#I love that these two can be so casual with each other ... it's one of the things that keeps their relationship feeling real to me

[bjlipss]

— i would love to go back to the old house;

★ synopsis: you and satoru make a promise to marry each other if you’re both still alone by thirty.

miyan’s notes: no curse au, no warnings, maybe some realness, just fluff and smut. wc: 3681.

you’re both seventeen, laying on the grass behind the school gym, where the sun’s dipped low enough to cast everything in a warm, golden haze.

it’s late spring—almost summer—and the scent of cut grass clings to your clothes, sweet and sharp. someone’s left a soccer ball abandoned a few feet away. the world feels lazy and endless, like nothing important could ever happen here.

you’re side by side, arms brushing but never quite touching, your pinkies just barely grazing sometimes when one of you shifts. satoru’s sunglasses are crooked on his face, and he doesn’t fix them. his white hair is fanned out messily over the grass, and there’s a blade of it stuck behind his ear. he hasn’t noticed.

he was dumped yesterday. you heard about it from someone else before he told you—his ex apparently said he was too much. too loud, too intense, too everything. it made you kind of furious, but you didn’t say that. you just sat with him today, like always.

your first real relationship ended last week. it wasn’t even dramatic. just two people slowly realizing they didn’t quite know how to hold each other anymore. still, it left a hollow feeling in your chest, one you’re pretending isn’t there.

he exhales, slow and dramatic. “you ever think we’re just… cursed or something?”

you snort. “that’s a little dramatic.”

“it’s me,” he says, turning his head toward you, and you can see the curve of a grin forming. “drama is my whole thing.”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t say no. he quiets down again, goes back to staring at the sky with a look that’s a little more thoughtful than usual. birds are flying overhead in little staggered v’s, and there’s a faint breeze brushing your skin.

then, like it’s the most casual thing in the world, he says, “if we’re both single at thirty, let’s just marry each other.”

you blink. the silence after feels loud.

“what?” you laugh, eyebrows lifting. “what kind of pact is that?”

he shrugs, still looking up. “a realistic one. we already know each other’s worst habits. you can tolerate me. that’s rare.”

“you’re an idiot,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “but sure. yeah. a backup plan. solid.”

you mean it like a joke. like a throwaway thing. but then he turns his head toward you, and his glasses slide down his nose just enough that you can see his eyes—really see them.

“no,” he says. “i’m serious.”

you stare at him. he’s not laughing. there’s something oddly earnest in the way he says it, like he’s offering something fragile and important without realizing it. like a promise he doesn’t expect you to keep, but wants you to want to.

your heart does a weird thing. tightens. pulls.

you swallow. “okay. me too.”

neither of you says anything after that. the sun dips lower. the breeze picks up. the world moves around you, but for a moment, it’s just the two of you in that quiet stretch of time, young and bruised and hopeful.

your pinkies brush again.

this time, neither of you pulls away.

—

years pass.

at first, the promise is a soft, silly memory tucked into the back of your mind like a note in a locker you never emptied. you think about it sometimes—on your birthday, when your heart gets broken again, when you see a wedding invitation in the mail and wonder how people keep getting so lucky. the pact becomes a kind of quiet comfort, a lighthouse in the distance. not real, but there. always there.

you go to university. he does too. different cities, different people, different rhythms. you both grow into yourselves slowly, awkwardly, like plants reaching for light in the wrong season. you learn how to love better. how to walk away when you need to. how to be alone and not hate it.

you date people who are kind. people who challenge you. people who hurt you in ways that teach you something. some of them ask about him, the boy in the old photos, the one whose name still slips out when you’re tired or wine-drunk. you always brush it off, say he’s just someone from your past. nothing more. nothing to see here.

he dates too. once, you find out through a mutual that he’s seeing someone seriously—a girl who’s smart and sweet and nothing like you. it bothers you more than you want to admit. but you never say anything. you just keep your head down, push it away like you do with everything else that hurts. you’re happy for him, you think. you should be.

life moves fast, and slow, and fast again. you move cities. he changes jobs. there are stretches of time where you don’t think about him at all—and then suddenly everything reminds you of him again. a song he used to hum under his breath. the way someone else laughs. a white-haired stranger passing by on the street, so close to the version of him you remember but not quite right. the ghost of him lingers, not haunting you, but following you in the corners of your life.

and then, there are the moments when life tangles your paths back together.

—

it’s your friend’s birthday—an old classmate who’s turned their tiny apartment into a chaos of people and warm lights. the kind of party that’s too loud, too crowded, but you’re here anyway because it’s easier to go than stay home. the tension of being alone hits you in the chest as soon as you walk in. everyone’s happy. everyone’s with someone. everyone’s moving forward, but you’re stuck at some point in the past, lingering in the gap between where you were and where you should be.

you almost don’t go, tired from work, emotionally drained. but you show up, because something tells you to. maybe it’s because you promised yourself you’d stop running from things that make you uncomfortable. or maybe it’s just the weird way life works, pulling you toward the people and places you’re not ready for yet.

you’re standing near the kitchen, sipping a drink you don’t really care about, when you hear it—a laugh that cuts through the noise, familiar and unexpected. a laugh you know instantly, one that hits you in the chest like a familiar song. it’s a sound you haven’t heard in years, but it’s like it never left.

you turn, the crowd of people blurring out of focus, and there he is.

satoru.

he’s leaning against the fridge, talking to someone you don’t recognize, his hair a little longer, his shirt untucked, uncuffed. still so him, but also… different. his face is older, but still beautiful in that effortless way, the same white hair, the same sharp eyes that seem to know you even from across the room.

he sees you. he freezes. and for a second, it’s like time holds its breath.

“hey,” he says, voice soft, almost surprised. “you look…”

he doesn’t finish the sentence. but you hear it anyway. you look the same. you look different. i didn’t expect to see you here.

you smile like you’re not unraveling. like it doesn’t matter that your heart just skipped a beat. “it’s been a while.”

he hugs you then, warm and solid. it lasts a second too long. too much unsaid between you both, but it’s all there in the tension of his arms around you. the promise is still alive in the quiet air between your breaths. but neither of you mentions it.

he leaves before you do.

—

months later, it’s a late-night convenience store in tokyo. you’re tired, bleary-eyed, the kind of exhausted that comes from too many late shifts and not enough sleep. you’re reaching for instant noodles and a bottle of tea when you hear the shuffle of footsteps behind you. you don’t look, too focused on the shelves in front of you. but then you hear it—his voice, soft but unmistakable.

“you live around here now?” he asks, stunned.

you freeze for a moment. and then you turn.

there he is, standing in the aisle like he’s part of some strange dream. his hair is tied back messily, longer than before. he’s holding a bag of sour candies, blinking at you like he’s not sure if you’re real or if his tired eyes are just playing tricks on him.

“yeah,” you say, suddenly self-conscious. “just moved a couple months ago.”

“me too,” he says, a little sheepish. “just moved last week. tokyo’s a lot different from what i remembered.”

you laugh, and for a moment, it’s like you’re both seventeen again, standing in the hallway after class, talking about nothing. only now, it’s quieter. more knowing. there’s a little more space between you both, but you don’t feel it as much as you think you should. he’s still satoru, after all.

you talk for a few minutes, small things. the weather. work. how both of you somehow managed to end up in the same city again after all this time. his hair’s longer now, and so is yours. there’s something different about him, something worn into the lines of his face, but you’re still the same. you’re still the same. the realization hits you like a wave.

when you say goodbye, there’s a small flicker of something in his eyes. like he wants to say something else. something important. maybe you do too. but you don’t.

you both go your separate ways, the moment slipping away with every step, but neither of you forgets it. not really.

