused a balmy and comforting vibration to go through you, reverberating in your chest. 

You became all too aware of your movements, your closeness to him, the skin of your thigh grazing against his jeans as you got as close as you could. Your lips parted slightly as he stared back down at you. “Can… we?”

“Can we, what?” he murmured, lacing his fingers through your loose hair, gently grasping it at the nape of your neck. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“... kiss. A little bit.”

“Just a little bit?” 

“Mhm. A teeny bit.” you leaned up, Aemond meeting you halfway as your lips came together. The culmination of your year apart, all of the emotions, the sadness, the frustration and anger, the passion, love, tears– all of it came together at this moment as the two of you melded together perfectly, as if you’d never left. You couldn’t help but let out a sigh of contentment, followed by what could only be articulated as a moan. 

It caught both of you off guard, Aemond pulling away for a moment, his lips still ghosting over yours. “Fucking hell,” he breathed against your skin, sending goosebumps tingling from your tailbone up to the nape of your neck, the hairs on your body standing on end. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you,” you responded before latching onto him once more. It started off loving and slow, your lips moving against one another like two old lovers dancing together– then it began to heat up, your mouth parting to accommodate his tongue, gnashing against yours as their dance turned up a notch. Your hands roamed his body, everything you committed to memory for so many years still in its same spot. It felt good, it felt like home. “Please, Aemond– I… I need you. It’s been so long… too long…”

“Too long since I’ve had you, had this,” his hand reached down, cupping your mound still hidden beneath your panties. Somehow, you foresaw this moment before it happened and thankfully wore a light dress. “Let me in, love.”

You parted your legs, feeling the ever familiar crook of his fingers slide down the front of your panties, testing the waters. The pad of his thumb and middle finger locked on instantly to your clit, swirling the sensitive bud, sending electric shocks through your extremities. You bit your lip to stifle a moan, pressing your forehead against his. “Need you inside, now.” you all but growled as you peppered little kisses along the soft flesh of his neck.

He wouldn’t keep you waiting long, as it seemed he needed this as much as you did. He parted your panties to the side, propping you on top of him and sliding you down his length, earning a hissed gasp from both of you. It took all of his strength not to burst in you right then, as you enveloped him in your tight, wet heat. “You were made for me,” he breathed, biting down on your shoulder, leaving red marks. One of his favorite things to do was to mark you, leaving hickies in his wake as he worshiped every inch of exposed skin he could reach. “Melded so perfectly, just for me.” he grabbed the flesh of your bottom, squeezing gently at first, then landing a smack on it as he began to thrust up into you.

You nodded fervently, hiccuping little moans as you dug your face into his shoulder, biting him in turn. Your nails sunk into his skin, indenting against his spine as they always had, as they always were meant to. It felt much like a pianist resting their fingers on the ivories after a long break, the pads of your fingers sinking into the ridges of his very being. You were meant to be here, he was meant to be here. You could feel your end coming on all too soon, his cock filling every nook and cranny of you, bullying that spongy, delicate sweet spot just right. You began to clench, your tell-tale sign to him that you were close. 

“I love you,” he whispered, panting slightly, using one hand to push your face back so you could meet his gaze. His wild, pupil-blown out gaze, cheeks reddened, mouth parted, brow furrowed. “I love you, I fucking love you. I missed you– fuck.”

“I l-love you,” you responded before he parted your lips with his thumb, “Love you so much– p-please, s’close.” you whined into his mouth.

“Let go, sweetheart, c’mon,” he grinned against your lips, nipping and biting at them. “Come for me.”

That was all you needed, the twine of your climax coming undone right in your core, snapping like a taut thread. Your usual habit was to hide your face in his shoulder when you came, whimpering and panting– but he didn’t let you this time. He held your face, staring at you intently as if you were a piece of fine art on display, and he was a connoisseur. 

You clenched around him tightly, spurring him to his own end. His hard wrought fingers gripped your ass like it was a lifeline, grunting as he found his release deep within you, where it was always meant to be. 

Coming down from your high, you slumped against his chest, mouth parted. Embarrassingly enough, a little drool wetted your lips. You were fully and thoroughly fucked out, not even registering that Tobey Maguire said “Pizza time!”

“Happy New Year, love,” Aemond murmured against your hair, nestling you tightly against him. He didn’t pull out– he preferred it this way, having you warm him through until you both fell asleep. 

“... Happy New Year,” you whispered back.

–

Two and a half months later, it was Valentine's day. You and Aemond were officially dating again as of January 2nd, much to the surprise of no one. 

You both took things as slow as you could, keeping separate apartments for the time being– but you’d given him a key to your place about two weeks in, and he was there all the time, taking much needed leave from work. 

Unlocking the door to your apartment, you walked in, seeing Aemond lounging on the couch with a scruffy brown furball on him. 

“Oh, Vhagar! You brought my baby,” you mused, dropping your items (with some grace, so as not to scare the geriatric cat), walking over, “Oh, I hope she remembers me.” you frowned, kneeling down and offering your hand to her.

“Of course she’ll remember, she yelled at me for a good three months at Aegon’s when we were without you.”

Vhagar sniffed your hand for a good minute before blinking her sleepy, lazy eyes at you, then promptly rubbing her scraggly cheek fur on your hand. You were elated, scratching her cheeks, hearing the tinkling of a little bell. 

“A new collar?” 

“Mhm, take a look.”

You swirled the collar around, looking for the name tag– only to find… a ring. An opal and moonstone ring. Your heart stopped in your chest as you stared at Aemond.

“I would get down on one knee– I was intending on you coming home and Vhagar running to you and then you finding it… but she’s on me, and I can’t get up. Cat rules,” he mused, unclipping the collar from her neck and slipping the ring onto your finger. “I know we’ve only been dating for… a month and a half, so stop me if it’s too soon.” he grinned, his toothy smile.

Vhagar gave a croaking meow, promptly jumping off of Aemond’s lap. As soon as the old cat was off, you threw yourself at Aemond, blubbering. “This… this…” you sniffed, unable to form words.

“Just so there isn’t any confusion… will you marry me?” he asked, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

“Yes, yes– I will,” you sniffle, burying your face in his chest and sobbing. 

He let you sob on him, getting his shirt all snotty and wet, all while smiling. 

After crying for at least ten minutes, you manage to take a picture, sending it to the group chat, with the caption: “I think we should add him to the chat now, guys.”

Ding.

“Is this group chat named ‘Aemond sucks’?” 

[1hot-mess-express1]

I just read your Toge not saying I love you out of fear of making reader a curse should they die and I wanna 1 up you, what if he said it while they were dying? Or like on their death bed when they're like old and grey because the guilt of not actually saying momentarily like, eats him up and he says it without thinking? Or he goes to and reader stops him and just has that look that says they know and instead reader says this sappy stuff about how they've always felt loved by him and that they always noticed His efforts to show how much he loved them.

Feel free to ignore this btw, it was just something thats been jumping around my head as of late. I hope you have a lovely week!!

-🎃💫

Any Last Words?

Toge X reader

Angst w/comfort

W.C: 1567

Synopsis: Toge is left gravely injured after the Shibuya incident and he finds himself reflecting

A/N: So sorry lovely Anon I have no idea how long this has just been chilling in my inbox but I saw this and fell in love w/ the concept immediately, this is a little rushed but I really wanted to get this done before life got too busy again

As a sorcerer, death is a constant companion—always lurking, always watching, waiting patiently to swoop in and remind you that no matter how powerful you are, she’s the one holding all the cards. Toge was no exception. He could vividly recall clinging to his father's pant leg, peeking around at the men in suits whose large frames cast menacing shadows over them. They were hunting down the alleged cursed speech user, warning his father that this child was dangerous, a threat to society—this child needed to be eliminated. If his father were a good man, they said, he would cooperate.

“A child who has inherited cursed speech can manipulate the world around them. If a child with this technique were to yell ‘no’ at you, you would have no choice but to comply; your body would freeze up, and you wouldn’t be able to move. They likely aren’t strong enough yet to cause real harm, but you see why we need to eliminate this threat early.” The man in front of them adjusts his glasses, peering straight through a trembling Toge.

“Of course, sir, I’d love to help you with this, but as you may have guessed, I don’t see many children other than my own, and unfortunately, this little guy is mute. He hasn’t spoken a word since the day he was born.” Toge’s father ruffles his hair lightly as Toge buries his face deeper into his sweater.

The man stares through Toge one last time before his gaze flickers up, and he breaks into a tight, uncomfortable smile. “Right then, we’ll be on our way. If you hear anything, don’t hesitate to give us a call. We wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen.” He hands over his business card and walks away.

That night, Toge meets Gojo sensei for the first time. His father told him this man would take him somewhere safe, that he wouldn’t have to be afraid, and that he could help others with his gift. That reassurance did little to quell the tears welling up in his eyes. He wanted to stay, to keep pretending just a little longer, but it was time to grow up. The world lost some of its wonder that night as he clutched the hand of a stranger, fighting back tears as his father waved him off with a smile that never quite reached his eyes.

From that day on, his life became a constant reminder of the cruelty of his new world. Corpses littered the scenes of curse sightings, and teachers, supervisors, and even students sometimes wouldn’t make it home from missions. He watched from the sidelines as their loved ones mourned and then returned to school as if nothing had happened. It was hard not to become detached from your own life when it could be lost in an instant.

Then there was you. A second-grade at best, from a line of non-sorcerers. The horrors of this world never seemed to touch you. You always smiled and laughed, enjoying the life you were given. For a moment, Toge thought you were naive. He was sure you didn’t realize the horrors lurking around every corner, ready to pounce and tear everything from you.

When you received word that Yuji had died, you wept, embarrassingly so, for someone you had never met. You cried openly, tears streaming, snot running down your nose as you wailed like a child. He stood there, stunned by the raw display of grief, and you left him little time to process it before you wrapped your arms around his neck, crying into his shoulder. You spoke of how young Yuji was, how much he had ahead of him; you wept for his friends, his family, all the lives he was meant to touch. Toge doesn’t remember when he started crying, but his face burns as tears roll down onto the top of your head. He doesn’t know why, but he clutches you tightly and cries freely for possibly the first time in his life.

A breathy laugh escapes him as he recalls the memory of you sniffling into his shoulder, much like you are now. He winces in pain as the gentle laugh wreaks havoc on his injured body. He tries to wrap an arm around your head, to run his fingers through your hair, to comfort you and reassure you he’s okay, but nothing happens. Right, he lost that arm just hours ago. At this realization, another laugh roils through his stomach, and he can’t hold it back this time, choking on the pain as his body shakes in your arms.

It was never supposed to be like this. He was supposed to come home in one piece, ready to cook dinner with you and the others in the dorm. You would scold him for being reckless and dote on him as you haphazardly administered medicine. He was supposed to lie with you on the couch, eyes heavy, his hand tracing through your hair while a movie flickered around them, lighting the otherwise empty room.

This time, he allows himself to cry freely, clutching you impossibly closer as he wails like a child, mourning everything that should have been, all the things that could have been. You lean back slightly at his sudden outburst, cradling his face in your hands, brushing his bloodied hair out of his eyes. He doesn’t expect the soft smile gracing your features as you stare back into his eyes. How could you smile at a time like this? He had let you down, he could have died, and he was moments from abandoning you here, whether he wanted to or not.

You place a chaste kiss on his forehead, the warmth of your lips lingering against his cold, clammy skin. The gesture is so gentle, so filled with affection, that it catches him off guard. For a moment, the world around him fades—no pain, no fear, just the softness of your touch grounding him in the present. You pull his head into yours, your foreheads pressed together, and he can feel your breath mixing with his, shallow and uneven. It’s too much. He can’t breathe, his chest tightening as the weight of his emotions threatens to suffocate him.

He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut as if that could block out the reality of the situation, as if it could shield him from the intensity of your gaze. He knows if he looks at you, really looks at you, he’ll see the depth of your love and concern etched into your features, and he doesn’t know if he can bear it. How can you look at him like that, with such unwavering trust and devotion, after everything that’s happened? After all he’s lost, after all he’s failed to protect? The guilt gnaws at him, sharp and unrelenting.

“I-I…,” he starts, but the words catch in his throat, choked by the guilt knotting there, making it harder to breathe with each passing moment. He closes his mouth, trying to steady his nerves, but instead, he feels your lips on his, warm and gentle.

You kiss him with no urgency, as if your life is guaranteed, as if you aren’t in a hospital room. No, you kiss him, and he’s transported back to his dorm, the breeze carrying the gentle glow of the afternoon sun through the room, and he can smell the remnants of your shampoo as you tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. He’s home, he’s safe, and he’s loved unconditionally.

When you break away, you reach up to hold his face in your hands, running your thumb over his curse marks. Those marks, once symbols of his power and burden, now seem almost fragile under your tender caress.

You lean in, your voice barely above a whisper, the words carrying a weight that transcends the simplicity of their meaning: “I love you too.” The sincerity in your voice cuts through the layers of doubt and fear that have wrapped themselves around his heart. He feels a surge of emotions—relief, gratitude, love—all mingling together, overwhelming in their intensity.

He can’t help it—the boyish smile that breaks across his face is instinctive, almost involuntary. It’s the kind of smile that reaches his eyes, lighting them up with a glimmer of hope buried under the weight of his doubt. In that moment, everything else falls away. The wounds, the battles, the relentless weight of his responsibilities—they all seem distant, insignificant compared to the simple truth of your words.

His resolve solidifies, a quiet determination burning within him. He might not be able to express his feelings in words, but he vowed to spend the rest of his life showing you, in every way possible, just how deeply he loved you. He would make it his mission to always come home to you—to listen to you animatedly recount your day, your eyes sparkling with excitement over the smallest details. He would continue to bring your favorite snacks, the ones that always made you smile, and remember the little things, like moving the sheets into the dryer on Saturdays.

As long as he lived, he would fight to return to you, day after day, because each time he walked through that door and saw you waiting for him, it was a victory—a promise kept. And maybe, just maybe, one day, when the time was right, he would…

[ksyongi]

a turn of events

synopsis - a mingyu wonwoo fanfic where you wake up naked from a drunken night spent with mingyu which changes your life.

genre - romance, smut, childhood friends to lovers

pairing - childhoodbsf!wonwoo x reader x childhoodbsf!mingyu

wc: approx 4.8k

NSFW - MINORS DNI

warnings: mentions of rain, use of pet names, teeny bit of jealousy, smut ; dirty talk, dom!wonu, dom!gyu, sub!reader, oral(f) and oral(m) wonu being a tad bit rough but it's soft a tad bit too. written with the thought of the reader being on birth control btw so no accidents🙈(lmk if i missed out anything)

an: A BIG BIG THANK YOU TO THOSE WHO HELPED ME ON THIS !! i started on this like last december and man this too way to long with my procrastination but anyway, i hope its okay because i'm not experienced with writing a lot of smut, do lmk if you guys want a pt.2 :) <3

m.list

Yeah, a few drinks huh… You did not know a few drinks would end up with you waking up fully naked a room, hell you barely remember anything. You turn your head and see a bunch of photo frames placed on the desk.

You slowly get up and let an out an audible 'fuck' when you felt the pain between your legs. They must've gone hard on you huh…

You take one in your hands and see two boys in it. Bringing it closer to your face and to it had to be your highschool friends. Kim Mingyu and Jeon Wonwoo, the school's most well known pair of basketball players. Their dynamic worked so well on court that they had been awarded the captain and vice. 

The question everybody had was how they managed to get along? With Mingyu's big ego and Wonwoo's quiet, introverted personality, nobody could understand. You found yourself hanging out with the duo sometimes, they are honestly considered as your best friends. You've invited them to your house multiple times but last night was a first when going to their house since they just recently moved in.

They decided it was a great idea to hold a party after moving into their new house and to get it dirty from all the spilled drinks and litter. You don't even know whose room you were in, you haven't even had the time to familiarize yourself with the home before getting yourself drunk. What a smart move. The week's earlier events had been too much for you, letting loose at your friend's home was the best place you could, right?  

Thinking of the chances of who you could have slept with, you honestly wouldn't mind either if it was Wonwoo or Mingyu. Heck you even might have a huge ass crush on them. There's just something about them ever since you got grouped up one day in highschool for a project. You have even caught yourself daydreaming about being railed by either. Those deceiving soft, innocent eyes of Wonwoo. You bet he was those 'angels in the streets, devil in the sheets' kinda guy. It made your insides flip in the best way possible. Well for Mingyu… his charm was unmatchable by other guys. His flirtatious and confident character were a plus factor. You wouldn't mind if it was him either. The pair was undeniably hot till you wouldn't deny your grown feelings for them ever since the end of highschool when they presented you flowers and a handmade cd full of songs made by them for your birthday.

A click from the door pulled you from your deep thoughts. Speaking of the devil. Mingyu stood there, plate of scrambled eggs in hand, with no shirt and sweatpants that were clinging onto his hips for its dear life. Your eyes trailed down his body till his voice interrupted you. 

"Good morning." Mingyu says. Using his arm to gesture to the bed for you to sit back on. You hum in response, mentally cursing at your drunken mind for not thinking straight the previous night. The situation you got yourself into cannot get any more awkward. 'This ruined our friendship didn't it' you cry out to yourself in your head. You can't help but let a blush rise to your cheeks. Hiding your face, you adjust the loose navy blue shirt on you. Mingyu hands you the plate, watching you start to eat it and give a nod of approval to his cooking. He takes a seat next to you watching you finish the portion of food. 

You were about to be saddened by the fact you couldn't remember anything, but then it all came back to you.

"Taking my cock so well aren't you baby? So pretty under me." His sloppy thrusts bring you to your fourth release of the night. The tight grip he had on your hips made purple marks bloom on them. his grunts and your high pitched moans mixed together. his teeth were sunk into his bottom lip with his eyes tightly shut. the sounds of skin slapping and the smell of sex was evident. “m’ about to cum gyu.” “Alright, cum with me baby.” his thrusts got faster, as your back started to arch at the rush of pleasure. 

Well, shit.

“Hope you're okay with my choice of cooking. Just wanted you to not feel as awkward as you seem right now. You can be yourself, you know." Mingyu shrugs, his eyes fixated on the now empty plate in front of you. 

"What happened last night?" Mingyu's small attempt of comfort does not help and you ask the question that was eventually going to be surfaced. 

"Well, I'm not going to sugarcoat things and go straight to things." Mingyu's irises shift to lock with yours, his eyes seeming as unfazed as ever. "You went to my party yesterday, and you decided to be an idiot and take one too many drinks and decided to hook up with me. Not that I'm surprised about that last part." You break eye contact and groan as Mingyu's lips twitch upwards in amusement. 

What the hell did you get yourself into?

—

"I might have slept with Kim Mingyu, please don't kill me." you confess to the trio in front of you. booseoksoon. Seungkwan slams his hands on the table, catching the attention of others in the cafe.  "WHAT THE FUCK? WE LEAVE YOU ALONE FOR ONE NIGHT AND YOU DO THAT?" Soonyoung shoots him a glare to 'tone the fuck down' that seungkwan brushes off and Seokmin apologizes to the people who are giving questionable glances. You try to hide yourself further into your turtleneck. 

In an instant, Soonyoung puts the pieces together and slides up next to you and pulls the material hugging your neck and the purple marks are on full display for the three. Seokmin's mouth drops agape, Seungkwan slaps a hand to his head, really, really hard, and Soonyoung brings his head closer to your neck trying to examine it as if it was just makeup and all of this was a prank. 

"Girl, you're lucky that you lost your virginity to that hot shot Choi Seungcheol and it wasn't Kim fucking Mingyu." Seokmin shakes his head. His eyes are still wide, trying to recover from that bomb you just dropped on them. 

"I thought you said Mingyu was your 'childhood friend'? I know the guy is hot but really?" Seungkwan's voice is now small, almost in a whisper. "I THOUGHT YOU WERE NOT INTO MEN ANYMORE BECAUSE OF THE LACK OF DICK YOU WERE GETTING MAN." His usual personality came back. You instantly take both your hands and plaster them onto his mouth, muttering apologies to the irritated audience and once again, Seungkwan looked like he was crazy. 

"Hold your darn horses. Explain yourself before one of us marches to Mingyu's house and interrogates him for an answer," Soonyoung rubs his hands on his temples in distress. 

Sure you had a fair share of dick but the last time you ever had sex was like when you were 22? Like a whole two years ago. 

"Well, I'll keep it simple and…not so sweet but you get the idea." The three of them leaned closer to you, eyes filled with a mix of emotion. "Well, I just felt like downing a few drinks and in the morning I just woke up in his bed? What else do you even want me to say man." You sigh, head resting on your palm. 

"Do you regret it?" Seokmin asks, not even hiding an ounce of his curiosity. You look down on your lap and pick on the skin on your fingers as your mouth forms a thin line. They knew that the sex was good and you barely regret it. You couldn't hide the fact that Mingyu was hot. 

"Listen." Soonyoung breaks the silence. "I don't mind if you slept with one of the men you did not expect to, but I don't want you to be hurt. You better sort out where you stand, you better not come crying at one of our doorsteps on one of these days thinking that you were something. I bet all of us feel this way." 

"Yeah, I've known him since I was young so this should not be so bad." 

Soonyoung scoffs and continues. "Just sort your relationship out with him okay? Make sure it isn't awkward or anything. Men are fucking dense and make sure he doesn't think that you are his go-to fuck girl now." 

—

So you find yourself at his doorstep. Grimacing when you remember what happened the last time you went there. You ring the doorbell and hear a pair of feet shuffling behind the door.

What you didn't expect was Wonwoo opening the door instead of Mingyu. You take a step back and you feel the tips of your ears getting hot. 

Wonwoo's hand slowly slides off the handle of the door, "Hey y/n." the low hoarse voice you heard almost sent you to heaven. "Hello Wonwoo…" you find yourself trying not to stutter and hold that eye contact he is holding. Hoping that he did not know anything about the previous night's events, you go straight to the point. "Is Mingyu around by any chance? I have to talk to him about something." Wonwoo shakes his head, "He's out right now, do you wanna come in first? He may come back soon." You quietly accept the offer and enter their home. You see that his eyes follow your figure with your peripheral vision.

You follow him to his room as a usual routine, but you can't dismiss the quiet atmosphere. You did not know why you were feeling this way. Wonwoo was usually a guy with little words but now the fact that you sleep with Mingyu, you couldn't help but feel awkward. "You can get comfortable, let me just finish one more round of my game." You were honestly surprised at his carefree attitude. You sit yourself down on his bed, "Do you remember anything from last night?" You decide to ask. Wonwoo shook his head, "Not really, I was tipsy. Mingyu was busy banging somebody and I couldn't find you anywhere so I just went to bed." You relax at that statement, happy that he was clueless. 

You became comfortable in Wonwoo's presence quite quickly. He finished his game quickly like he said he would and closed his game launcher as soon as the 'victory' screen flashed on his monitor. He placed his glasses on his desk.

"So what do you wanna do now?" He turns around in his chair to face you. Just at that instant, Mingyu enters Wonwoo's room. His eyes widened by the slightest before returning to its usual state. You wave at him, in which he returns one.

"What brings you here?" Mingyu asks. Wonwoo interjects, "She wanted to talk to you about something, which she can ask you now since you are here. So what was it you wanted to ask, y/n?" You were surprised by his sudden straightforwardness. "I uhh just wanted to ask Mingyu if…He's free tonight to come over and just hang out! And since you're here too Wonwoo, wanna come over for a bit later?" You stuttered, only sounding convincing for the last few words. 

The pair in front of you questioned your invitation but went with it. "I'll be there." The taller one said. "I'll be slightly late but I'll definitely be there." Wonwoo gave a small smile. "Great! I'll see you guys then." You quickly take your leave, leaving the two in front of you speechless. "She came all the way here just for that?" Wonwoo snorts. "Weird…" Mingyu looks at the place where you previously sat.

— 

You were expecting Mingyu's arrival. It was currently slightly past 8pm. Bringing out a few bottles of soju, you heard the doorbell ring. 

You quickly pat down your outfit and open the door. Instead of seeing Mingyu, you saw Wonwoo. The wind got knocked out of your lungs after seeing him. Failing to calm yourself down, you hold the door open, letting him in. You fail to notice Wonwoo checking your outfit out while you were trying to neutralize your facial expression. He's in a white turtleneck with a pair of long black pants. To top it all off, he was using those goddamned black framed glasses. Fuck your horemones right now because gosh you really wanted to tear it off him. Your jaw slacked at the slightest and you got snapped out of your thoughts from Wonwoo clearing his throat. 

"O-Oh hey Wonwoo." you smile. "Hey Y/n. Mingyu was held up at home, he made a mess earlier when trying to cook and he's cleaning it up right now." Wonwoo sighs, letting his hand run through his hair. You laugh, standing aside to let him in. 

Wonwoo puts aside his things neatly as you take a seat in the living room. He joined you shortly as you opened a bottle of soju.

"What do you wanna do now?" You ask. "We could probably put on a movie or something." Wonwoo shrugs, taking down a shot of soju. "I have a better idea~"  You sing-song, getting up and gesturing for Wonwoo to follow you.

"Tadaaa" You show Wonwoo the small set-up in your backyard, a few chairs set out with a perfect view of a full moon and a few stars. Wonwoo takes a seat, "This is nice," he sighs. "Of course it would be,'' You wink,  placing down the bottles in your hands onto the table. You take your phone and put a jazz spotify playlist and leave it on shuffle. 

As per usual, you started a conversation. They usually revolved around shared memories from highschool. Some including Mingyu of course, you wonder if he forgot about the night together with Wonwoo. 

"Oh fuck don't remind me of that" You groan, "No way I would let you live this one down, it was hilarious how you asked Hong Jisoo for this favourite colour in 8th grade and the day after you came to school in braces with that exact colour. You were so obvious." Wonwoo was clutching his stomach, his cute laughter made you crack a smile and hide your face in your hands. 

"Oh don't get me started on how you liked that girl from our level and shouted 'Oh this shot is for you!' in the basketball finals right in front of our whole cohort and missed it," You tease, nudging his shoulder. Wonwoo playfully rolls his eyes. "Oh hush, Mingyu would never stop teasing me for that one." 

Your laughter slowly dies down as a familiar tune comes on. Your homecoming dance song. The exact song Wonwoo and you danced two years ago. You didn't have a date because you only had a crush on Mingyu and Wonwoo at the time. You remember it clearly. Watching Mingyu dancing with another girl made your jealousy kindle. But Wonwoo came in front of you, asking you if he could have the dance with you before gently grabbing your arm and you remember dancing with him for the rest of the night. 

Similarly, now he did the same. Standing up, he reaches up his hand. "May I have this dance?" You could simply not refuse, putting your hand in his right away with a blush creeping up your face. He pulls you to his chest onto the grass of your backyard, the small light of your backyard with the stars fit the mood perfectly. You and him swayed to the familiar tune of the song and before you could realise, raindrops started to fall from the sky. One turned into ten and there was a small downpour. But fuck it, since you were already having fun, what more if it were in the rain with Wonwoo? 

Hands still intertwined with his, you slow dance in the rain. Some turns and dips in between the song. You find the song coming to a slow stop, as your hands find a place around Wonwoo's neck. You find yourself in a more intimate position now. You look into his eyes, taking the chance to explore his face too. Wonwoo looks up, "The moon is beautiful, isn't it?" You follow his gaze upwards to the bright moon, "Yeah, it really is." Wonwoo was glad you didn't know the meaning of the sentence he said, but maybe one day you would know the true intentions behind his words.

You both don't seem to mind the drenched outfits and how they were sticking to your body. Both of you slowly look back at each other and you see Wonwoo staring at your lips. You see Wonwoo hesitating, "Can I kiss you?" Wonwoo whispers, his head inching closer to yours slowly. You slowly nod your head, but you see his head stop inches before touching yours. Wonwoo takes a second before saying, "Fuck it." before pushing his lips onto yours. 

Your lips slowly move on his, savoring the taste of him. His intoxicating cologne drags you into a trance, you need more of him as he needs more of you. Wonwoo's arms slide around your waist as he leans down more into the kiss. Your taste was addicting and thankfully he was sober still. He knew for a fact you were sober too, he'll make sure you would have an unforgettable night either way. 

You slowly part from the kiss, grabbing Wonwoo's hand and pulling him into your house. You try and pull him in for another kiss before he cuts you off, "Not so fast sweetheart. You gotta dry off first, don't want you catching a cold." You laugh, "So thoughtful as usual." Wonwoo smiles, walking to your bathroom to grab a towel and he starts to dry your hair. You would never get sick of how any moment can turn wholesome with Wonwoo in an instant. 