—

another year passes. you’re invited to a mutual friend’s engagement party. you don’t know it’s mutual until you arrive and see him standing on the balcony, glass of wine in hand. his back is to you, but you recognize the way his shoulders sit under the weight of the world, the way his posture softens when he’s trying to relax.

you hesitate. for a second, you think about leaving. about turning around and pretending you never saw him, never heard that familiar laugh or felt that same ache in your chest. but you stay. something inside you says that this is the time. that maybe, just maybe, the universe is ready for you to have the conversation you’ve been avoiding for years.

you walk over. he turns, and his eyes widen when he sees you.

“this is getting ridiculous,” he says, a grin tugging at his lips. “we keep showing up like we’re being summoned.”

you laugh, but it’s a little more nervous than you mean it to be. “maybe we are.”

you talk for fifteen minutes, small talk mostly. his girlfriend is waiting inside—he doesn’t say that, but you can tell. he’s polite, but distant this time. something in his eyes is different, more guarded than you remember. and it’s strange. it feels like a wall has gone up between you both, and you can’t figure out why. you want to ask, but you don’t. it’s not your place.

something tightens in your chest, a quiet jealousy you don’t want to feel but can’t help. so you excuse yourself early.

—

and then there’s the funeral.

someone you both knew in high school. someone you weren’t close to, but close enough to go. it’s raining—of course it is—and your coat is too thin for the chill. the crowd is subdued, the kind of heavy silence you only get at funerals. you stand off to the side, trying not to draw attention, but then you spot him across the crowd.

he’s standing alone under an umbrella, his jaw clenched. his eyes are cast downward, but when he looks up, he sees you. his gaze sharpens, like he’s unsure if you’re really there. but then he steps toward you, slow and hesitant.

you don’t speak much. just stand side by side beneath the gray sky, the rain soft on your faces, like a veil between everything that was and everything that could have been. you don’t know if it’s the weight of the moment or something else, but it feels like you’re both seventeen again, standing in that quiet space between friendship and something more.

afterward, when you’re on the train home, your phone buzzes. a contact name that hasn’t been on your phone for a while.

satoru: thirty’s not that far.

you stare at the screen for a long time, the words sinking into your chest like a stone. the promise that’s always been there, waiting for the right moment to be spoken. but now, in the quiet of your apartment, you don’t reply.

you think about it. about everything. about how he said it, softer than usual, quieter than you’re used to. you think about his eyes, the way they followed yours. the rain on his umbrella. the years that have passed.

you think about his voice, and you wonder if he remembers the exact words. you wonder if he ever stopped.

—

… you almost don’t go. again.

the invitation sits unopened on your counter for days before you cave, peeling it open with the tip of your key. you don’t recognize the name on the envelope immediately, but inside, there’s a handwritten card. a friend-of-a-friend, someone you once shared a table with at a dinner party, who remembered your smile. you had forgotten about them, honestly. but here they are, inviting you into their life, into their celebration. their quiet reminder that life moves on, and people keep finding their paths while you still seem to be standing still.

“it’ll be nice,” your coworker says when you mention it offhand. “dress up, eat fancy cake, forget your life for an evening.”

you smile. nod. pretend it’s not terrifying—the thought of being surrounded by people who’ve figured it out—who’ve found their person, their path, their place in the world. the thought of seeing them again—the ones who chose their someone. and you’re left holding only the pieces of a promise, one you had never quite stopped waiting on.

but you go anyway. because you said you would. because maybe, just maybe, it will be easier to let go of things you’re holding onto by showing up. by being there.

the venue is small and beautiful, tucked in a quiet corner of the city. ivy climbs up stone walls, winding their way to the second floor, the kind of building that feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting for something important to happen. soft music spills out from the inside, cascading into the courtyard where the last rays of the day spill gold over everyone’s skin, turning them all into something fleeting, something perfect.

you wear a color you’ve always liked on yourself, something soft and simple, but still carefully chosen. it’s funny—how you’ve started choosing your clothes more for yourself than for anyone else. how you’ve learned to dress for the person you’ve grown into, not the one you thought you’d be. you smile as you check your reflection one last time. and then, you spot it—lipstick on your teeth. for the first ten minutes, you don’t know, and then someone kindly points it out, their laugh light and warm. you laugh too, grateful for the small kindness. you take a drink from a glass of champagne that’s almost too pretty to touch, as if it should be saved for something special, and for a second, you almost feel like you belong here.

you don’t know many people at the party. that’s fine. you’ve never been one to throw yourself into the middle of things. you’ve always been the one to drift at events like these, skimming the surface, smiling politely, offering a few words here and there, but keeping your hands folded in your lap when you sit, staying small, staying unnoticed.

you make it through the ceremony. the vows are sweet. you clap when you’re supposed to. you eat a few hors d’oeuvres, and when the music gets too loud and the voices start blending into a buzz, you slip away to the balcony. it’s quiet out here. the city hums beneath you, distant and untouchable. for a moment, you let yourself breathe.

and then you hear it—laughter. soft, familiar. close.

you turn, already knowing. already feeling the weight of it before you see him.

he’s standing a few steps away from the doorway, talking to someone you don’t recognize. sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie a little loose like he’s just been letting the night happen around him. his hair’s still white—shorter now, messier, and there’s something about the way the years have softened him in places you never thought could soften. his eyes still hold that distant glimmer, the one you always tried to make sense of. but now, there’s something more grounded in him—something that matches the tiredness you’ve started carrying around yourself.

he’s changed. and he hasn’t.

your chest tightens.

then, like some invisible thread has tugged at his spine, he turns.

his eyes land on you.

and the world tilts, just slightly.

he goes still.

you don’t move either.

something deep in your ribs aches with how long it’s been, with how many almosts have collected between you over the years. so many moments where he almost looked back, where you almost said something, where life almost collided and made sense. but it didn’t. not then. and maybe not now.

his expression shifts—surprise first, then something warmer. softer. something like disbelief, but there’s a flicker in his eyes, one that you can’t ignore. maybe it’s a memory. maybe it’s hope.

“hey,” he says, stepping closer. his voice is quieter than you remember, like he’s afraid to break the moment. “i didn’t know you were coming.”

you swallow, suddenly aware of how dry your throat is. “me either. i didn’t know we had mutual friends.”

he lets out a breath that sounds too much like a laugh. “of course we do. fate’s had a weird sense of humor since we were seventeen.”

you don’t say anything. you just look at him.

his eyes scan your face like he’s trying to memorize it all over again. he looks at you as though you’re someone he never quite expected to see again, and it feels like he’s seeing all of you, not just the parts he remembers. he’s still beautiful in that effortless way—how he’s always been—but now, there’s something real in it. something tired, something weighted, something that speaks of the years between. of all the things that have happened since.

you speak first. “you look good.”

he smiles slowly, his mouth curving up in that easy way that always made your heart trip. “so do you. better than good.”

you roll your eyes a little. “still laying it on thick, i see.”

“you used to like that,” he murmurs, and there’s something vulnerable in the way his voice dips, something nostalgic, almost like he wants to reach back through time and pull out the version of you that used to smile when he flirted. the version that used to think it meant something. “used to smile when i flirted.”

“used to,” you echo. but your voice is gentler than the words. there’s a quiet understanding between you now. something that was there before, buried beneath everything that has passed.

a beat passes.

and then he asks, almost cautiously, “are you still with anyone?”

you shake your head.

his eyes flicker, searching yours for something. for a sign. “me neither.”

your stomach flips.

there’s something there in his gaze—something that feels like an opening, like a crack where the past might slip back in. you both stand there, framed by the golden glow of the setting sun and the hum of music drifting in from the party. it feels like the air around you is waiting. like the universe has been holding its breath, waiting for this moment, just to see what you’ll do now. to see what the two of you will decide to do with all the time that has passed, with all the unspoken things between you.

“you remember,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “what we said, back then?”

you don’t pretend you don’t. you nod. “yeah. i remember.”

his hands slip into his pockets. he shifts a little, as though unsure of himself, and his eyes stay locked on yours. “at some point i started to think it was just a joke. something we said to make the world feel less uncertain.”

“me too,” you admit, the words soft and honest. “but it never stopped feeling real.”

he tilts his head, watching you, and you can feel the weight of everything hanging in the space between you. “i kept waiting,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost unsure. “not on purpose. not always. but every time something ended, every time i felt alone again, i’d think—maybe we’re still heading there. maybe we just haven’t caught up to the promise yet.”

your breath hitches. it feels like the air is too thick. too much. too many years folded up between you.

“and now we’re thirty,” he says, a small, stunned smile tugging at his lips. “and you’re here. and i’m here. and i don’t want to waste more time pretending like i don’t want this.”

you look at him. really look at him. and suddenly, all the years, all the almosts, all the moments where you left too early or he looked back too late, they don’t feel like failures anymore. they feel like steps—each one leading you toward this. this moment. this chance to finally make good on something that’s been waiting.

you take one step now.

closer.

his breath catches when your fingers brush his, like he’s not sure if this is real, if it’s happening. And then, when you don’t pull away, when you stay there, your fingers lacing together as though it’s always been that easy, something shifts. The years that kept you apart, the missed chances, the long silences—they start to fall away.

you lean in.

and when you kiss him, it’s not loud, not dramatic, not bursting with fireworks.

it’s quiet.

it’s soft.

it’s like coming home.

it’s like finally keeping a promise you never really stopped waiting on.

[reidrum]

i think he knows

A/N: more doctor!reader!!!!!!! can you tell i love them. if you have requests for them please send them my way thank you <3

summary: in which spencer and reader try to find time for each other to have their first date

cw: doctor!reader, fluff, spencer being a flirt, medical talk

wc: 2.5k

A month passes before Spencer gets to see you again. A long, long month.

He stayed in the hospital for observation for another two days after meeting you, which were entirely medically necessary but don’t ask Spencer how his chest pain stopped the moment he signed the discharge papers because they just couldn’t keep him any longer. He knows it’s illogical, and a bit immoral, to fake symptoms for his personal gain. But who could blame him, had they seen you?

You didn’t make it any easier on him either, the times you’d check on him you’d leave him red for hours. Morgan had gotten suspicious seeing him be surprisingly high in spirits for someone who just got shot. You’d even talked to the nurses to get him extra jello, a love language in its own.

But his daydream was soon shattered upon his discharge, where he couldn’t just lay in a hospital bed and wait for you to come to him. He was to be sent to exile (home) to finish out the rest of his sentence (recovery), while he so agonizingly waits for the next chance to see you again.

The first day back home was already enough to send him into house fever, and he couldn’t even freely pace off the nervous energy because of his leg. You had given him your number, which meant he had to text you. It was a lot of pressure. He knew his assignment and yet couldn’t figure out what the right thing to start off this conversation with you should be.

Should he be formal and hit you with a simple Hello. Or give a bit of a flirty edge and add a heart emoji—one that Penelope taught him how to do, thank you very much. No, he should probably introduce himself since you don’t have his number. So you don’t think a random freak is trying to message you.

He types out a message and sends it before he can second guess himself anymore.

Spencer: Hey there, this is Spencer. Room 207?

Spencer flips his phone face down so he doesn’t manically check the notifications for your reply. You’re busy, you could be in surgery or doing rounds, or sleeping on a break or—Ding!

Or typing out a reply to him, perhaps.

You: Hi Spencer ☺️ how are you feeling? Spencer: Better now, how are you? You: Better now ;)

Oh, you’re everything to him.

Spencer: Are you on a break or am I bothering you? You: Lying down in an on call room bed! I love when you bother me please don’t stop

He actually giggles aloud, thank god he lives alone.

Spencer: Good, because I was running out of medical emergencies to fake just to get to see you again. You: Gasp, faking? Sweet talking works well on me, don’t get me wrong, but I might have to report you to the medical board. Spencer: I’m not that kind of doctor so I don’t think they’ll care, plus I think once they see you were my doctor they’ll side with me. You: Flattery will get you everywhere Spencer Reid be careful. Spencer: I’m sure hoping it does.

It goes on like that for a few weeks, to Spencer’s delight. Back and forth texting, the blatant flirting on both ends and his poor but endearing attempts to match it. He wants to get to know every part of you, and thankfully you’re just as curious as he is, so every waking minute either of you aren’t working ends up being spent by talking with each other.

Not just the casual things like where you grew up or where you went to school. No, he’s learned what your go to coffee shop order is, what latent hobbies you have hidden under your belt, what your favorite movie is and the specific line that makes it your favorite.

He’s told you about his favorite Doctor Who episodes—which you made him promise to show you someday, showed you pictures of his mom and his godson, his go to Indian food order for the place down from the office.

While Spencer loves talking to you, it’s simply not enough. He has to see you soon or he might combust spontaneously. He might do that anyway but it’s much more noble to have a good and valid reason to perish in such a way, like being in your presence.

Spencer: Hey, can I ask you something? You: Uh oh, I don’t like the sound of that. Spencer: Nothing bad, pinky promise. You: Ugh, the most sacred of promises <3 Okay, let’s hear it. Spencer: Are you free this Friday? You: AH I thought you’d never ask!! I am so free this friday night doctor, setting out my best dress just for you ;) Spencer: I’m sure everything you wear is beautiful, but I’m looking forward to seeing you again :) I’ll pick you up at 7? You: I’ll be waiting <333

He asks you out officially on Monday, and he spends the rest of the week praying to whatever unsub or case gods that are out there watching to calm down this week so they don’t get whisked away on a case. Tuesday through Wednesday only consisted of paperwork, and it gives him hope he might actually make it to Friday and finally get to see you. Even Morgan and Emily’s teasing of his suddenly happy mood can’t bring him down.

Thursday night comes around and he’s about ready to jump for joy as he finishes packing up his things. JJ walks by and he’s about to say goodbye to her when she waves a manila folder in the air, “Sorry Spence, conference room in 5.”

He deflates. So close.

Spencer lets his satchel slide off his shoulder and reluctantly pulls his phone out to open his message thread with you.

Spencer: Hi, I’m really sorry to do this but we just got called on a case. Do you think we could reschedule dinner? You: Hi handsome, don’t worry I understand. The world needs you crime fighters :) I’m free next friday?

He tries to ignore the way his heart stutters reading ‘handsome’ and types.

Spencer: I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Next Friday sounds great.  You: Be safe out there please Spencer: Always am. You: Need I remind you we met because you got shot on the job Spencer: That was one time, and I told the guy to shoot me. You: Yeah, that’s not making me feel better. Spencer: I’ll be safe, getting to see you next week will be my motivation to be extra careful. You: I’d hope you’re being careful regardless but whatever works for you, handsome <3 Spencer: Got a pretty girl waiting for me, I have to take extra precautions. You: Oooh that was good, you’re getting better at this Dr. Reid. Spencer: What can I say, you make it really easy. Spencer: Okay I have to go for the briefing, talk to you soon. You: Bye handsome 💞

The case comes and goes, an easy solve but it took a few more days than the team would like to admit for a case of this caliber. They return back only a week later and it’s another Thursday night where he’s hoping nothing steps in to prevent him from seeing you. He’s lucky in the sense that nothing is stepping in to prevent him from seeing you, FBI mandated break and all after a long case.