Wonwoo finishes drying the both of you off. "Lead the way princess." You take hold of his hand again, dragging him into your room. Wonwoo takes a seat on your bed, pulling you into his lap in the process

"This okay Y/n? Just wanted to feel you for the whole night..fuck you looked so hot the second you opened the door." Wonwoo groans when you grab his arms, putting it on your waist. "Yes this is alright Wonwoo." You smiled, but you were exploding inside. Your heart was beating against your ribcage and you hoped he didn't notice how fast your heart was beating. 

He pulls you into another kiss. It was sweet at first, but Wonwoo starts to drag his tongue over your bottom lip then pushes his tongue into your mouth to explore it as soon as you grant him access. He takes your tongue into his mouth to slowly suck it. You moan at the sensation. Wonwoo pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your lips. You try to catch your breath as Wonwoo takes you into his arms, turning you around so he is caging you to the bed. 

Wonwoo proceeds to sit on your bed, pulling you onto his lap. Wonwoo starts to press wet kisses from your neck, making sure to pay attention to your sweet spot and lightly sucking on it. You softly moan his name, your arms finding its place around his neck. Wonwoo's hands grab your hips, guiding them to sit on his erection. "See how turned on you make me feel? Been wanting this for ages," Wonwoo practically groans by your ear making your breathing start to uneven. The vibrations you felt from his chest went straight down to your core. 

Wonwoo's hands guide down to your shirt, resting there. "May I?" You give him a nod, encouraging him to continue. "Let me know when to stop alright? Tap me twice if you want to stop. Don't be afraid to be vocal either." Wonwoo gives a small smile before lifting your shirt over your head. "Always so pretty for me sweetheart," he looks at you in awe. Looking away, you feel his hand coming to your cheek and pushing it to meet his gaze. He takes the chance to peck your lips before continuing and unclipping your bra. Wonwoo does not waste any time in taking one breast and fondling it. He takes your lips onto his again, muffling your moans. 

When you have the chance to, you manage to choke out, "Please..Wonwoo.." He looks at you with a smirk, knowing how you were far in a bliss to talk properly. "Please what sweetheart? Use your words." You ball up you hands into fists, "Please just fuck me hard. I need you Wonwoo."

All Wonwoo did was let out a low chuckle. You did not know how to react. "Since you asked so nicely I could never say no to you. But I need a taste of you first." It's like a switch was flipped. Wonwoo's hands reached for your pants, taking them off as well as your underwear as if he was tearing it off you. "Be good for me and let your neighbor's know who's making you feel good hm?" You give a quick nod, eyes closing at the feeling of his hot breath fanning on your heat. 

Wonwoo wastes no time in diving into your bundle of nerves, licking and sucking as if it were his last meal. He manages to shove in two of his long slender digits too, it's scissoring motion making your thighs clench around his head. Wonwoo's tongue was quickly bringing you to your release and both of you knew it. But the sudden sound of your door opening made the two of you jump. 

"Oh what a pleasant surprise." Mingyu sauntered into the room, taking a good look at you sprawled out on your bed and Wonwoo's face covered in your juices. "Look who decided to join the party." Wonwoo licks his lips. The wind was knocked out of your lungs as you tried to comprehend that whatever was happening wasn't a dream. Mingyu confirms your thoughts by crashing his lips onto yours. It was an aggressive kiss, Mingyu's neediness was showing through it.

Mingyu abruptly pulls back and that sudden action makes you chase his lips. Mingyu laughs, "Such a needy baby aren't you? That makes the two of us." Mingyu chuckled, "Has Wonwoo been treating you well?" You watch how Wonwoo rolls his eyes and he goes back to focusing on getting you to your release. Mingyu gets the hint and starts to mark you up. You knew you would be littered in their marks. Of course you would, Wonwoo and Mingyu would have to mark what's theirs. The feeling of both their mouths on your body made your back arch off the bed as your hands reached to grab Wonwoo's hair and Mingyu's hand.  And so your release came crashing right after Wonwoo's fingers started to rub your heat and Mingyu started to suck on one of your breasts. 

Your mind was in a haze, mumbling a mix of their names and how good they made you feel. "Oh my god Gyu, you gotta taste her." Wonwoo pants, hands taking the remnants of your release off his face and putting his fingers at Mingyu's mouth which he clearly accepted. Mingyu moans around Wonwoo's fingers, making your core start to get wet once again. 

Mingyu caresses your naked waist, "You're doing so well for us baby," Wonwoo stands up, dusting his knees. "Can you still take us? Unless our slut is already fucked out from a single release?" On a normal day you would shoot back a snarky remark but you knew if you did that right now, you would be put in place. Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea but for now you would keep that idea for another time. You manage to give a small nod to the duo. They quickly undress fully, your eyes admiring their bodies. You take both hands to feel their figures. They both crack a smile, Wonwoo's face trying to turn away to hide his blush as Mingyu's hand reaches to caress your cheek. 

It was always that in moments like these you found comfort in the two. You then take Mingyu's cock into your mouth as Wonwoo wastes no time in pushing himself into your walls. The three of you moan in unison. Your warm mouth and the swirling of your tongue drove Mingyu crazy and how your tight walls clenched around Wonwoo made him close his eyes tight. Your hands helplessly try to grab the bed sheets but with the pleasure that is running through you, nothing worked. 

Wonwoo and Mingyu start to thrust into you in sync. The erratic moans you had sent Mingyu into heaven. It felt perfect. "Taking our cocks so well darling," Mingyu grits. "Making us feel so good sweetheart. You like that? You like Mingyu and I filling your holes and using you like a whore don't you." Wonwoo starts to thrust into you with a rougher pace the second his hands slide onto your waist gripping it hard so he can feel you skin to skin. 

You can feel that their releases were approaching and your second one for the night as well. You focus on running your tongue under Mingyu's cock and sucking it the way he reacted to it the best. As for Wonwoo, you tried to stabilize yourself but nothing was working. Your eyes roll back and it feels as if your body was falling into an abyss. 

Wonwoo takes your legs and hooks them over his shoulders, "Mingyu and I've been thinking about this for the longest time. Wanted to fuck you well so you know who you belonged to. Mmm want you to be ours right Gyu?" Mingyu takes a second to control his breathing, "That's right baby. Want it so bad." The words that got  uttered out of their mouths encouraged you to work harder to get them to their releases. Mingyu could not take it anymore. The combination of how you moan then hollow your cheeks right after made him shoot his seed into your mouth. You make sure he sees you waste nothing when swallowing everything you could.

Wonwoo starts to be slightly more vocal indicating that his release was approaching too. "You drive me so crazy." Wonwoo takes your hands and interlaces them with his. "Wonwoo. Oh my god Wonwoo." You repeat his name on and on, gripping his hands tight. Both of you were sent off the edge, Wonwoo spilling his load right into your abused hole. 

Just like that, Wonwoo is soft again as you lay side by side coming down from your high. Mingyu had already walked off to get a towel to wipe you off. "Are you feeling alright?" Wonwoo asks, one of his hands never leaving yours."Yeah I feel great Wonwoo, thank you." You smile at him, feeling all bubbly in your stomach again. 

"What Mingyu and I said just now, we meant it. Maybe you could give one of us a chance? Ever since you turned up to our house when both of us were ill and not minding the fact that you may fall sick too made us realize our honest feelings for you." You look at Wonwoo, you thought all they said was all the 'In the moment' type of things that you were gaslighting yourself into not believing it. 

"How…" You mutter out. "Well you have Mingyu, never having the balls to come to face his feelings and like for example, dancing with other girls during prom. Or you have me, being well aware of how you make me feel and coming to face them. Like how I danced with you at prom well knowing that it may be the last time I would." 

"I would love to have something like that, with the two of you. Been dreaming of it for a few years." Wonwoo seems shocked at what you said. At that time, Mingyu walks into the room. "Repeat that for us." Wonwoo orders. "Yeah, I would love to figure out something between the three of us if that's possible." You glance between the two, noticing how Mingyu's eyes widen. "We would love that." Wonwoo utters, looking at Mingyu in disbelief. Mingyu snaps out of his daze, "Now let's get you cleaned up shall we?" 

That night you found yourself in between your two lovers, still trying to come to believe what happened in the span of a few hours. But how you woke up, legs tangled with them and getting showered with kisses, hugs and a great breakfast made you not regret a single thing. 

"Maybe you could do what you've been wanting to do with us these couple of years you've been waiting for." Mingyu winks as Wonwoo gives you a knowing smirk oh you were so ready for what was to come. 

an: after changing the plot like 4-5 times i might just wanna stick to writing hcs and reactions TT do lmk if i should continue w this !

reblogs and likes are appreciated, thank you :)

[otherkinnews]

One anti-furry bill died, the other two wait to be heard

(This blog post was originally posted on the Otherkin News blog on DreamWidth by Orion Scribner on March 24, 2024.)

Content warnings: Rated G. An urban legend that describes an unsanitary situation. Sexism against transgender people, including attempts to prevent them from going to school or using facilities, and outing children to their parents. A straw-man version of furries being used to try to discredit transgender people, in a way that could cause trouble for people who identify as nonhuman.

So far this year, Republicans have proposed three pieces of legislation that are opposed to furries or people who identify as nonhuman. That’s something they started doing last year, inspired by an urban legend about litter boxes in public schools, which they made up in parody of transgender students asking to use school restrooms. We’ve been ending up calling these “anti-furry bills” as we keep track of them in our Otherkin News blog. Furry isn’t the accurate word, but it is the word that Republicans use in the urban legend and usually in the bills too. Every once in a while, I’m checking on the status of the bills, and trying to see if there are any new ones. Here is the update for this week.

1. Oklahoma House Bill 3084 (OK HB 3084) “Schools; prohibiting certain students from participating in school curriculum or activities; effective date.”

Background: We wrote about this bill in detail in a previous Otherkin News post. The bill says that furry students should be taken out of school by animal control. Its only sponsor (writer) is Justin Humphrey (he/him). This seems linked with his opposition to LGBTQ people, as well as his efforts to legalize animal fighting. Later, Jim Olsen (he/him) took over as principal sponsor of the bill. He proposed changing it to have the same text as an unrelated bill of his, one requiring public school classrooms to display the Ten Commandments.

Update: The bill’s current status hasn’t changed since our last update. It’s still at 25% progression toward becoming a law. Its text hasn’t changed from what it was originally, so it's still about furries.

2. Mississippi House Bill 176 (MS HB 176) “Gender dysphoria; require school personnel to notify parents of student who request to be referred to as different gender or nonhuman.”

Background: This was introduced at the same time as the first bill. As we previously wrote about it, the bill is mostly against transgender students in a way that could put them in real danger. It would require schools to out transgender students to parents, and to allow faculty to not accommodate any student who “identif[ies] at school as a gender or pronoun that does not align with the child's sex on their birth certificate, other official records, sex assigned at birth, or identifying as an animal species, extraterrestrial being or inanimate object.”

Update: This bill’s current status is dead! Hooray! It died in committee on March 3. When a bill dies, that means that it won’t progress toward becoming a law.

3. Missouri House Bill 2678 (MO HB 2678) “Prohibits students from engaging in ‘furry’ behavior while at school”

Background: We previously wrote about this bill. The bill says to pull students out of school for being furries or purporting to be animals. The bill’s only sponsor is Cheri Toalson Reisch (she/her). This appears to be connected with her opposition to transgender people as well as her efforts to undermine public schools in favor of charter schools.

Updates: This bill hasn’t changed or moved forward. It’s still the same as it was when it was introduced. A hearing hasn’t been scheduled for it, and it’s not on a House calendar.

-

About the writer: This blog post was written by Orion Scribner (they/them), who has been a community historian and archivist for more than ten years.

[milfjuulpod]

Guidance, Ch II

lunch, coffee, perfume, emails

read chapter one here

A/N: heyyyy sorry for my absence my writers block is insane rn….anyways i hope y’all enjoy the second chapter, lmk how u feel abt it and what u wanna see! also- i have posted both of these chapters on my ao3, same username. ok here u go bye

-

The office you resided in was dark, a soft light illuminating from the computer screen, gentle music playing from its speakers. The desk was littered with papers, folders, notes, pens—it was quite the mess. Ava had dropped off a stack of reports on students, those who were falling a bit behind and needed a bit of help. So naturally, you quickly got to work. You knew when you arrived at Abbott that you wanted to help as much as possible, and there was no point in waiting to get started. Sure, it was only the first couple of weeks, but you figured it was best to get a head start on things.

Thus, you launched yourself into work. Most of these students had struggled all last year, and you decided to take some preventative measures to help both the students and teachers. Organizing the files into different piles, you heard a knock at the door. You invited whoever it was inside, and were met with a delightful surprise. “Hi Melissa, how can I help you?” You asked, taking your eyes off of the mess sprawled in front of you. “I think you might be the one who needs help, kid, what's all of this?” She asked, almost laughing at how disheveled your workspace was.

You sighed and leaned back in your chair, as Melissa took place in the seat across from you. “Ava dropped off some files on students, so I’m trying to make plans for them for this year.” She looked at you with such care at that moment, before returning to her usual demeanor. “Well don’t run yourself into the ground before we get halfway into the school year, I have a feeling your desk is gonna look like this a lot,” she teased. You replied with a quiet yes, and went to turn the music down before Melissa stopped you.

“Hold on, is that Italian?” She asked, trying to hide the smile on her face. Glancing at the screen, you realized what was playing. “Yeah, it's called Salvatore, by Lana Del Rey, I listen to this song a lot.” Her smile grew at your statement, and took mental note of it. At this point, you wondered why Melissa came in here, she still has yet to say. As if she read your mind, she spoke again. “I came to bring this to you, I had some extra and wasn’t sure if you’d eaten already, and I’m gonna guess you haven’t,” She gestured to the desk once again before setting down a tupperware in front of you. As she stood up to take her leave, she said, “I hope you like this Italian food as much as you like listening to the language,” and walked out of your office. You felt nearly as warm as the food sitting in front of you. 

       

When five p.m. rolled around, you figured it was about time to call it. Many plans were made for students, the rest would have to wait until tomorrow. You packed up your things to leave, when you remembered the tupperware sitting on the edge of your desk. Melissa’s tupperware. Hoping she didn’t leave, you grabbed it and rushed to her door. Unfortunately, her lights were off and the door was locked. Looks like that will have to wait until tomorrow too. 