He’s not so lucky when you regretfully tell him you’re scheduled for surgery all day on Friday. You’re entirely too apologetic for his liking, for someone who flaked on you initially and had to alter your schedule to his. Especially for someone who, of all people, understands the busy lifestyles you both lead. He reassures you a thousand times over that it’s okay and that you can reschedule.

Spencer: Please stop apologizing, it’s okay I promise You: I just feel soooo bad. I was really looking forward to seeing you. Spencer: I know. But we’ll see each other soon. You: Promise? Spencer: Pinky. Did you eat anything? You: No I wasn’t hungry, too sad about not seeing your face. Spencer: A poor reason to starve yourself, I’m ordering food for you. Are you at the hospital? You: I’m at home but you don’t have to do that. Spencer: Okay but I want to, are you going to give me your address or will I have to find it myself? You: How are you going to do that? Spencer: I have my ways. You: It’s your tech analyst friend isn’t it Spencer: Maybe. You: So if I share your address it’s a HIPPA violation but when you do it no one bats an eye. Spencer: It’s for a worthy cause. Please let me do this. You: Fiiine. 1563 Rock Lakes blvd. What are you getting? Spencer: Thank you, honey. Pad thai with chicken satay. You: Ugh, you know me so well <3

To yours and Spencer’s dismay, this pattern continues on for another few weeks. Whenever your schedule finally clears, he gets dragged away on a case. When his schedule is clear you have back to back surgeries or consults. It’s like you just can’t get the timing right, no matter how hard you pine for each other.

The doubt travels and festers in both of your heads, the blatant evidence showing you that this may not work between you. Thing is, you both love your jobs too much to even try to accommodate the other. You’re both so busy you can’t even find time for one evening alone together.

Then George Foyet happened. The Haley Hotchner of it all, happened.

It hit the entire team hard, watching a colleague they viewed as family lose someone they loved so deeply and in such a torturous way. Spencer forced himself to take a step back and really evaluate what he was doing—was he willing to subject someone he cared about to the world he lives in? To the horrors they become exposed to? He still thinks about the heart attack he had when the Fisher King sent his mom a key after being in the same facility with her for some time. He’s not sure he can handle that kind of fear again.

Spencer knows he doesn’t have to do this, it’s so early in whatever this is between you both. You haven’t even had time to go on a date. Maybe your lives are just incompatible. Maybe he can save you before he ever even puts you in danger’s way—the ultimate act of valiant efforts in the form of preemptive measures. 

What you don’t know can’t hurt you, literally.

Ding!

But then you go and do something like this, where he gets to flip his phone over and blush red in the face at your name on the notification. That he gets to open his messages and be met with the beautiful sight of your face, smiling in a picture you took just for him showing off the coffee you got on your break and reading the book he recommended to you a few weeks ago.

And he’s just not sure if he can imagine a world where he doesn’t meet you and immediately fall in love with you.

Another week, another attempt at finally being able to take you on a date. Except this time fate has stepped in on both ends and sent Spencer on another case and you scheduled for surgery. Lovely.

The case goes fine again, save for the unsub with an overt penchant for clipping FBI agents aiming their guns at him. Enough damage to send him to the ER needing stitches on his forehead and a concussion evaluation.

The doctor seeing him was a good doctor, but he wasn’t you. It was a man who, no offense to him and his medical training, definitely did not have hands as soft as yours stitching him up. He sighs out loud in the ER as he waits for a nurse to come by and discharge him. God, he wishes it was you. 

“Seeing other doctors behind my back? I thought we had something special, Dr. Reid.”

He has half a mind to look up at the sky and mouth God?, as he feels his prayers have been answered in the most literal way.

“What are you doing here?” he asks incredulously, fully in disbelief at the sight of you in front of him.

You smile and step towards him, closing the curtain behind you, “I told you, I had surgery.”

“In Maryland?”

“In Maryland,” you nod, “They needed someone with my background to help out so I flew out.”

God, you’re so smart it physically hurts him how attractive it is.

“How’d you know I was here?”

“I didn’t, I was looking at the patient log to see if they needed help in the ER when I saw an S. Reid age 27 in bed 4 and thought to myself ‘This couldn’t be a coincidence.’”

He chuckles softly, “Well, you found me.”

“That I did,” you lean in to inspect his cuts, “I thought I told you to be careful, handsome.”

The blood rushes to his face, “I know, maybe I just knew I’d get to see you this way.”

You gently readjust the butterfly bandage on his forehead, securing it more tightly. “You could have called me if you missed me, Spence.” you whisper.

“You were busy.”

“So were you.”

Spencer pauses, “Are you busy now?”

You step back and look at his face, his borderline puppy eyes doing the most to convince you to say yes when you were about to ask him the same thing in about another minute if he hadn’t. 

You grin widely and check your watch, “I clock out in an hour. Wait for me?”

“Always.”

It makes all the missed connections and unaligned schedules entirely worth it when he gets to finally pick you up from your hotel room for your date turned into a weekend getaway. Spencer doesn’t even bat an eye when Morgan teases him about the mystery lady he’s staying back in Maryland for, or when Hotch gives him a multilayered nod of approval when he asks for a few personal days.

It’s entirely worth it and more when you and Spencer drive up to a lake house to spend the weekend together, and you joke about how your first date ended up being your first trip as a couple. Spencer doesn’t even stumble when you refer to yourselves as a couple, just tightening his arm around your shoulder and kissing the crook of your neck softly.

It’s the most worth it when, even after you said you were a couple, on the last night after staying up watching Doctor Who reruns post other activities, Spencer curls his arm around your body tugging you closer to his and whispers into your hair, “You will be my girlfriend, right?”

To which you simply beam up at him and whisper into his neck, “Of course, handsome.”

[stylesispunk]

"Blind faith" part vii

priest!Joel Miller x dancer!reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

summary: Joel and you are heartbroken because of each other. You crave his touch and he craves yours. w.c: 6,7k warnings: age gap (joel is in his late 40 and reader late 30s), angst, violence, a broken finger, mentions of death, manipulation, mentions of politics, mentions of exile. Reader is latina and english is not my first language and i'm stupid. a/n: I know I said I wouldn't make Joel suffer anymore because i'm still grieving and crying for him. But this story has angst and i'm sorry. Everything will be better soon. Thank you for all your love and I hope you enjoy it somehow.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

"Yes, and two cups of coffee, please"

His voice this close to your ears felt like a punch to your gut. It disgusted you, the thought of being this close to him, to smell the reeking scent of his cologne, it made you want to vomit.  

the waitress wrote down the order while asking directly at you, "something else?"

Gabriel lifted his gaze, locking eyes with you, “waffles? Do you love them”

"I don't want anything, thank you." you replied, in a monotonous voice, fidgeting with your fingers under the table. Your hands were still stained with Joel’s blood and your heart constricted.

“Bring them anyway” he said to the waitress. You could hear the sound of the pen writing down the order in the paper, but really nothing mattered to you right now.

You sat in a booth by the window, pale morning light spilling over the table, highlighting the dried, still darkening stains on your hands. No matter how many times you’d scrubbed them raw in that cracked porcelain sink, it clung to you, under your nails, in the creases of your skin.

Gabriel sat across from you, posture too casual for what he'd done, for what you’d both lived through. His jacket hung from the back of the seat, his sleeves rolled up, his hands pristine.

"Stop with that face and that fucking attitude. The priest didn’t die.” He said, “Besides, you made me look like a monster."

You finally raised your eyes to him, a dull, dead stare. “You are.”

His jaw clenched. “No. I’m not.”

“What you do makes you one.”

“I risked my own life for—”

“How many people have you killed, Gabriel?” your voice cut through the air like glass. “How many have you tortured these last months? How many more because someone told you to? Because you wore that damn soldier uniform and it let you believe you were untouchable?”

He opened his mouth, a retort rising in his throat. “You’re a—”

“Am I what?” you interrupted, pushing him to his own limits, your voice breaking, raw and unsteady. “A fucking burden? A communist? What am I to you, Gabriel?”

Gabriel’s mouth snapped shut, his jaw flexing, words hovering unsaid on his tongue like they’d burn him if he spoke them aloud. His gaze darkened, something mean and ugly flickering behind his eyes — and for the first time in months, you weren’t afraid of it. You were too tired, too hollow, too scraped clean of anything but rage and grief. Grieving a life, you couldn’t go back to.

He looked away then, out the window where the pale morning light spilled over empty streets, over a town that wasn’t home to either of you. His hand gripped the edge of the table, knuckles pale.

“You were… the only thing that made any of this bearable,” he muttered. “And you ruined it.”

A humorless, bitter laugh clawed out of your throat. “I ruined it? You ruined it. You ruined the moment you lied to me. When you used me. You sold me out to the same people who murdered my friends, who would’ve killed my family, and you’re sitting here, in this fucking café, drinking coffee like any of that can be undone.”

The waitress passed by, hesitating for a second at the tension thickening the air around your table, but neither of you noticed.

“I risked my life to get you out,” Gabriel snapped.

“For what?” you fired back. “So you could drag me back in again? So, you could play savior one day and executioner the next?”

He leaned in, voice low and tight. “I was trying to save you from yourself.”

“No, Gabriel,” you said, finally meeting his eyes again. “You were trying to save your place. Your pride and ease the guilt you must feel every damn night.”

And for a split second — just one — you saw it crack in him. The anger. The guilt. The truth of it all. And you hated that a part of you still recognized the boy you’d once loved in that face.

“I want to kill you.” He spoke.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink.

“I know,” you whispered, voice steady in a way that surprised even you. “And some days, I wish you would’ve done it that day.”

The words hung there between you like smoke, choking, heavy, impossible to take back. His expression faltered, something bleak and tired flashing through his eyes, and for a moment he looked like a man who’d lost every war he’d ever fought, including the one inside himself.

“I wake up every fucking day wanting to forget you,” Gabriel said, his voice rough, frayed at the edges. “But I can’t. You haunt me.”

“Good,” you murmured. “I hope I do.”

Your heart pounding in your ears, stomach twisted into something tight and ugly.

“I moved names for you,” he said, softer now, like it mattered. Like it would made you less frigthened “I bought your family’s freedom. Paid for it with my life, my rank. You’ll never know what that cost me.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” You replied, “You knew what kind of person I was and I am. You were aware of my beliefs and my values.”

Gabriel’s jaw tensed, his hand curling into a fist on the table between the untouched cups of coffee. The silence stretched — thick, suffocating — before he finally spoke again, his voice low, bitter.

“I knew,” he admitted. “I knew you were fire and danger and a thousand things that could ruin me. And I didn’t care. I just… I wanted you. Even if it meant burning for it.”

You shook your head, a broken, hollow laugh catching in your throat. “That’s not love, Gabriel. That’s possession. You wanted me like people want land, or power — to claim, to own. Not to protect.”

He looked at you then, really looked — and for the first time, you saw it: the wreckage of a man he’d become. A soldier stripped of his command, a traitor in his own uniform, carrying ghosts in his chest that no war could bury.

“You’re right,” he murmured. “I ruined everything.”

A lump formed in your throat, your eyes stinging with tears you refused to let fall. “You didn’t ruin me,” you said quietly. “I’m still here. Despite you. Because of me.”

You pushed your chair back, the legs scraping against the worn floor. “I don’t owe you gratitude, Gabriel. Not for saving what you tried to destroy.”

“Will you ever forgive me?”

For a moment you forget the man in front of you was the same one who lured you into a fairy tale love story. Through lies he had braided himself because he knew you. He knew what you thought, what you did, what you love and what you hate. He knew your name and what you fought for, and as if you were a witch he tried to hunt you.

But he fell in love with you.

You paused, a breath hitching in your chest, before shaking your head without meeting his gaze. "For what? For killing my friends? For sending your soldiers friends to follow me? or do you want me to forgive you because you are the reason I'm exiled from my home?"

“I wanted to kill you,” he admitted, bitter and broken. “Every day since you ran. I told myself I would, when I found you. That I’d put a bullet in your head between those soft eyes of you and I would bury every part of me you ever touched.”

Your throat felt tight, a war raging in your chest between anger and the ache of remembering the boy he used to be, the one who had lured you, before you met the man in the uniform, before the orders, before blood stained both of his hands.

“But I couldn’t,” Gabriel said, quieter now. “Even with the gun in my hand last night when you looked at me like I was a monster. I couldn’t fucking do it.”

You swallowed hard, blinking fast, heart pounding in your ears.

“You were my ruin,” he breathed. “You still are.”

And for a long, terrible moment, the silence stretched between you like a wire pulled taut.

Gabriel let out a sharp, humorless laugh, the kind of sound scraped raw from a man unraveling. He leaned back in his seat, eyes dark, exhausted, something hollow flickering in them.

“What am I going to do to you now?” he repeated, voice like splintered glass. “I should drag you back. Deliver you like they wanted. Let them finish what I couldn’t.”

Your fingers tightened on the edge of the table, pulse hammering. You forced yourself not to flinch.

“But I won’t,” he said, quieter now. “I don’t even know if it’s mercy or cowardice. Maybe both. Maybe I’m more afraid of what would happen to me if I stop knowing you existed.”

You stared at him then — really stared. At the man you once thought you came close to love. The boy who’d once sworn he’d never become one of them. And yet here he was, uniform or not, lost in a war of his own making.

“I don’t want your mercy,” you told him, voice low but unyielding, like a cut that didn’t bleed right away but hurt all the same. “And I don’t want your guilt. I don’t need your ghosts following me around to feel the weight of what’s already been taken.”

Gabriel’s jaw clenched, the flicker of something — grief, fury, longing, maybe all of it tangled together — crossing his face before he looked down at the table, fingers curling into fists.

“You were my ruin,” he murmured again, as though the words themselves might explain away the things he’d done. “I wake up every day wanting to hate you, and I can’t. I wanted to kill you… I still want to. But more than that, I want to disappear inside you. And that’s the worst thing, isn’t it?”

Your throat tightened. The room felt smaller, the air thick with everything unsaid, everything shattered between you.

“Then disappear, Gabriel,” you said, looking away, the rays of sunshine filtering through the window felt like the hand you should take to in order to escape. “But do it far from me.”

“And letting you to go back to that priest that easily?” he asked, making you freeze.

The words hit you like a stone to the chest, sharp, sudden, heavy. You froze, hand still on the edge of the table, the brittle morning light spilling in around you. Your heart twisted at the mention of Joel; at the blood you’d scrubbed from your hands but still felt beneath your nails.

Slowly, you turned, meeting Gabriel’s gaze. His face was a ruin of its own now, anger and bitterness, some frayed thread of old love barely hanging on.

“He has nothing to do with this.” you said, though your voice betrayed you, cracking at the edges. “Don’t bring him into this.”

Gabriel huffed a humorless breath, leaning back like he needed the distance or he might reach for you. “Isn’t it?” he asked. “It seems to me like he is the one thing you don’t want me to touch now, but he still betrayed you.”

Gabriel stared at you, and for the first time, he looked tired. So fucking tired. “Did you seduce him with lap dances? I mean, the priest?”

Your fingers curled into your palms, nails biting into skin as you fought the heat behind your eyes.

“I don’t have to dance for someone to care about me, Gabriel,” you said, your voice low, steady despite the crack threading through it. “Not everyone sees me as a fucking possession or a fucking prize.”