      On the way out, you were stopped by Janine. “Hey! how’s the first week going?” She asked, excited as ever. You told her about the work you had done, and what was still left to do. “I just gotta take this home and wash it now, it’s Melissa’s.” Janine’s eyes widened at that statement, making you feel like maybe you said something you shouldn’t have. “Oh, Melissa gave you that? It took weeks before she even remembered my name, let alone give me something,” She shuffled on her feet nervously. “I hope she’s not trying to butter you up for anything,” Janine’s rambling was cut off by Gregory pulling up to the two of you. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” 

      Walking to your own car, you wondered what Janine could’ve meant by that. Melissa had been nothing but kind to you, what could possibly make her say that? Sure, the older teacher had a bit of a tough exterior, but she already took a liking to you. Janine’s words echoed in your head, and the anxiety grew as you thought about what Melissa really wanted from you. 

        

The following morning, you walked to Melissa’s classroom with her clean tupperware and coffees in hand. One for you, one for her. You were just going to return her dish, give her the coffee, and leave. Nothing more, nothing less. The crush on her was a bit ridiculous at this point, you barely knew the redhead, and yet you wanted nothing more but to learn everything. Knocking lightly on the door, you let yourself in. “Good morning, you left yesterday before I could give this back to you. Oh, and here’s a coffee as a thank you.” You greeted Melissa with excitement. Except she didn’t match the energy, at all. She didn’t even look up from her computer as she quietly said “thank you.” 

        Okay, maybe you were planning on staying a bit longer and chatting with her before getting to your own work, and you felt a bit defeated. Silently, you left the classroom and walked to your own office, wondering if Janine was right about Melissa. It was hard to focus on work feeling this way, and slowly, but surely, it was lunch time. Opting to work through it, you didn’t visit the break room with everyone else. You missed Melissa anxiously looking for you in the break room. But her best friend didn’t. 

        

“Why do you keep looking at the door? Are you waiting for someone?” Barbara asked the woman next to her. Melissa glanced at the cameras, before deciding to lie. “Uh, no. Just…paying attention. You can never be too careful.” Barbara knew what that tone meant, but decided to let it go. Playing the events from this morning back in her mind, Melissa felt a little bad for ignoring you, and this made her upset. Why did she care? 

      “You’re shaking the whole table bouncing your leg, Melissa. What’s going on?” Barbara questioned. Melissa just sighed in response and leaned back in her chair. With a stern look from her friend, she started talking. “I don’t know. That new guidance counselor came by this morning to return my tupperware and I was busy so I didn’t really say much. And then she just left, but what was I supposed to do? She got me coffee too, I didn’t even realize until she was gone. It was good though, I haven’t been to the place she got it from. Maybe I should ask her where it is? Or…I don’t know…” The redhead trailed off. Across from her, Barbara tried her best to hide the shock from hearing her friend’s words. 

       “Why are you overthinking this? I’m sure she’s fine and wouldn’t mind you inquiring about the coffee. Go, before the break is over and I have to hear about this all over again tomorrow morning.” Barbara laughed as Melissa rolled her eyes, but she stood up to go searching. 

     

  You, on the other hand, decided to pick up a sandwich from the corner store across the street for lunch. Upon returning, you nearly jumped out of your skin when you opened the office door. “Melissa! Oh good god you scared me, what are you doing in here?” You whisper-screamed, adrenaline still rushing for a moment. “I had a question for ya,” she replied, so casually. As if it was normal for her to sneak into your office while you were out. Come to think of it, you remember locking the door, how exactly did she get in?

       “A question that couldn’t wait for me to get back from the store? And that’s my chair, scooch it,” You set the sandwich on the desk and leaned against it as well waiting for Melissa to move out of your seat. She didn’t. “Sorry for being so short with you this morning, kid. I was a little overwhelmed with making plans for both of my classes, but thank you for the coffee, that was sweet.” She smiled at you sincerely, and if this is what you get for buying her a coffee, it might become a daily thing. “Where did you get it by the way?”

        “Oh! It’s this new place that just opened up by my apartment, Opus. I’ve been a few times already, might become a regular there,” you told her. “Yeah, that makes two of us.” Melissa stood up to leave, and without thinking, you grabbed her hand to stop her. “Wait! Did you say both of your classes? You have two?” 

        Melissa was visibly surprised at your physical touch, but she didn’t pull back either. “Yeah, a combined second and third grade class. Gonna be a great year,” She informed you, rolling her eyes in the process. You let go of her hand finally and took in what she said. “If you need any help, with lesson plans or grading, you know where to find me.” 

        The teacher took your hand again and gently squeezed it before letting go, “Thanks hon, I’ll keep that in mind. And next time you need lunch, you know where to find me,” She said with a smirk before walking out the door. Sitting down, you took in the smell of her perfume that coated the area for a few moments more. The sweet scent was quickly forgotten when you looked at your computer screen. Many emails, forgotten assignments, but what caught your eye immediately, was a new email, from Melissa of all people. 

       Forgot to ask while I was still with you, but would you want to meet this afternoon or later this week to help me with some planning? Maybe we can enjoy a coffee inside the shop this time. Let me know. 

-Melissa Schemmenti

[theeslutintheroom]

Sex Addict

theodore nott x reader

warnings: female reader, possessive theo, dom theo, obedience, talks of smut, dominance

***

As you lay in Theo’s bed exhausted from an hour and a half of fucking you decided enough was enough.

Ever since you discovered the muggles “birth control” and let your boyfriend cum inside you? He has’t been able to stop.

Your body was bruised- marks from where his hands grabbed you- all over your thighs, hips, arms, even your neck! Hickeys were also littered across your skin mixing in with the bruises. To top it off? A burning sensation in your core where Theo thrusted inside you.

Worn out but you lifted your head to look at him, “Theo?”

“Hmm..”

“I think you are a sex addict babe…” you started. Your partner finally put his full attention on you, scoffing at your statement, “I think it started when I got the birth control- and I think we should take a break from having sex-“

“-NO!” Theo yelled, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. He narrows his dead eyes, “I promise baby I won’t fuck you again- all day- just please-“

You shook your head intending to stay true to what your intuition was telling you. You truly did believe this. He hasn’t been able to keep his hands off you! You loved Theo with all your heart and Merlin- did you love how his dick feels inside you- but it was becoming almost repetitive.

“Just two weeks.” You reassured him, “then we can have mind blowing sex, i promise.”

****

The boys plus Pansy and yourself were sitting in the common room and you were looking for a seat. You would sit on Theo’s lap but you didn’t want to encourage his actions. Thats when Mattheo spoke up, “Why do you sit on your mans lap, Y/N?”

This made your partner do a dark chuckle as he raised his brow, “yeah? why don’t you, baby?”

I look at Theo and roll my eyes, the boys howl and do their “ooos”. They know Theo doesn’t like it when I give him attitude. Simple obedience is what he likes.

“Sit. on. my. lap.”

You are a good girl for Theo- usually. You do as your told. You obey, you listen, you sit, you stand- all for him but not today. Why not today? Because you felt completely in control! Who knew with holding sex was a power move? Who knew you liked that?

“Tell the boys why I won’t do that, Theo.” You say still standing not even worried about having a seat now.

Enzo laughed clearly enjoying this and Draco snickered and with a sneer on his face he poked at your man, “come on mate, what happened?”

Theo sat up straight, he mumbled “She thinks I’m a sex addict- Y/N won’t let me fuck her for two weeks.”

All the boys including Pansy let out the loudest of cackled Ive ever heard and hearing it? I smirked looking down at my boyfriend as if I had won a game we weren’t even playing. Pansy was the one to interrupt this exchange.

“Wait, this is important, why do you think he’s a sex addict?” Pansy exclaimed and when you raised both your brows Theo looked away embarrassed for maybe the first time in his life.

At least he knows what he has done.

“Because Its only Wednesday and Theo and I have fucked 5 or more times now.”

Pansy gasped an actual gasp, clearly taken aback. “For fucks sake, Theodore, let her have a break!”

****

Enjoying toying with your boyfriend so much, you and Pansy decided to play with him a little bit. In time for dinner about a weak into your break you came in with a short little mini school girl skirt, your buttons on your white collared shirt undone, some high rise stockings and your tie undone.

This? This was a big deal. Your first time defying your boyfriend was when you didn’t sit on his lap. But dressing like this? This would usually land you for 20 spankings and not being able to finish.

You decided you sit with Pansy across the table from him and when you and Pansy walked up all the boys went silent- looking at Theo- knowing you had crossed a line.

“Hi baby,” you toy with him. Never do you call HIM baby. You aren’t in charge. You are HIS baby. Theo shook his head angrily.

“Don’t you dare “baby” ME, you know the rules!” He shouted at you and usually this would mean that you would be submissive and start apologizing profusely, not today. You winked at him, this seemed to fuel him more, “go change. now.”

“no, I don’t think i will.”

Pansy interrupted, “she looks hot? No?”

Mattheo staring at you mumbled, “I’ll say.” Theo gave him a pointed look. Immediately understanding a line had been crossed.

Theo raised and this was where your heart sank, you knew you fucked up. He leaned over the table and slammed his fist down onto it making everyone flinch- and you the hardest. “I said, go. change. now. Or else I won’t wait for this week to be over- and when im done with you- you WILL be begging for a break.”

and that ladies, gentlemen, others, is when you got your cute little ass up and ran to your dorm to change.

Now you were regretting your little break because your panties were soaked.

tagged: @midorissi @leilaleilaleilasblog @pizzaapeteer

[magicbystarlight]

Venomous - Part Fourteen

Masterlist, Part One

Summary: A wife. A mother. A witch with someone else's name. That’s the life you didn’t want. So Tom offered you more.

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: 18+, injuries, blood, PTSD, victim blaming, shitty men. Minors DNI.

The Hospital Wing was too loud. You sat up and the stiff movement had you groaning. The curtain shifted. Annette Figgleworm smiled at you. She was an Auror, relatively new considering she’d finished school only the year before. A good friend of Robert Bones. Theseus must have thought a familiar face would be better for you to wake up to.

“Didn’t think you’d be up for a few more hours,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

Grimacing, you shifted your legs over the edge of the bed. Maybe they’d let you return to your dorm.  “Like shit.”

“Sounds about right. Want me to grab Urquart?”

You shook your head. “How’s Dumbledore?”

She hesitated. “Better,” she finally said, taking a seat in the chair by your bed. “Woke up for a bit before they moved him to St. Mungo’s.”

“They moved him?”

“Got a tad crowded.” She gestured to the curtain. “Half the school suddenly fell ill when word got out you were in here. Worse than exam week.” 

Gawkers waiting to see the caged animal. It had you abandoning the idea of leaving. They wouldn’t get another show from you. Not today You laid down again, hating the burn of action. “Surprised they’re not charging admission.”

She laughed. “I’m sure someone’s conning the First Years into it.”

Madam Urquart came through the curtain. “You should still be asleep.” Exasperated, she opened the cabinet by your bed and pulled out a potion. She shoved it into your hands, told you to drink, and left. 

“Her bedside manner’s still as charming as ever, eh?”

“A real doll.”

Annette uncorked the bottle, the task too difficult for you. “Sleep well,” she said as you drifted off again.

—

A sightless dream permeated the blackness.

A gentle caress of your hair. A soft kiss on your forehead. A lullaby you hadn’t heard in so long it might only have ever been a figment of your imagination.

The north wind doth blow

And here comes the snow

And what will the eagle do then?

Poor thing

She’ll sit in the rafters

And keep herself warm

And hide her head beneath her wing

Poor thing

The lullaby faded. Footsteps and rustling fabric. “I’m sorry to intrude.” You tried to move, but not even your lashes offered a flutter. “I wanted to ensure this was returned.”

A heavy sigh. “I’ll be sure she gets it. Thank you.” Something clinked. A silent moment. “They say she looks worse than she is. That she only needs a few days to recover.”

“I’m sure whoever did this to her is worse off.”

Your finger flexed infinitesimally.

Another soft touch brushed across your forehead. “It seems she held her own, but it’s a miracle she managed to survive. She was very lucky.”

Something creaked. 

“However she survived it had nothing to do with luck or miracles.” More rustling fabric, fading footsteps. The lullaby resumed.

The north wind doth blow

And here comes the snow

And what will the snake do then?

Poor thing

He’ll coil up tightly

And keep himself warm

Until the first budding of spring

Poor thing

—

Theseus’s promise had fallen short. Keeping your family at bay was easy, but the rest of the Ministry was a different beast. You were given enough time between waking and your first interrogation to eat and bathe, but only just.

A meal of toast, beans, and a fried egg devoured before you were helped to the small washroom. As much as you craved a bath, a shower was all it offered. You worked to clean the grime and flecks of blood under the pelting water. You faced your reflection after. Thin, jagged lines littered your face. Half-healed scars of what had been open wounds the day before. A bruise on its final, ugly stage splayed across your neck and shoulder that matched the ones scattered across the rest of your body. Skin across your arm that had been singed now new and raw. The shadow of days worth of sleep deprivation lingered under your eyes. Frizz and knots had taken hold of your hair. Unseen was the ache that slowed your movements.

The gown you were given barely felt different than being bare. The material too thin, the length too short, the neckline too wide.

Several Ministry officials were waiting around your cleaned bed when you limped out. Neither Theseus nor Annette were there. Anger welled in your eyes at the witnesses, most you’d known since you were a toddler, to your humiliation. What would have been the difference if they’d waited outside? Edmund Bones, an aide to the Minister, asked if you needed Urquart for the pain.

“No,” you had hissed as you slid into the bed. “Just get this over with.”

Their questions went on for hours. Every part of your story nitpicked and debated. Did you actually need a new wand? Were you really in London? How many people had actually been there? How did Dumbledore get Splinched on such a short distance? Why didn’t you Apparate? How did an eagle find you but not dozens of trained trackers? Why surrender at all when you’d seemingly escaped? Their condescension irritated the scrapes they’d already left on your ego. 

Neither you nor them were satisfied by time lunch rolled around, but Urquart had demanded a break. Cottage pie had never tasted so good. It wasn’t nearly as good when it came back up. “You’ve got to take it slow,” the Healer cautioned after she’d cleaned the mess. You asked if you’d get another potion soon. She shook her head. “Your body needs time to recover from the last round or it'll be overwhelmed. Best to wait a couple days.” She helped adjust the pillows behind you until you were as comfortable as you could be. She left only when they returned, warning she’d be in her office if you needed anything.

It had you half grateful, half mortified. How bad off were you that Urquart had taken pity on you?

The questions repeated until candles replaced the light of the sun. Then they ventured before the day of the attack. The strain you’d been under in the weeks since such a disturbing display of violence from your brother. The stress of planning a wedding while still in school. How difficult it must be in a very publicized relationship. 

“I can handle it just fine. And I don’t see how any of that has to do with what happened to me."

It was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Filmore Flint, who responded. “The timing of your attack was…highly convenient. You needing a new wand and convincing Dumbledore to take a stroll through Muggle London at the exact same moment these supposed followers of Grindelwald were there? Almost improbable.”

“Almost,” you agreed spittingly, “and yet it happened. You have a dozen Aurors who can attest to that.”

“What I have is a dozen Aurors who can say they saw you surrounded by a group of witches and wizards in a random forest after suddenly being able to find you despite failing for days. Which again is very convenient timing.”

“What are you implying, Flint? That I made it all up? Set it up?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m saying it was very convenient how everything came together.”

A near hysteric laugh broke from your throat. “Convenient? What was convenient? Seeing a man lose half his head. Nearly watching Dumbledore die? Being freezing and hungry and terrified? I thought I was never going to see my friends again. Or my brother. And in the end I was going to trade my freedom for my country’s because I thought that was the right thing to do. Was that convenient? Now every part of me aches and all I want is to be back in my dorm, in my bed, in my clothes with my friends who saved my life. But I can’t because I am here talking to a bunch of beauracrates who’d rather point fingers at a teenager than face the truth. None of it is fucking convenient for me. But I suppose it is for you. Makes your job easier when you don't actually have to do it, huh?”

There were a few very half-assed assurances that of course it wasn’t convenient and that the questions were only raised out of procedure, but no apology came from Flint himself. They left you half an hour later more exhausted and exasperated than you'd been the day before. 

Theseus and Annette returned to your sour mood. Neither surprised they’d been cruel in their questioning. “Your disappearance caused quite the stir,” Theseus said. “Your friends weren’t as quiet as the Ministry would’ve liked and the Daily Prophet couldn’t resist.” He pulled several folded papers from his briefcase, offering them to you.

DUMBLEDORE REPORTED MISSING ALONGSIDE WELL-KNOWN STUDENT

SEARCH UNDERWAY FOR MISSING HOGWARTS STUDENT AND PROFESSOR: FRIENDS' CLAIM GRINDELWALD IS TO BLAME

DUMBLEDORE AND SELWYN FOUND BATTERED & BRUISED BUT BREATHING

GRINDELWALD IN LONDON? WHAT WE KNOW SO FAR

The one that connected your disappearance to Grindelwald would have come out the morning before they attacked in the woods. Was it how they knew he was still injured? Confirmed that you were still there waiting for rescue? Had it prompted them to act sooner? “Well at least something good came out of this,” you murmured, flipping through the pages of the latest issue. Articles that focused on the Muggle war and ones about Grindelwald’s known associates—including Vinda Rosier. The picture was old, but you’d recognize her face anywhere.

“We’ve been trying for months to get them to print anything related to Grindelwald and they refused. But the moment the future Mrs. Malfoy went missing,” Annette tisked with frustrated amusement, “suddenly they can write about him.”

You flipped another page to more pictures. “Don’t call me that.” You thought you might have recognized a couple.

Theseus cut in. “You’re right. This,” he nodded to the paper, “is good. We warned the Ministry this could happen. People should have been prepared for this. If it had been anyone else this had happened to, I can’t imagine I’d be having a conversation with them.”

“Well no one else has Abby and Issa,” you agreed, setting the paper aside. You’d been sitting in the same position too long and it was beginning to grow sore. You tried to move some of the pillows yourself, but your face gave away the stinging discomfort. Annette helped you lay on your side. “Speaking of, do you think I could see them before dinner?”

—

It only took ten minutes between your request and their appearance in the Hospital Wing. Annette shushed Theseus when he tried to protest you getting out of bed. You limped down the empty room, intending to meet them in the middle but instead you only made it a few feet before they’re wrapping their arms tightly around you. 

“Thank you.” You heard their sniffles and held them tighter. “Thank you.”

—

“Ten more minutes?” Larissa pleaded.

Urquart, her usual brusqueness returned, sighed. “Five.” And she was gone. 

You were seated crossed legged on the bed with Larissa behind you working on the final braid in your hair. Abigail was curled in the chair. They’d stayed for hours, well past dinner and curfew. Listening. Admiring your wand. Telling you the chaos after your letter. Now they shared their own encounter with Flint and his unabashed desire to keep Grindelwald’s name out of it all. “Only managed to get in the paper cause Azar knew that reporter,” Larissa said.

Abigail let her chin rest on top of her knee. “And bribed the editor to run the story. Plus helping us sneak out of the castle to do the interview.”

“Wait, what?” Abigail shushed you, but you continued in a whisper. “Bribes and sneaking out? What the fuck?”

“Flint told us we needed to keep it quiet,” she said softly. “That your claim about Grindelwald was unsubstantiated and there was no reason to cause a panic.”

“So of course we told everybody.” Larissa leaned over to grab the nightcap at the very edge of the bedside table, nearly knocking over the hair potion she’d brought along. “Ralph had the idea to take it a step further with the paper by sending a letter, but all we got was the story about your disappearance in there. He was so upset. Next thing we know, he’s gone to Azar and they’ve got a plan to get us face to face with a reporter.”

The information had your mind reeling. Ralph? Azar? Together?

Abigail peeked over her shoulder before speaking. “They wouldn’t tell us everything, only that your uncle knew the reporter and a little bribe got the editor to ensure he’d run the story front page. The two of them snuck us out through this passage in the middle of the night that took us to Hogsmeade and got us into this back room at the Hog’s Head. It was,” she shook her head, “so weird.”

“Kind of felt like being in a spy novel.” Larissa’s arms slid around your waist and her head rested on your shoulder. “I think I’ll stick to romances.”

You tried to smile as you gripped her arm, but it didn't stick. “I’m not sure that’s much of an option anymore.”

“He’s really coming?” There was a tremble in Abigail’s voice.

“Yeah,” you nod, “he’s coming.”

—

Sleep did not come easily without a Draught. Every thought too distracting. You laid in the dark, tossing and turning unable to find comfort. The image of a half gone head spilling into the snow filled the void when you closed your eyes.

When sleep did come, it was restless. Disjointed. Your name repeated with promises of freedom and power. Chess pieces, black and life-sized, with swords raised. Bloodied, fragmented mirrors reflecting brown eyes then blue. A twisted hand grasping at your throat. Alone. Back at the pond. He’s coming. Run. Trees passed in a blur. But you’re back at the pond. He’s coming. Run. Crimson snow crunched under your feet. But you’re back at the pond. He’s coming. Run. The rabbit, white fur rotted, bounded beside you. But you’re back at the pond. He’s coming. Run. You stared at your reflection in the water. Tom stared back over your shoulder. “Run.”

—

“You look awful,” Hestia Malfoy said, nose wrinkled as she and her husband stood over you. When you’d said family could come, you hadn’t realized how loose the term would be interpreted. 

“Mother, please.” Abraxas took the place at your side, grasping your hand as if you’d float away. “You look beautiful.”

“You do look awful,” your mother said, less disdainfully than you expected. Too softly. Too motherly. “They should have taken you to St. Mungo’s. The Healers there know what they’re doing.”

“We should have you come to the Manor. Have our own Healer take care of you.” 

You recalled their choice in Healer. “I’ll be back to normal in a few days.” 

Abraxas rubbed his thumb across the back of your hand. “None of this should have happened. I could have bought you a new wand.”

“And going into the Muggle side? You were asking for trouble.” Sixtus gave a disgusted snort.

His wife agreed. “You’re lucky it was wizards who attacked you and not those sort. Have you heard the vile things they do to each other?”

“No, but I’ve heard the things Grindelwald has done to them.”

Hestia’s mouth stretched into a thin line. “It’s more humane than the way they have been killing each other.”

“And what of the things he’s done to wizards? What his followers did to me?”

Sixtus laughed. “You’re the one who shot the first spell.”

Iron coated your tongue as your mother veered the conversation back to your appearance. 

—

Sounds of wandering students wafted through the cracked door. The remains of lunch sat on the nightstand growing cold. The papers Theseus had left were scattered across the bed, the morning’s in your hands. Crime of Passion? Minster Claims Recent Attack Was Personal. It was ridiculous. All your words had been twisted. Yes, it was personal, but it wasn’t some petty vindictive crime. It was an act of war. It had been written by a different reporter than the others. A Claudius Rookwood. If you remembered correctly, his mother had been a Flint. 

You tossed it aside, leaned back, and tried to rub out the pounding in your head. It wasn’t fair. All that to not even have the truth out there? If only that reporter your friends had spoken to had come along. But if it had taken some elaborate plan to sneak out of the castle to speak to them, you can imagine they weren’t welcome in the castle for one reason or another.

You sat up.

You could sneak out. Not alone, not when it was a struggle to walk. But if Azar could get four people out without being caught, he could get you out.

—

Dinner came and went. There was no response to the note you’d sent. You felt stupid for ever thinking he’d help. 

—

More hours of disjointed sleep. Dreams weaved between blinks. Snow. Curtains. Rabbits. Curtains. Blood. Curtains. Rings. Curtains. Water. Eyes. Eyes?

You blinked again. Eyes. Not quite blue, not quite green, but somewhere in between. Golden hairs specked through his brown eyebrows. Despite the dreary winter months, his skin still looked kissed by the sun.

Kneeled beside the bed, his expression was much the same as it had been that day you’d woken to it in the alley. Softer, less intense, but you recognized it now as his eyes flicked from scar to scar. Concern. 

“Ralph?” 

A half smile curled the side of his face at your groggy recognition. “Sorry to wake you, but we’ve got to get going.”

“Going?”

It was Azar who responded, his face hovering behind McLaggen’s. “To see a reporter about an interview.” His forehead creased. “If you’re still up to it.”

You sat up quickly. Too quickly. You ignored the wobble in your vision and threw off the blanket. McLaggen averted his gaze from your mostly bare legs, standing and shrugging off his robe. He handed it over. “It’s gonna be cold.”

It wasn’t cold. Days in the snow let the chill seep into your bones unnoticed. Yet you clutched the robe tighter as you followed McLaggen behind the mirror on the fourth floor into the dark, frigid passage. Somehow this was the place you’d come closest to dying. 

The tip of McLaggen’s wand illuminated the space. A crack ran along one of the walls. It was a mostly silent walk through the tunnel. It curved every so often, widened to a space large enough to fit half the Great Hall, and narrowed again, and finally came to end at a stone wall. Azar stepped forward and pressed his wand into a small hole you could barely see and turned it once, then twice, and continued until it had been done seven times. Like the wall that separated Diagon Alley and The Leaky Cauldron, the ceiling began to part. Azar stepped back several paces and the wall began to pull out into stairs. 

It was magical.

“What sorts of enchantments do you think they used to make this?”

Azar shushed you, keeping his eyes on the opening above. When satisfied with the quiet he motioned for you and McLaggen to follow. It took a moment to recognize the village, your attention only pulled from the entrance once it closed. It was odd at night. Still and silent.

The Hog’s Head was close. Azar led you to the back, up a set of rickety steps along the outside, and knocked thrice. It opened a moment later to a young woman you didn’t recognize. Her black brows raised,she shook her head, and stood aside. “You’re late.”

Fabula Auctor. Either a fictitious name or her parents paid a Name Seer who actually had the Sight. The former was more likely. 

Her questioning was nothing like the others you’d endured. She was emphatic, but never complimentary. She asked for clarification, not to dismiss. And it didn’t end with the arrival of the Aurors. The days after. The relief, the pain, the joy, the anger, the comfort, the fear. 

“What’s been the hardest part of being back?”

“Sleep.”

“Why is that?”

You hesitated, crossing your arms in front of you, one hand rubbing at your neck. She prompted again, patient but insistent. But nothing came out of your mouth. The nightmares were not something you wanted to share. 

“Move on,” Azar said.

And she did. She scribbled a bit more and finally set her quill aside. “That’s all the questions I have. Last thing I need is a picture.”

“Is that the best idea?” McLaggen asked. “They’ll know she isn’t in the Hospital Wing.”

Fabula smiled. “They won’t have a clue.”

The walk back was like wading through water. Twice you stumbled over the too long robe still draped around your shoulders. The first time you’d caught yourself. The second McLaggen had caught and steadied you. You took his offered arm, leaning heavily against him. 

“Thank you,” you said. You should have said more. Told him how grateful you were for everything he’d done. The kindness in the alley, the effort to ensure your story was told—both now and before. Apologize your mother’s letter. Ask him about the child he’d have soon. You said nothing else. 

The back of the mirror appeared several minutes later. Azar checked his watch. “You should head up to your dorm. Rounds start in half an hour,” he told McLaggen. “I’ve got her,” he added, holding up his own arm for you to take.

The stairs were the worst, moving as you were midstep. But you made it down and back into the Hospital Wing unnoticed. Azar helped ease you back into the bed, McLaggen’s robe slung over his arm after a promise to return it. When he’d pulled the blanket back over you and said a good night, you reached for his hand. 

“Thank you for Drein. And for coming tonight.”

He squeezed your hand. “Least I could do.” He tried to release your hand.

But you held firm. You had not forgotten. “Why did you write the note?”

His shoulders sagged. His voice low, lower than it had been before in the quiet. “He said he wanted to apologize. We were supposed to meet at the library. All three of us so we could talk in a place you’d feel safe. I didn’t want you two alone again.” He scoffed at himself. If you had the energy, you would have too. “When neither of you showed up I spent hours trying to find you. But you were nowhere and neither was he. Not even at dinner. And when he finally showed in the middle of the night, he was different.” He paused, searching for a better word. “Somber. Never seen him like that. Like he was in mourning. When you weren’t anywhere Sunday and the paper said you and Dumbledore were missing, I thought he had…” He swallowed and didn’t finish. “It wasn’t until McLaggen went asking for help I knew you were alive.”

“You thought he had killed me,” you whispered, “and you said nothing.”

His head bobbed. “And I said nothing.”

“Is that why you did all this? Guilt?”

“Tom asked me too," he breathed.

Exhaustion smothered whatever reaction you'd have had. Your hand thumped against the bed. You closed your eyes and let the nothingness sleep offered consume you. 