His jaw clenched, something flickering behind those dark, exhausted eyes. The veneer of anger, of bitterness, peeled back for the barest second, and you saw it — the grief beneath it. The part of him that would rather destroy you than admit he never stopped loving you.

“Don’t lie to yourself,” Gabriel said, his voice rough, unraveling at the seams. “You think he’s any different? You think he won’t leave you to rot the moment it stops being forbidden, the moment you become a liability?” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “At least I was honest about who I was.”

You shook your head, the ache in your chest too deep, too familiar. “You were a lying coward,” you whispered.

For a moment, the world felt painfully, terribly still. The cold air from the open door brushed against your skin like a warning, like a promise you hadn’t made yet.

Gabriel swallowed, his throat working around words he didn’t say. And then, finally, he managed “I should kill you.”

The words should’ve made you flinch. But they didn’t.

You held his gaze, your chin high. “Then why don’t you?”

The room hung on the knife’s edge of that question. Gabriel’s stare didn’t waver, his voice a low, brutal rasp. “Because you’re already dead.”

The words didn’t land at first. Not fully. But then he added, with a cruel, quiet finality,

“Your family. They killed them.”

The air left your lungs in a single, sharp gasp, the room tilting, blurring at the edges. You staggered back a step, your fingers tightening around each other like it was the only thing keeping you upright. You searched his face, desperate for a flicker of a lie, for some crack in the story — but there was nothing. Just Gabriel, emptied out, a graveyard of a man delivering another death sentence.

And he wasn’t done.

“So, you’re lonely in a foreign country,” he went on, the words like daggers dressed in velvet, “with a forbidden lover who traded you the first chance he got. It seems to me like you’re already fucking dead, mi amor.”

He smiled then, if it could be called that. A grim, bitter thing.

“You have nothing left.”

The silence that followed was a kind of violence all its own. You couldn’t feel your hands anymore. Couldn’t hear anything past the roar in your ears.

But you wouldn’t let him see you break. Not here. Not now.

You straightened, the ache in your chest molten, teeth clenched so tight your jaw ached.

“Then bury me, Gabriel,” you said softly, venom threaded through the tremor in your voice. It was breaking but you still keep going, “but you’re too much of a coward to do it yourself.”

“But you don’t get to touch Joel,” you said, and your voice was steady now. Dangerous in its quiet. “He had nothing to do with this. With you. With the rot in your heart, you keep trying to pin on everyone else.”

Gabriel’s jaw clenched, the muscle ticking there. For a moment, you almost thought he’d strike you. Or scream. Or crumble.

But instead, he laughed. A soft, empty sound.

“That’s where you’re wrong, mi amor,” he murmured, though his voice cracked on it. “The moment he touched you, the moment you looked at him like with love in your eyes, he made himself a part of this.”

You shook your head, “You’re still so desperate to make this about you,” you said desperate “What else do you want from me?” you sobbed.

His hand twitched against the table, a flicker of something — violence or grief, you couldn’t tell.

But you didn’t wait for the next venom-laced word.

“I swear to whatever gods are left, Gabriel,” you whispered as you point your finger towards him, “if you lay a single fucking finger on him—”

but you didn’t get to finish before a crack made your vision white out for a split second.

A strangled cry ripped from your throat as pain shot up your arm, blinding and immediate. Gabriel didn’t even flinch, his grip iron around your now broken finger, his face a mask of something monstrous and unrecognizable now.

“You don’t get to threaten me,” he hissed, his breath hot and sharp against your face, voice low and trembling with barely leashed fury. “Not after everything I did for you. Not when you made me like this.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not for him. Not for this.

“You were always like this,” you spat through the pain, your words shaking but vicious.

For a moment, something in his expression faltered, that flicker of the boy you once knew, the one who’d whispered promises against your skin in another life, in another world. But it was gone before you could name it.

He let your hand drop, your broken finger throbbing as it hung uselessly at your side. “Run, mi amor,” Gabriel murmured, almost gentle now, and it made your skin crawl. “You can run if you want but I know where you are.”

Joel's eyes fluttered open, but the world around him felt too bright, too harsh. He blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what he was seeing — sterile white walls, the faint beep of machines in the background, the scent of antiseptic heavy in the air.

For a moment, he just lay there, his mind tangled in confusion. Where was he? What had happened?

The dull ache in his head pulsed like a reminder, a warning. He shifted his body, but the pain stopped him, sharp and insistent. He groaned, wincing at the movement, his eyes darting around in a frantic search for something, anything that could give him clarity.

The beeping intensified, and a nurse came into view, her face kind but impersonal. She smiled at him. "You're awake," she said softly, though there was something about her voice that seemed distant.

"Where am I?" Joel's voice was hoarse, as if it hadn’t been used in days.

"You're in a hospital," the nurse replied, checking his IV. "You’ve been unconscious for a while, but you’re stable now."

He swallowed, trying to process her words. "What happened? Why… how am I here?"

She hesitated for a second, her eyes flickering with something unreadable.

“You were shot in the leg.” Carmen said, stepping inside the room. Her face seemed tired, full of anger, but also sadness covering her features. "You lost blood and ended up passing out. Billy and Mr. Langdon brought you here."

Joel's heart skipped a beat at the sound of Carmen's voice. His eyes flickered to her, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. His thoughts were still a jumble, but her presence brought a mix of relief and dread all at once.

"Billy and Mr. Langdon?" He repeated her words, confusion furrowing his brow. It was like his memory had been wiped clean, leaving him only with fragments of names and faces that didn’t fit together.

Carmen nodded; her face tight. "We were with you at the church."

He looked at her, his gaze searching, but her expression was guarded. She seemed distant, like there was something she wasn't saying. He wanted to ask more, about what happened, about her, about everything, but his mouth felt dry, and the weight of her gaze made his chest tighten.

"What about her?" His voice cracked, the question slipping out before he could stop it. He hated how weak it sounded.

Carmen’s eyes flickered to the side, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I don’t know where she is, father.”

The words hit him like a slap.

"What do you mean?" His pulse quickened, panic rising in his throat. "How many days…?"

Carmen shook her head slowly, her eyes avoiding his. "Five.” She breathed, “No one does where she is. There’s no sign of her. No trace.”

Joel felt his heart drop, his breath becoming shallow, like someone had knocked the wind out of him. Five days? It felt like the world was spinning out of control, slipping through his fingers. You’d been gone for five days, and he’d been lying here, helpless, trapped in his own body while you wherever you were—were out there out of his reach.

His chest tightened, the hospital room feeling smaller, suffocating. He wanted to push the covers off, to stand up, to search for you, but his leg, wrapped in bandages, screamed in protest.

"Where did he take her, Carmen? Where is she?” His voice broke, desperate, raw. His mind raced with images of her—her face, her eyes, the way she looked at him before everything had fallen apart. She couldn’t be gone, not like this.

Carmen’s gaze softened for a brief moment before she looked away, taking a step back. "I don’t know, father," she repeated, her voice quieter now, holding a weight of its own. "We’ve looked everywhere, but there's nothing. Just... nothing."

He could hear his own heartbeat thudding in his ears, the pulse of panic growing louder with each passing second. "I need to find her," he muttered, more to himself than to her, but Carmen was already shaking her head.

"You’re in no condition to do anything right now." Her tone was sharp, "You can barely stand. You need to rest. Let us help."

"Help?" His eyes blazed with frustration, though the pain from his leg and body was a constant reminder of his own weakness. "I was helping. I—I failed her. I need to fix this, oh my—Carmen. I have to find her."

His hands gripped the sheets tightly, and his gaze darted around the room, as if the walls themselves might give him an answer. There had to be something he could do. He couldn’t just lay here.

Carmen sighed, a long, deep exhale that carried the weight of everything she’d been holding in. She moved closer to him.