HP Tag List: @bamboozledflamplant @squishytomatoes @benonlinear @byelannie

Venomous Tag List: @pearlsome @fck-this @ambria @sheeple

@strangunddurm @weirdowithnobeardo @emberenchanted @abbiesxox

[joelsflannel]

stress (j.m.)

joel asking you to watch sarah is the perfect excuse to study somewhere that isn’t your apartment. its your last semester of undergrad and your neighbors provide anything but a quiet study environment and the stress is piling up. so what happens when joel comes home on a friday night, sarah having gone to bed hours ago, to you curled up in a chair at the kitchen table with papers and various large textbooks strewn about.

masterlist

Word Count: ~1k

Warnings: 18+ implied smut, pre/no-outbreak joel miller, stress, anxiety, final exams deserve their own warning, implied age gap (reader is a senior in college), FLUFF, joel being the boyfriend we all deserve, joel calls reader “sweet girl” and “my girl”, no physical description of the reader (he strokes your hair and you wear his shirt), no use of Y/N. 

this is entirely self-indulgent so while a major is not explicitly stated i’m a psych major and one of the classes i took was adolescent psychology. the professor was awful and i did in fact cry over the class, many times. this is also my first fic since like 2017 so hopefully it’s good, it hasn’t been proofread. enjoy <3

You wouldn't really call it babysitting. You’d been dating Joel for a while now so when he asked if you could come over on weeknights to make sure that Sarah wasn’t getting into any trouble, “Sarah? Getting into trouble?” you immediately agreed. It was nice to have somewhere to go after a busy day of lecture after lecture and work on homework somewhere that wasn’t curled uncomfortably on your couch in your apartment, headphones in, desperately trying to drown out the almost comical stomping of your upstairs neighbors. 

“I’d love to,” you smiled as Joel’s face physically relaxed at your response. “Thank you, darlin’, really you’re a lifesaver.”

“Am I still a lifesaver if I tell you that I’m just using you for the peace and quiet?” you teased.

Truth be told, this was your last semester of undergrad and you were grateful for the distraction. Between applying to grad schools and trying to keep up with your classes, it was nice to hang out with Sarah. You’d gotten close with her since dating Joel and you loved spending time with her. Plus since Joel worked pretty late some nights, it also gave you somewhere quiet to work.

You liked your apartment, it was cozy, all things considered, and it was nice to have your own space. That was until your upstairs neighbors moved in and decided that running laps up and down their apartment was a great way to pass the time. There was no amount of drowning them out that could make any kind of studying successful and you’d never really been able to study at the library, so Joel’s kitchen table it was. 

It was the Friday before finals week and everything felt like it was crashing down around you. Assignments were piling up, professors were waiting until the last possible minute to grade any of the semester’s work, and you were overwhelmed. So here you are, textbooks littering the kitchen table and notebook paper full of your scribbled notes haphazardly strewn around. It felt like you’d been staring at the same pages of your textbook for hours and you couldn’t help a few tears of frustration falling onto the notebook in front of you. In fact, you were so knee-deep into making a study guide for your adolescent psychology class, you didn’t even hear the front door open and shut.

It wasn’t until you heard the scraping of a chair on the floor and heard Joel, brows furrowed in concern, saying your name in a soft voice that you noticed him. You straightened up quickly, suddenly very aware of the mess you’d made on his table and the tears streaming down your face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” you sniffle, wiping your face with your sleeve and sighing. His face immediately softened and he leaned forward to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Hey no, no don’t apologize, sweet girl. C’mere, what's the matter?”

As soon as he asked it was like all of the stress and anxiety came barrelling forward, slumping to rest your head in your crossed arms, “My fucking brain hurts.” He exhales a hollow laugh and moves his hand from your shoulder to stroke your hair gently. You turn your head to look at him, “It’s just… I’m so tired, it’s like my professors are trying to kill me and then I think about how even when I graduate, I’ll just be back in school to get my master's come fall. And don’t get me wrong, I want my master’s but sometimes it's just a lot, I guess.” 

He nods and continues stroking your hair reassuringly as you talk, hanging on to your every word searching for a way to comfort you. You shake your head and sigh softly, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I just dumped all that on you.” He smiles at you warmly and tilts your chin up to cup your face. “You’ve got nothin’ to apologize for, I want you to know that you can always come to me.” 

You find yourself leaning into his touch as he gently strokes your cheek with his thumb. “Thank you, Joel.” 

“C’mere, darlin’.” He pulls you into him, pressing a kiss to your head and enveloping you in his arms, surrounding you with him. His smell, his warmth, all things Joel. “You’re the smartest person I know. Let’s just take a little breather, get you some water, and go sit on the couch away from all this.” He motions to the papers scattered on the table. “Sound good?”

You nod into his chest, not wanting to pull away from his embrace just yet. He chuckles and stands up, leading you to the couch. “You sit, I’m gonna grab you a glass of water” You crack a small smile and mock salute him as he goes to walk away. His own smile grows at the sight of you relaxing even just a little bit, “There’s my girl.” 

He comes back with a glass of water and a blanket. He hands you the glass before settling in next to you, draping the blanket over your laps, and pulling your legs into his lap as you curl into his side. He looks over at you and smiles, his eyes focusing on your shirt for the first time tonight. “Is that my shirt?” 

“Maybe,” you shrug jokingly, “it was absolutely pouring when I got out of my last class and I was parked down the street. So when I got here, I just grabbed one of your shirts and threw it on.” 

“I like it, looks good on you.” He presses a kiss to your head. “Now do you wanna talk about what all’s worryin’ you with school or do you just wanna take the rest of the night off?” 

You place the glass of water on a coaster on the side table and turn back to face Joel. You traced a finger over his jawline before placing your hand on his cheek and leaning in. He quirked an eyebrow up at you before closing the gap between you, capturing your bottom lip between his. Your lips continue to move against his, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down closer to you, his hands finding purchase around your waist. 

“Does that answer your question?”

[firefly--bright]

witness marks.

jean kirstein x reader, modern au

summary ; witness marks are usually used for antique clocks, to tell the functioning of the insides so it would be easier for them to be repaired, usually indicated by little scratches or wear-and-tear, and it's clockwork how you love jean. its a choice against your will, but neither of you would have it any other way.

warnings ; reader likes the rain (again), mild depictions of an accident

a/n ; the story for this Actually Happened when I was small btw :') also marco number one grammar police and pushes his glasses up his nose and used to unironically say "I'm actually.." in high school. also the title for this was because of that one scene in haunting of the hill house (new favourite show I love it so much by GOD don't get me to talk about it I won't shut up) uh anyway enjoy!

taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes - taglist is open!

✿ masterlist is in pinned post ! ✿ enter my taglist ✿ song recs for this fic (don't mind the name of the playlist pls) ✿

✿

Its raining again.

For the sixth time this week, it’s raining. Perpetual, gloomy shadows with unsparing clouds in the sky, its raining. From your view, the window is littered with usually bright leaves sparkling, almost ironically, under the water that showers them. They dance as happily as you’d want them to, the breeze waving them without synchrony but togetherness still. Whatever thoughts you might’ve had come to a slow stop, and despite being in the common, affectionate company of your friends, you look at the window, reminding yourself to not close it at night even if it may be hazardous.

You don’t care. The starless night could be forgiven under the heaviness of the clouds that disrupted it.

Connie calls your name. “your turn!” he says, slinking an arm around your shoulders. You’re reminded where you are, suddenly, and heat fills up your usually cold body despite the shivers that line your shoulders. Playing a game of two truths and a lie after lazing around all weekend, the Monday afternoon was decided, almost like every other day. Your friends would come over to you and sasha’s shared apartment, and whatever sweets you’d had the time to bake would be hidden in the back corners of the pantry before sasha would wake. She’d ask you what that smell was, and you would shrug, and she would complain about her mouth watering and how it would distract her in class, but you withheld the information well. After your classes; boring and long-drawn and so drowsy, your friends would be back in your apartment before you, seemingly having never left. Connie would be in the middle of “helping” sasha, if you could even call it that, find the treats you had concealed. Marco would be reprimanding them with a soft smile, his back turned to them while making coffee for everyone, and jean would be sorting through the menu of an inexpensive take-out place, asking questions of preferences that would all go ignored.

It was easy. Simple, predictable clockwork that filled up your weeks. Every Monday evenings, despite literally rain or shine, the same scene would greet you, and just like clockwork, your body would chime in the acknowledgment of this routine. with years and years of working with the same gears and metal and pangs and hurts of your unfamiliar body – the Monday evening bell of your being sounds out as you enter the apartment because you know the exact events, the exact tick-tick-tick, and enjoy it all the more. Every week. Every Monday.

And you’d enter, your hands filled with treats from the gas station on your way home, and you’d smile after knowing, for sure, that this is what you would call home. Without so much thinking about any other place to go to, not your childhood walls with demeaning darkness and not your first dorm with its drawn curtains and coldness, none of those. None of the places could call out to you with their monsters and gleaming teeth while you were here.

And then jean would turn to you, like clockwork that’s forgotten that it rings out every hour, every Monday at six p.m., he’d get up and say, “finally!” and take the bags from your hands, peck your mouth before anyone could see and groan for you to get a room. And just like the same clockwork with the same inner workings, you tell him what you think everyone would like to eat. sasha would like the ham and cheese- yes, you know this because she’s been craving intensely savoury things this week – and connie, just to piss her off but also because you’ve learnt how he’s made it a point to force himself to like it, would have the Hawaiian one. And then marco says he’d be okay with anything, and you know that this means he’d love for there to be olives and bell peppers. So that’s what you go with.

And just like clockwork, the same routine plays itself, over and over again, excited to commit something new as if it’s forgotten that it had been doing the same since it was made – you’re courageously but cautiously near him, peering into the same screen as him as he scrolls.

“oh, garlic bread,” you remark, whispering. Jean doesn’t spare you a glance while still scrolling, nodding to your scarce voice. You can see his eyelashes fluttering as you watch him closely, not getting sick of the view even if you had been spun around blindly, dizzily. And then jean puts the phone up to his ear and rattles off the order. At the end, after everyone is done and you’ve moved away from him to rummage through the pantry in search for the goodies you had hidden, jean tells them to add an order of garlic bread with cheese with the sudden ten-fold of affection laced in his tone in your remembrance, that the person on the other line would’ve questioned if it hadn’t been their job not to.

And then, Monday evening at seven p.m., the five of you sit on the floor of your cramped living room, around the old, second-hand coffee table with enough stains for it to never be sold again, with boxes of pizza and some song playing in the background that none of you really knew the name of and didn’t care enough to ask, the music getting lost under the ongoing conversation. Today, this Monday at seven twelve p.m, it seemed to be a game of two truths and a lie that your mind had been immersed into before it had started to rain.

You clear your throat, shifting in your seat, taking another garlic bread in your hand, jean’s eyes trailing the predictable, comforting movements of your eyes as you spoke. “this isn’t fair, you guys know me already-“

“that’s the point!” sasha exclaims.

“is it, really?” jean argues with a roll of his eyes. Connies arms shake your shoulders when you try to take another bite. Marco tells him to not accidentally choke you, but connie’s voice is loud enough to drown him out, “just make shit up!”

“yeah, but its so obvious.” A pause in his movements allows you to think. Think. Think about how all the decisions you’ve made have led you here. the warmth that held you now fully grasps your frame, making you smile widely, swallowing the piece of bread. “okay, so,”

Its obvious. Clockwork, how all of your friends lean in close as if kids around a bonfire. Jean’s eyes – not as if they’d ever left you – now unabashedly stare at you expectantly, sasha leaning in closer while taking a bite, connie’s arm pressed up against yours and marco leaning on the table directly opposite you. “I had a hamster that I accidentally killed that my mom screamed at me for-“ the obvious lie. Jean’s eyebrows lift, a small smile playing at his lips at your attempt. “-I would lie to everyone and tell them I was born out of my country-“ jean nods. “- I slipped off of a bike that my brother was riding and didn’t let go.” Jean tilts his head. This story, he hadn’t heard.

Theres a beat of silence, again, and sasha hums in consideration. Connie immediately has an answer “the second one is the lie!”

Marco scoots closer to the table, “no, wait, that would mean that the first one is the truth.”

“oh my god, you killed a hamster?”

You shrug, a smile spreading your lips. Jean leaned back, having already figured it out. “so you slipped off a bike?” he baits.

You take it unknowingly. “yeah. We were kids-“ with the way you’re describing it, jean thinks, he’s already won. Nobody would decorate a lie like this, and his heart beats into his ears as you continue, his eyes impossibly catch all of your movements. They’re ungraceful, clumsy, there are crumbs of crusty bread on the corner of your mouth and your hair has frizzed up a bit with the weather and jean cant help but to think about you the way he always has. Everything you do is inexplicably you, without any room for anything else – like clockwork. The same excitement that has always been there unknowingly chimes itself in his heart, but it doesn’t feel precise and calculated because it’s always been there, all the ups and downs of your voice have been cultivated through the years of living and jean hates how even that small fact makes him want to spend the rest of his life with your cultivated mannerisms.

“- and he had just learned how to ride a bike without training wheels-“

“wait he’s bigger than you?”

“elder,” marco corrects. Jean groans. Sasha calls him a grammar police. Connie sounds the alarms with his mouth. You continue, the smile on your face unaffected at the intrusion. “yep. He’s elder to me. Five years. Yeah, so, we were at my cousin’s place, right, and he had this old-ass rusty bike and my brother told me to get onto the passenger seat – which, by the way, wasn’t a passenger seat, it was like the end of the cycle where you can pinch your bag onto it and stuff.”

“oh, the rat trap!” connie says. You nod. “yes. Exactly. I was like, five, and I sat on it with my front facing his back-“ you held up your now free hands in front of each other, the palm of your right hand facing the back of your left one. Jean’s heart swells with adoring eyes watching, uncalculating, unaware. “- and obviously, it was uncomfortable. And my brother was laughing and driving really fast, and I was laughing too, and all my cousins were there. Which is six of us. And they were all watching us, him, driving, and then-“ jean thinks he’s in love with you. “-I fucking slip.” You drop the bomb with a laugh that sounds more like a hiccup. Jeans heart flutters, finally able to catch its breath after running after one, trying to catch yours.

“slip?” marco inquires, sasha squeaks, connie gasps. Jean breathes in, you say “yeah, and I was so stupid- “ he breathes out as you continue, his head tilting, listening, controlling, choosing to listen to you. “-because I didn’t let go of the.. mouse trap thingie, and so-“ sasha gasps now, too, “-I was gripping the back of the cycle, and my chest was like, being drilled into by the back wheel. And my brain shuts off and I don’t let go for some fucking reason, and my brother cant hear me because of the wind, and my cousin has to run into him, essentially, to stop him.”

Sashas mouth falls open and marco looks at you wide-eyed, connie grasping his own chest as if the accident had happened to him. Jean mutters, “so that’s one truth.” And all hell breaks loose. Well, almost. Connie crawls towards you, sasha jumps into a million questions and marco turns to jean.

Its like a secret he knows. Leaning in, he says, “youre not being subtle, y’know.”

Jean’s face turns red. “I don’t know what you-“

Marco rolls his eyes with a cheeky smile, “sure. You cant lie for shit,” he says, turning back to you three. Youre telling connie in vivid detail about the injury you took, the smile never leaving your face, and marco calls out to you.

“what happened after?” he asks. you shrug, “I don’t know. I don’t think he got in trouble for it though, it wasn’t his fault. But also because he’s my mom’s favourite.” You say, leaning forward and snatching the last garlic bread, splitting it in a messy half. The lack of a plate under your hands creates more mess on your sweatshirt, but you don’t care. Not when it’s like this, with everyone around you, and you think about how, despite all the truths and stories that you haven’t said out loud but have indignantly shaped you with stubborn hands – all of them led to this. no amount of crumbs or stains would deter you from the affection that blooms in your chest, as sasha and connie judge if the story you just spelled out was a lie or not. Jean argues, adamantly, that it couldn’t have been a lie with your elaborations – that’s the reason he uses. Not because he knows that the first one is obviously false, no, its only because he knows how you get when you’re telling a true story. He knows the exact differences between your demeanour. If it’s a professional setting or if its one of those casual days that jean brings you ice cream and you have no choice but to spill the contents of your life into his mind, unknowing of how it takes root in jeans head, the remnants of it growing into his heart. He knows the difference between how you’d deliver a fact or something your passionate about or the easy lies that you tell as an excuse of your absence because the truth is heavier than you’d like it to be – the difference between the truth and the lie is that the truth wouldn’t make you shudder as much as a lie would.

The truth of being in love with you however, made jean shudder. He was raised on honesty. You were raised on the veils, on the deceit of adults, seeking out the honesty rather than wanting to shy away from him. Jean wanted the opposite. He wanted his feelings to be a lie just so he could look at you, your face, your eyes, and deny all feelings he held towards you.

But he still held them with force. With choice. With deliberation.

You glance back at the window. Marco got up, towering over everyone as he declared, almost comically, pointing at you. “the first one’s a lie.”

Your brows raise up with challenge. You look around, waiting for anyone to argue. You concede with your hands lifted and your head bowed. “you got me.”

Connie scoffed. “I was right.”

“you were literally the furthest away from winning,” jean says. The other, uneaten half of your garlic bread lies still in your fingers, waiting for an opportune moment to strike. Connie rolls his eyes. “you’re afraid of me. Whatever, my turn!”

“im not afraid of you!”

“I once ate ink-“ connie continues. You turn to jean, finding the opportune moment striking as his eyes trail yours, then reach down to your hand that offers him the other half of your bread. You whisper – god, you’re leaning so close, and jean doesn’t glance at you because in truth he didn’t know what would happen if he did, “thanks for the bread.” You tell him and he hears the gentle warmth in your tone. He grasps it from you. it’s a secret. It’s a choice. Its deliberation. Its clockwork.

You turn back. So does jean. He’s scooted close to you now, and marco has to stop himself from rolling his eyes as he sees what transpired before him.

An obvious lie – it wasn’t raining. There weren’t the clouds you so adored lining up the sky, reprimanding humanity for having forgotten their beauty. And then there’s a less obvious but more present truth – you love jean as naturally as clockwork, the rain pelts harder and you observe two raindrops racing each other, your eyes focusing back to the reflection of yourself in the game, pointing out to connie’s obvious lies.

And the other truth – there’s certainty in jean’s voice as he calls connie out on his bullshit, and then he looks at you and he’s swimming in the force of loving you and even if he’s safe inside, he feels rain on him as he sits with the fact that your warmth isn’t going anywhere and that it’s a choice. Deliberation. Its force.

It’s clockwork. He wouldn’t change it for anything.

[dancingtotuyo]

1. tame the ghosts in my head

Woman | Joel Miller X Reader

Series Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Joel Miller finds an unexpected face upon his return to Jackson.

Tags: Joel Miller x Reader. Age Gap. TV show characters. Mostly Cannon compliant for show and game.

Chapter Warnings: references to canon type violence, injuries, swearing, medical exam, illusions to loss & grief.

Words: 2437

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

Familiarity is a foreign thing in this world. A priceless gift from the universe if you’re deemed to be so worthy, it’s a treasure to be treated as so, but when one is lucky enough to be chosen, fear tarnishes it. Gifts only last so long before they are taken away, leaving only grief and loneliness in their wake, making you wonder if it was really a gift at all or just a cruel prank. Yet, it gets you everytime, roping you into its trap.

It might be 20 years since you’ve laid eyes on him, but that stance, those brown curls, you would recognize them anywhere You spent the younger years of your life committing him to memory. You feel the trap tugging you toward him. You can’t be caught up again. You tell yourself you won’t be.

“Joel!”

He turns around, dark brown eyes meeting yours. He doesn’t expect anyone else to know his name here. Why does it sound familiar to him?

It all escapes from the recess of your mind. That all-encompassing file titled “before,” flies open. Memories come flooding back of him and of Sarah. You’re only conscious of the first trap, but there are others lying in wait. You and Tommy talk about her sometimes, but this brings up so much more.

He looks confused at first. You watch him wrack his brain. He recognizes you, but from where? You’re not the kid he once knew. The fresh, doe-eyed look of a 20-something new graduate is replaced by the 40-something worn woman you’ve survived into. Finally, it dawns on him.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He walks over to you, disbelief written across his features.

“Hi.” You smile.

“Hi.”

It’s an awkward thing. Do you hug? Shake hands? You were Sarah’s babysitter from the time she was 6 until she complained she didn’t need one once she turned 13. The two of you still hung out when you were back from school. Joel usually slipped you a $20. You would’ve done it for free, never expected the cash, but you were also a broke college student. You never turned it down.

The lure of a familiar face is strong. The two of you settle on a comfortable distance. Closer than strangers, further than family.

“Tommy told me you were here at Christmas. He’s been worried about you.”

Joel nods. “It’s been a long couple of months.”

“Just months?” Your brows shoot up.

Joel fights back a smile. He remembers the smartass remarks you used to give Tommy when he teased you while you waited for Joel to cough up the cash he owed.

Flashes of coming home to pillow forts and Sarah’s giggles, arts and crafts with glitter that littered the house for weeks afterwards, and the countless other memories play in his mind.The memories send a pang through his chest, but he can handle them now, and here is another person who holds those precious memories.

“Relatively speaking of course.” The smile breaks through on his face. It’s starting to feel less foreign to him these past few days.

Joel wasn’t the most smiley person when you knew him 20 years ago. It suits him, you think. Another lure. Another diversion you don’t catch because you are so aware of the trap you’re sure it set, you don’t see the other one hiding. You won’t let the universe give you another person just to take them away.

“Of course.” You return his smile.

“I’m supposed to get checked out at the clinic. I think they gave me bad directions. Either that or my memory is shit.”

“I was just headed there. You can follow me.” Nod your head in the general direction.

“You’re a nurse.” He seems slightly unsure.

“Memory can’t be all that shitty, I guess.” You shrug. “If you call 3 months in the trauma unit being a nurse that is.”

“You got the education. I remember that.”

The keys jingle in your hand as you unlock the doors. The lights buzz to life with a flip of a switch. The slim medical supplies you have are neatly organized on shelves. It’s enough to care for basic needs. Scout teams sometimes bring back supplies from other places when they go on longer expeditions. All medications are safely locked away. You have the only key. You count the meds on a weekly basis with Maria and go over your meticulous logs. There’s a board-certified doctor in town. He practiced family medicine before the outbreak. He’s good with routine stuff but didn’t want a key. Too much pressure he claims.

You deal with the big stuff. Gaping wounds, infections, whatever it was that resembled surgery in this world. You play doctor, nurse, surgeon, and midwife. It falls on your shoulders and what you can remember from school. There are a few medical journals and textbooks on your shelves. Dr. Pooley has taught you a lot, but his knowledge is more outdated, more about family medicine. More often than not, you fail. People remind you; you do the best you can, you’re not trained for this, supplies are limited. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it doesn’t.

“You can take a seat.” You nod toward the medical table.

Joel nods, hopping up. “Did Ellie stop in last night? She said she would.”

“Yeah she did.” You wash your hands with soap. “Seems like a good kid. She’s got quite a mouth.”

Joel chuckles. “She seem okay?”

“For someone with two bites on her arm, yeah.”

He looks up, his eyes a mix of fear and concern and then it goes away. “Tommy told you?”

“Yeah… wanted to make sure I was the one who checked her out.”

“He tell anyone else?”

“Probably Maria.” You shrug and watch the uneasiness leave him. “I won’t tell anyone, Joel. It’ll either get people's hopes up or cause a witch hunt. Besides, doctor patient confidentiality and all that.”

He looks relieved. “Thanks.”

You nod. “Now, take your shirt off.”

He raises an eyebrow. You roll your eyes.

“I swear if you give me some snarky comment, I will stab you with a scalpel.”

He cringes feeling fantom pain in his scarred abdomen. “Noted.”

“You okay?” You catch the twinge on his face, stare at the gash on his neck.

“Yeah… it’s just…” He sighs, slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

For a moment, you are 22 years old again and sense of medical professionalism ceases to exist. It’s embarrassing really, the crush you had on him. Though, it’s just as embarrassing that it’s still affecting you. 20 years ago, you thought the world was more likely to end than anything remotely close to this happening. It seems Ironic now.

The nurse in you returns before his shirt slides off his shoulders. Your eyes go wide as you spot the big, angry scar on Joel’s abdomen. “What happened?”

Your fingers press around the scar, inspecting it. It’s cruel and jagged, still pink, but healed. It’s several months old and there’s no signs of infection.

“Your fingers are cold.”

You roll your eyes. “What happened?”

“We came across some raiders. I took them out, but not before one of ‘em got me with his broken bat.”

“Fuck, Joel.” You press a little firmer, searching for any signs of sensitivity or irritation.

It hits him that he’s never heard you curse. He bites back the tilt of his lips. He doesn’t think you would appreciate it. He never teased you like Tommy did. He was more of a quiet observer before the outbreak. He still considers himself so, but there’s an urge to tease you now. Maybe he wants to steal a slice of pre-outbreak life back.

“Does this hurt at all?” You continue to press all around, this time looking in his eyes. You’re firmly in his personal space now.

He never got to look at your eyes this closely before. They’re beautiful. He reads so much swirling in them. He still sees bits of the 22 year old he knew, freshly graduated and eager to help a world so close to damnation. He sees the shadows floating around, the trauma of living in this world. He sees it in others all the time. He sees it in himself everytime he looks in the mirror, but he wants to know what caused the darkness in yours.

He catches the fine lines that have started to age your face, and a few silver hairs beginning to weave through your natural hair color. He thinks they suit you.

“Joel.” Your voice is firm, shaking him out of his thoughts. “Any pain? Discomfort?”

He shakes his head. You let out a low whistle. “You’re one lucky bastard. It’s a bang up job on the stitches, but it did its job.”

“It got infected. Ellie managed to get her hands on some penicillin.”

His eyes darken. There’s more to the story, but you know better than to ask. One doesn't just “manage” to get their hands on penicillin, especially out here.

Your eyes scan his abdomen, but it is purely medical this time. Joel has several old scars covering his back and abdomen consistent with what you expect. The gash on his neck has already scabbed over, a couple of days old. You do your best to clean it without opening it back up.

You bring your stethoscope to his heart. It thuds in your ears. He breathes in at your instructions: long and steady in, long and steady out. His breath tingles in your ear. Your eyes scan up his neck and face. You think he might be just as handsome now as he was 20 years ago. He meets your eyes and you snap back to the tasks at hand. Heat rises over the back of your neck. You pull away before it reaches your cheeks.

Joel keeps quiet the whole time. His eyes track your every movement; a hazard of living in this world. It’s a hazard you learned to drop when within the walls of the settlement, though it took you years to do so.

His blood pressure is a little high, nothing too concerning or surprising. It’s not like you have medication to help. “How old are you?”

Your eyes meet again. “56.”

You wrack your brain. You helped Sarah with his birthday on numerous occasions. “September 26, right?”

“You remember?”

“I believe I helped put on several of your birthday parties.” You crack a smile, writing it down on the form. You have one for each member of the settlement in case of emergencies. “Shit… that’s-”

“Yeah, I know.” Joel crosses his arms. He hasn’t put his shirt back on yet. His biceps bulge, drawing your eye toward them. It hits you; maybe adult you also has a crush on Joel Miller. You shove that thought to the side. You’re avoiding that trap too.

Joel catches your eye. You swallow, hoping he didn’t catch you staring. “You can put your shirt back on.”

He nods. You don’t watch as he buttons it up. You study the file in front of you like it’s the next great American novel. “Do you know your blood type?”

“O negative.”

“You absolutely sure?”

“You calling me a liar?”

“No, but I’d hate to tap you on the shoulder asking for you to transfuse blood and the person drops dead because you had O positive or some other type.”

“I’m sure.”

You nod, marking it the chart. Joel’s shirt is back on. You can’t decide if you’re relieved or not, but something else catches your eye as he struggles with the last button.

“Hold out your hands.”

His eyes roll but obeys. You visually inspect them. Nothing seems wrong at sight.

“Now make a fist.”

He does, internally cursing when his right hand shakes and shutters. It still doesn’t close all the way. Taking all those fireflies out the day before doesn’t help matters. He eyes you, but you’re completely focused on his hands.

You place your index and middle fingers in his palms. “Now squeeze.”

You feel the fight in his right hand. Its grip is loose compared to the left.

“I broke it back in September.”

“How?” You take his hand. It’s warm and calloused. You ignore that part away as you feel through the bones and tendons searching for misplaced bones or built up scar tissue.

“Took out a Fedra guard leaving Boston QZ.”

“Define took out.” Your inspection continues.