“How did Gabriel find her?” she asked, sternly.

“Do you know about him?”

She nodded, “I do, but that’s not what I asked. I asked how?”

Joel’s throat worked around the knot forming there, his pulse a jagged, uneven thing beneath his skin. He looked up at Carmen, her face hard but her eyes carrying something heavier than anger — fear.

“I—I. He came to me t one night, to my office at the church telling me he was looking out for his fiancé who ran from the wedding,” he rasped, though the words felt like a lie the second they left his mouth. His hands trembled as he dragged them through his hair. “I thought “poor guy” you know?”, for a moment he stopped, ashamed of himself,” Then he showed me the picture of the woman and it was her. I just felt so—"

Carmen didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stared at him like she could peel his words open and find the truth inside but that was enough for Joel to stop talking.

“I never knew he was a bad guy.” Joel said, his voice cracking, breaking open in a way he hated. “I was trying to help him.”

“By trading her as she was a fucking object?” Carmen asked quietly but mad enough.

Joel’s stomach twisted. A horrible, creeping thought clawed at the edges of his mind.

“Shit,” he whispered, his heart sinking.

Carmen’s eyes sharpened. “You better pray to whatever God you’ve still got left, Joel,” she said coldly. “Because if she’s dead because of you… I’ll finish what that bullet started.”

And for the first time since waking, Joel didn’t try to argue. He just closed his eyes, jaw clenched so hard it hurt, and whispered your name like a prayer.

“What do you know about this?” He asked. Heart breaking at the thought of you being in danger.

Carmen’s shoulders dropped, the weight of it pressing down on her, like she’d been waiting for this moment, for him to finally ask.

She pulled the chair closer, sitting down beside his bed. Her fingers tapped against her thigh, jaw tight, eyes distant like she was staring through the walls of that hospital room and into a past neither of them could outrun.

“I wasn’t supposed tell you this,” she said quietly. “But when you care about someone… you pay attention. You hear things you’re not meant to. See things people don’t think you’ll notice.”

Joel opened his eyes, turning his head to her, silent.

“Well, you know the part she is a ballerina dancer.” Carmen went on, voice low and steady, “She was a really good one, but she also was a really well-known activist too.” She went like she was reciting a ghost story she didn’t want to believe. “You know, things got dangerous for people like her or people who got another belief.”

Joel’s stomach twisted, his pulse roaring in his ears.

“Gabriel was a soldier, well he is.” Carmen whispered. “He was ordered to haunt her, to silence her, so he lured her somehow, but when she found out the truth, she escaped the country and she ended up here.”

Joel’s throat felt raw. “Jesus Christ…”

“And you know what’s worse?” Carmen’s voice cracked, anger bleeding through. “He didn’t just leave her with nothing. He told everyone she was dead. She’s been running ever since. Hiding in places like this, with people like us, because there’s nowhere left for her to go.”

Joel felt sick. All those moments, the way you never talked about your past, how you flinched at certain things, how sometimes your eyes went far away like you were seeing ghosts.

And him? He had just trade you over jealousy.

“She didn’t tell me all of it,” Carmen admitted. “But she didn’t have to. I could see it. And then you showed up… and I saw the way she looked at you. Like maybe… maybe you made her forget for a second.”

Joel let out a shaky breath, guilt gnawing at every part of him. “I never meant to—”

“I know,” Carmen cut him off, softer now. “But meaning doesn’t matter. Not to men like Gabriel. And if he’s got her now…”

Joel’s jaw clenched. “He won’t.”

Carmen met his eyes, a flicker of something like fragile hope in hers. “You are sinner but not for the reasons you think, Joel. You allowed your jealousy won and that doesn’t make you better than him.”

Joel winced like she’d struck him clean across the face. Because she wasn’t wrong. God, she wasn’t wrong.

The truth of it settled in his chest like hot lead, heavy and unmovable. He thought of every moment he’d let anger fester, every time he’d imagined you and Gabriel in the same room and let the bile rise in his throat instead of trusting you. How easy it’d been to believe the worst, to let jealousy twist him up until it swallowed everything else.

“I know,” he rasped, voice breaking on the words. “I know, Carmen.”

She looked away, her hand scrubbing tiredly over her face. “Then fix it,” she whispered. “You owe her that much.”

Joel nodded, jaw tight, his leg throbbing like hell but his mind already racing past the pain. Past the blood. Past the hospital walls.

“I’ll find her,” he said, more to himself than to Carmen. “I swear to God, I’ll find her.”

Carmen stood, the weight of grief and fury still clinging to her like a second skin. But there was something else too, the smallest thread of trust, like maybe, despite it all, she believed he could.

“She’s stronger than either of you deserve,” Carmen muttered, heading for the door. “She is better than any of those people in town.”

Joel’s eyes burned, but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. Not now. Not after everything.

“I know,” he said quietly, the words barely carrying in the stillness of the room. “I always knew.”

Carmen paused at the doorway, one hand on the frame, her shoulders tight and stiff beneath her jacket. She didn’t turn, but her voice reached him one last time.

“You’ve got one shot at this, Miller,” she said, low and rough. “If you’re gonna bleed for something, make sure it’s for her.

Then she was gone, leaving him with nothing but the steady beeping of the monitors and the unbearable weight of his own regret.

Joel leaned his head back against the pillow, his pulse hammering in his ears. He didn’t have a plan yet. Didn’t know how the hell he was gonna stand on his own leg, let alone go toe to toe with Gabriel. But none of that mattered. Not when he could still hear your voice in his head, the way you used to say his name.

He wouldn’t let it end like this. Couldn’t.

It felt like a lifetime, and somehow no time at all. You’d lost count of the hours, of how many times Gabriel’s hand had closed around your wrist, your jaw, your throat — not always in violence, but always in control. He hadn’t let you out of his sight, not even when he slept. Not even when he pretended to.

The motel room was suffocating. Peeling floral wallpaper, a humming air conditioner that barely worked, and one single window you weren’t allowed near. It wasn’t chains that kept you here, it was him — the way his presence filled every inch of the space, leaving no room to breathe.

He barely spoke unless it was to taunt, to remind you of what you lost, or of what he thought you owed him. Sometimes he’d just stare at you in silence, sitting in the chair by the window with a glass of whatever he could steal or buy, his eyes glassy and distant like a man already halfway dead.

You didn’t beg. You didn’t scream. Not after the first night.

Instead, you waited. Counting every blink, every time he closed his eyes, every time his hand went to the bottle, every time his guard dropped a fraction.

Because you knew one thing: no one — not even a monster like Gabriel — could keep this kind of storm at bay forever.

And when he did sleep, it wasn’t peaceful. He murmured things in Spanish, names you didn’t recognize, curses, threats. And sometimes… yours.

The motel TV played old static-flickering movies in the background — westerns, cheap thrillers. You’d started tuning them out. The real horror was in this room.

But no matter how much you tried to steel yourself, to lock away the softer parts of you that Gabriel hadn’t managed to carve out yet — his name still found you in the quietest moments.

Joel.

You told yourself you hated him. That you had to. That after what he’d done, after the way his jealousy had made you a pawn in Gabriel’s hand again, there shouldn’t be a single piece of you left that ached for him.

But in the dim hours before dawn, when Gabriel was passed out in the chair and the flicker of the TV cast restless shadows on the walls, it was Joel’s face you saw.

Not in the way you last saw him, bloodied and broken in the church when it all went to hell. Not in anger, not in betrayal. But in the way he looked the night he let you fall asleep with your head against his shoulder for the first time. The way his calloused hand brushed a loose strand of hair from your face like it meant something for the both of you.

Like you meant something important. And perhaps you’d been a fool.

Maybe in his weakness you made him sin and he despise you.