Joel shifts looking away from you. It gives you a good look at his profile. Your eyes flicker up the muscles of his neck, his strong jaw and the scruff that covers it. You catch sight of a faded scar on his temple. He didn’t have that 20 years ago… you kick yourself for remembering that.

“It was just a hairline. Healed up fine on its own.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Obviously.”

Joel refuses to meet your eye. He doesn’t answer your question. Your annoyance grows.

“I’ll give you some options. Stunned? Mamed? Knocked unconscious?”

“Look, I'm not the person I used to be.”

You straighten up. “Nobody is, Joel. We’re literally in hell.” You push back images of your own actions- and inactions. “Now tell me so I can make a rough estimate on the force you used.”

Joel sighs. He remembers the cracking of bones. The way the guard went limp. It doesn’t haunt him. He would do it again to protect people, so why is he so hesitant? Is it that he associates you with Sarah?

He swallows. “Killed.”

He waits for you to kick him out, for a look of disgust to cover your face, but it never happens. You simply keep going with the exam. “Okay.”

You hit a sensitive nerve in his hand. He hisses. “I think it was more than a hairline… but it seems to have healed okay all things considering.”

Joel nods.

“I’m going to rig something up to help you strengthen the hand. It probably won’t help the nerve though.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I will. I’ll drop it off at your house this evening.” You make note of a few things on a clipboard. “Otherwise, I’m giving you a clean bill of health.”

“So I’m free to go?”

“Free to go.” You nod.

He’s almost out the door when you turn around. “And Joel…” He stops, meeting your eye for the first time since his confession. “We’ve all had to kill people, do ugly things for the sake of survival. Don’t think you’re the only one.”

He wants to ask further questions, but you turn your back to him and it dies on his tongue.

[ethelcainlvr]

Wicked Game Pt 2 - Armando Aretas

Armando Aretas x Black! OC (Helena)

Part 1

After each fight, he’d sit down at the bar, cuts and scratches littered on his face and arms, discoloring his perfectly tan skin.

They’d exchanged naught but a few words since he popped up three months ago, most of them pertaining to whatever drink he ordered, his low raspy voice sending shivers down her spine all the same.

That all changes one evening.

It’s a few hours before Spades opens for the night. Despite the fact that she’s off for the day, Helena makes her way through a back entrance. She waves to the bartender in her place once she’s inside, along with a few of the dancers she’s come to know, all getting ready for the long night ahead. 

Javier’s “office” (she’s yet to see any work being done) is crowded like usual. His posse is gathered around the pool table, playing, drinking, talking. 

Helena notices him first. His reserved demeanor is a stark contrast to the crew he’s with. 

Helena watches Armando, settled on the arm of a chair right beside Javier. His eyes find hers quickly, as they tend to do, like he can sense her or something. He smiles, raising the bottle of beer to his full lips. 

The sound of her own name breaks Helena out of her trance. Javier’s in front of her all of a sudden, blocking Armando from her view. He’s staring at her expectantly, a question in his furrowed brows, giving Helena the impression she’s completely ignored something he’s said.

“I got what you asked for,” she supplies, taking her best guess. 

In lieu of a response he steps her out with her into the hall. The overlapping chatter and underlying music dim, and they're out of earshot of anyone still in the room.

Javier looks around the empty hallway, then stretches out his hand.

“What did you find?”

Helena places the slim thumb drive in his open palm. 

“Everything you asked for.”

Javier closes his fist around the drive, rubbing his thumb across its surface thoughtfully as he nods, his sharp jaw flexing. 

Helena’s come to know Javier as a relatively quiet man. Most of their conversations are just like this one, consisting of few words and many gestures. 

“Thank you.” His voice is grim when he replies finally.

Helena’s good with computers. In a way that allows her to blur the lines between public and private information.

In places like Spades, to people like Javier, information is invaluable. 

When Helena, a 23 year old grad student, moved to this city, she’d needed money badly. She was more than grateful for the job, but bartending simply didn't cut it, when you factored in school, and the medical expenses her type one diabetes racked up. 

Watching the kind of people that flowed in and out of Spades, from low level drug runners to the most powerful politicians in the state, she’d quickly learned the signs of status, the value of taking in information from all around her, and how and when to use it. 

Javier, with his similar skill of discernment, had quickly taken notice of her, and they soon fell into a simple sort of arrangement. 

Cash, for information. Names, addresses, bank statements, even blueprints like the ones on the flash drive she’d just handed over. The most important part of this arrangement is that, however tempted she may be, she never asked questions, never asked what he needed the information for, who it was going to.

 It kept her from falling in too deep, allowed her to keep what she did at this club in a small compartment of her life, kept her from having to ask herself the tough question of what exactly she’d be willing to do for money.

“He workin’ for you now?” 

It’s likely the reason, when she asks this, Javier stops in his tracks and shoots her a quizzical look.

Helena has been around long enough to have somewhat of an understanding of how Javier operates. He keeps his inner circle tight, and from the looks of things, Armando has managed his way in, in just a few short weeks. She tries to convince herself this is the extent of her curiosity, but Helena doesn’t need to turn her head to know Armando is staring, she never does, and she’s felt his eyes on her for weeks. She wants to know why exactly he’s so interested in her.

 She nods subtly in his direction for Javier’s benefit.

He glances inside, following her lead. 

“Something like that.” He replies, as cryptic and dismissive as ever.  

Helena takes him turning away as a sign the conversation is over and despite the fact that her question remains unanswered, she turns to do the same. She should have known better than to expect a straightforward answer from Javier.  

She’s all the way by her car, after stopping to grab some things from her locker when she stops in her tracks. 

There’s no reason, scientifically at least, that you should be able to feel someone looking at you. 

And yet, inexplicably, when she turns around he’s there.  

Leaning against the back wall of the bar, arms crossed over his chest. 

There’s a beat. Just a moment of the two of them watching each other. Then he stands, nods to the right, and steps out of the light, gradually disappearing in shadow of the rapidly disappearing sun.

She waits until the curiosity overcomes her, before she follows him into the quickly expanding dark. 

[chestnutninny]

Hii! Can I request alex cabot x reader where they fall inlove during law school but then after they graduate they had to leave eachother for different law firms. Then after a few years, they finally meet again because of a case and give eachother a second chance? thank you!!

Second Chances

Alex Cabot x Reader (Fluff)

Warnings: Normal SVU topics (rape, murder, assault)

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Stepping foot through the grand entrance of Harvard, your nerves kicked in, your skin flushed and sweating slightly as you looked around at the bustling corridors. To say your was nervous was an understatement as you came here without knowing anybody.

As you arrived at your first lecture, you sat towards the back of the classroom in order to hide and conceal yourself from many of the other students there. Part way through the lecture, the doors burst open to reveal a blonde girl, flushed and panicking, sweat glistening on her forehead, revealing the sprint that she had endured to try and get to the lecture on time.

"So you must be Miss Cabot. You're late!" The lecturer gave the girl a stern glare, which even you felt despite being nowhere near them both.

"I'm sorry, sir. I couldn't find the classroom." She explained.

"Don't let it happen again. Sit down."

The girl looked at her surroundings, taking note of the only empty seat being next to you. She walked over, lugging her briefcase over shoulder onto the desk infront of her with a huff. She took a seat and got her equipment out infront of herself, hastily taking notes from the board at the front of the class.

The lecturer droned on throughout the class hall, however the groan of many student gained your attention back to the front, where it was evident that the tutor was already giving you all an assignment and pairing up everyone in the class. He told you that you would be in a pair with the girl that arrived late and that he expected the work to be done for next week's lesson.

You sighed, knowing that the girl would most likely be unreliable, however the she turned to face you with a nervous smile on her face and her hand outstretched for you to shake.

"Hi, I'm Alex. I know you think that I'm not reliable and you're worried about doing this assignment on your own, but I can assure you that today was an honest mistake and it won't happen again." She smiled as you took her hand, the spark fluttering through making her blush.

"Hey, I'm Y/N. Meet me at the cafe on campus. We look at the work there and start on our ideas. Don't be late." You wrote down your number and the address of the cafe on a post-it note, sliding across the desk towards her.

The bell rung, signalling the end of the lesson, and you sprung from your seat, giving Alex one final smile before you headed out the door to your next lecture.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

As you arrived at the cafe, you were shocked to find Alex already occupying a corner seat, a coffee sat on either side of the table.

"Hey." Alex's eyes lit up as she saw you. "I wasn't expecting you to be here yet"

"I told you that was just a one off." Alex explained with a smirk. She gestured to the coffee that was opposite her side of the table. "I didn't know what to get for you, so I just ordered the same as me."

"Thank you, you didn't have to." She pushed the drink closer to you as you took your seat, your hands grazing as you gratefully accepted the steaming beverage from her hands. You didn't miss the blush that accented her pale cheeks, creeping its way down her chest as you grinned at her flushed state.

A few hours into the stay at the cafe, the assignment was long forgotten, as empty plates and drinks littered the table, where both of you chattered, laughed, and joked with each other. The waitress came over and informed you both that the cafe was closing soon, so both of you packed your things up and set off through the doors into the breezy, autumn evening.

The wind whipped your hair around your face, and the trees around you rustled with the fierce breeze that soared through the air. Alex reached out her hand and removed the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. Her eyes glistened under the fading sun as she leaning in, her face inches away from your own.

"I really want to kiss you." Alex admitted. "Can I?"

You leant in, your lips brushing against hers, sparks shocking your lips as you added more pressure to hers lips. One of Alex's hands rested on your waist, pulling you closer to her, whilst her other hand caressed your chin, silently pleading you to stay.

"Would you like to come back to my dorm?." You muttered as you pulled away slightly from her embrace.

"I thought you'd never ask."

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

You both spent time together over the next few weeks, and then weeks turned into months, and then you had admitted that you loved Alex, however you were too afraid to admit them to her.

You had both become best friends and supported each other through thick and thin, yet the kiss and the night that you had spent together had never been spoken about since it occurred.

The end of the school year was rapidly approaching and neither you or Alex had discussed your next steps with each other. You had figured that should would become a defense attorney at the same firm that you had your eyes set on, however you couldn't be too sure.

Later that day, you met up with Alex at the cafe on campus, ordering on behalf of both of you as you awaited her arrival. She waltzed through the door and planted herself in the opposing seat to you. A light sheen of sweat covered her face as she huffed out a breath.

"I'm sorry for being late. Today's been hectic, and the workload is too much. I haven't had a break all week."

"It's okay, Lexi. You need to take a break though, I've never seen you so tense and stressed out."

"I have the weekend off, I was hoping that maybe we could spend the weekend together."

"I'd love that, more than you'd know."

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Alex had booked a reservation at a nice restaurant just outside of the Harvard campus, the decoration classy and the atmosphere calm and relaxed.

You decided on wearing a figure-hugging, short black dress and your hair updo in a messy bun, with a little makeup. Alex met you at the restaurant, her blue eyes boring into yours, and then her eyes dropping down to drink you in.

"W-wow, you look...gorgeous, Y/N." Alex stuttered, her lips splitting into a shy grin.

"Thank you, Al. You don't look too bad yourself." You winked at her with a smirk on your face. You chuckled at the flush that enveloped her cheeks.

The evening went by amazingly, both of you indulging into your meals and drinks, and sharing your dessert.

"Y/N, I need to talk to you. I've decided that I'm joining prosecution at the DA's office in Manhattan. I'll be moving to New York next week and starting there shortly after."

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

That was 4 years ago.

After studying at Harvard, you got a job in Chicago as a prosecutor for White Collar crimes, as well as Homicide too. However, your boss had just convinced you to transfer to Manhattan to work alongside the Special Victims Unit, as they were short-staffed and were drowning in cases.

You had caught a flight to New York on Friday and spent the weekend preparing for your new job and finding your way around the city.

Monday morning flew around and beofre you knew it, you were striding into the precinct that you had been assigned to. You were walking through the corridor to the main room you'd be spending time in when you smelt the perfume, the perfume that Alex Cabot always wore. You were hit with memories of your time together, the kisses that you had shared and especially the love that you had developed for her.

For years, you had hoped to see her again, but you hadn't heard anything from her after you had tried to contact her, with no record of her on social media.

You enter the briefing room in the precinct, where Elliot Stabler and Olivia Benson were quick to fill you in on the case that you would be working on with them and another ADA. Your eyes almost popped out of your head as you were introduced to the ADA that you were working alongside, when you realised you were in the presence on Alex Cabot, the one who got away.

"H-Hi Miss Cabot, I'm Miss Y/L/N. I'll be working with you on this case." You sputtered as you offered her your hand to shake whilst you re-introduced yourself to her.

"Y/N..." Alex's eyes softened as she regarded you, her hand lingering in yours as she shook it.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you tried to desperately blink them back, refusing to cry in front of the squad and Alex, especially on your first day. Throughout the day, you felt Alex gazing at you every time you made a pitch or expressed your opinions.

You were ready to leave the precinct when you felt a tug on your blazer sleeve. You turned to see Alex towering over you, her piercing blue eyes glazing down into yours.

"Y/N, can we talk?" Her face showed worry that she would be rejected, and she honestly wouldn't blame you after she just left without any contact.

"Sure." You agreed as you opened the door to an empty interrogation room, leading the way inside of it.

"Alex. Why did you just leave? I understood you leaving for this job but I never heard off you. I really missed you!" Tears were threatening to fall from your eyes, but you tried your best to mask your sadness with a serious facade.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I heard so many stories about how relationships and friendships faltered under the stress and intensity of working at the Special Victims Unit. I was so scared that you'd have enough of me being too busy to talk or to see you, so I thought that if I cut contact with you, it wouldn't hurt as much as if you ditched me. I was so scared to let you go Y/N and I'm sorry that I never got to tell you."

"Tell me what?" You questioned.

"That I...I love you." She admitted.

"W-What?"

"Y/N, I love you so much. I never wanted to leave you and I regret never telling you any sooner."

"Alex... I-I love you too. I missed you so much."

You embraced her, tucking you head into the crook of her neck, taking in the scent that you had missed so much since she had left. She kissed the top of your head, before lifting your head to face her. Her eyes gazed at your lips, her tongue reaching out to wetten her own.

You leaned in towards her, your head tilting upwards, your lips locking in a gentle but love-filled kiss, the kiss speaking louder than any words that Alex could say.

"Will you give me a second chance?" Alex's eyes were full of hope, awaiting your answer to her question.

"On one condition. You don't leave me again."

"I promise."