But you’d still clung to that warmth like a drowning thing, holding it close when the world wanted to rip it from your chest.

Even now when you should’ve wished him dead, should’ve cursed his name and vowed to forget him. It was Joel’s voice you heard in your head, rasped and rough. I got you. I swear. I love you.

And God, you didn’t know if he was okay.

Didn’t know if he was coming to save you from this.

Didn’t know if he even cared anymore.

But you still hoped. And that was the cruelest thing of all.

Because it was easier to survive when you believed no one was coming. When you told yourself you were already dead.

You pressed your face into your hands, the rough skin of your palms catching against the salt of your tears. The room stank of cheap liquor and sweat, of unwashed sheets and stale cigarette smoke, and the air felt so thick you could barely pull it into your lungs.

The sobs came in fits, shuddering, ugly things you’d tried to choke down for days. But tonight, tonight it all broke.

You cried for them. For your family.

For the mother who used to hum lullabies in the kitchen late at night, for the big brother who used to chase fireflies in the yard with you, for the father whose stern words somehow meant safety.

Dead.

They were dead and you wouldn’t get the chance to know see them or ever say goodbye.

Gabriel’s words had cut through you five days ago like a blade, and you’d pretended it hadn’t shattered something vital. Pretended you could outlast it, just like everything else. But it had festered inside you, a raw, gnawing grief that clawed its way to the surface now.

You cried for yourself too. For the girl you used to be, for the future you’d started to imagine, the one with stolen moments of peace and maybe, just maybe, love. A future that had Joel in it.

And you cried for your hand. Because somehow that stupid, broken, swollen finger felt like a final insult. Gabriel hadn’t taken you to a hospital. He hadn’t even wrapped it. Just left it to throb and pulse and turn shades of bruised purple and blue, a small, constant ache to remind you of what he could do.

The bone grated against itself when you moved it, and it made you dizzy with pain, but you clung to that pain. Because it meant you were still here.

Still alive.

And maybe that was the cruelest thing of all too.

You curled in on yourself on the edge of the bed, knees to your chest, trying to make yourself smaller than the grief, smaller than the hatred in Gabriel’s eyes, smaller than the crushing weight of being so utterly alone.

“I miss you,” you whispered into the dark. You didn’t know if it was meant for your family, or for Joel.

Maybe both. Your chest ached, the kind of ache that felt endless, like it might outlive you.

A soft, broken sound left your throat. You didn’t know if it was a laugh or a sob.It filled the stillness of the room, and you didn’t even have time to swallow it down before you heard the scrape of Gabriel’s chair against the floor.

His voice came from the corner, low and coarse. “Why are you crying, cariño?”

You didn’t answer at first. Couldn’t. Your throat felt like it had been scraped raw, and your face was wet, the tears burning your skin. You just sat there, staring down at your lap, your good hand cradling the one he’d broken days ago.

The pain had changed over the last five days. It wasn’t sharp anymore, it was a steady, deep, nauseating throb that never really left, radiating up your wrist, making your whole arm feel useless and heavy. The bruising was worse now, swollen and dark, the shape of your finger misshapen.

You lifted your hand, showing it to him without a word.

The light from the old motel lamp caught on the mangled joint. The swelling, purpling skin. Your hand shook as you held it up, but your gaze stayed on him.

For a moment, Gabriel didn’t say a thing.

He just stared at it. At you.

And something flickered there, something too tangled to name. Regret, maybe.

“That why you’re sniffling like a little girl?” he asked, voice dry, like the whole thing bored him.

He took a drink from the glass in his hand, the ice clinking against the sides.

You didn’t answer. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

“Are you gonna fix it?” you asked hoarsely, your voice a scrape of gravel.

His brow twitched. He set the glass down on the nightstand with a heavy, deliberate thunk and stood. The room felt smaller as he crossed it, each step measured and unhurried.

He crouched in front of you, too close, smelling of whiskey and smoke and the sickly tang of sweat.

His hand came up, fingers brushing your wrist like a threat disguised as tenderness.

He smiled at you, “Okay, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. The words sounded like a trick, like something sharp wrapped in silk. He smiled when he said it, but it wasn’t the kind of smile people wore when they meant to help.

It was the kind predators gave right before they sank their teeth in.

“Why now?” you rasped, the words catching in your throat. You hated how small you sounded; how desperate you felt to cling to any scrap of hope and how sick it made you at the same time.

Gabriel’s smile stayed, but his eyes flickered, something colder, something careful.

“Because if I don’t,” he murmured, fingers grazing up your wrist toward your swollen hand, “you’ll lose it.” he shrugged, that easy, cruel nonchalance he wore like a second skin. “I figure you’re not much good to me all busted up like this.”

You swallowed hard, bile burning the back of your throat. It wasn’t mercy. It wasn’t guilt. It was practicality. You were his, a possession, and even a broken thing had to be kept in working order.

“Get your shoes,” he said, standing up. “We leave in five.”

You didn’t argue. Didn’t waste words. You just moved stiffly toward the corner where your worn boots sat, forcing your uninjured hand to tie them while your broken one throbbed in your lap. Every movement made your vision swim, but you bit down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out.

Gabriel pulled on his jacket, grabbed his keys, and opened the motel room door, letting the stale night air rush in. The moon hung low and thin in the sky; the parking lot empty except for his beat-up truck he had rented.

“You try to run, I’ll break the other one,” he said casually, like it was nothing.

You didn’t reply. You just stepped out into the night, the cold hitting you like a slap, and followed him toward the truck.

But something in your chest stirred, a flicker of defiance even under all the fear and grief.

Because five days was a long time to be kept in a cage.

The hospital lights were too bright.

After five days in that cramped, suffocating motel room, they made your head pound, made your eyes sting. The antiseptic smell hit you hard, thick with bleach and something metallic underneath. You kept your gaze low, shoulders hunched, following the line of Gabriel’s shadow across the faded linoleum floors.

A nurse at the front desk gave you a curious glance, her eyes lingering on the bruises you hadn’t bothered to cover, the way your left hand hung limp and swelling. But when she met Gabriel’s stare, cold and hard like a wolf daring her to speak, she looked away.

“Broken finger,” Gabriel grunted, shoving paperwork at her. “Get it done quick.”

You barely registered the words. Your mind was a storm of noise and memory, a face, dark eyes you still dreamed about even when you tried not to, a voice that rasped your name like a promise.

I swear, I got you. I love you.

Joel.

God. Joel. You thought about him the other night at the church. About his leg and if he was okay.

You could almost feel him in the walls of this place, like a phantom. A brush of breath down your neck, a tug in your chest that you couldn’t explain. Like somewhere close by, something you’d lost was reaching back for you.

But you didn’t look.

Hope was a dangerous thing, and you couldn’t afford it anymore.

Two floors up, Joel lay in a hospital bed he hadn’t allow to leave yet. Carmen had forced him to rest, but sleep wouldn’t come, not with his mind stuck in loops of.

what if, where is she, what have I done.

The steady beeping of monitors, the faint intercom calls, the distant squeak of gurney wheels.

And for one dizzy second, he thought. He thought he caught a scent he knew better than his own

The faint trace of your perfume, buried under smoke.

He turned his head, pulse kicking hard.

Nothing there.

Just a nurse walking past.

Just a shadow at the end of the hallway.

“You’re losing it, old man,” he muttered under his breath.

But he didn’t stop staring at the door, some instinct deep in his marrow telling him that you were close.

And you were.

Less than thirty yards away.

A different wing. A different hallway.

But fate was cruel, and timing crueler.

And the storm hadn’t broken yet.

You were in a cold hallway, feeling the coldness of the air freezing on your skin, the same one that still craves the touch of the same callused palms that welcomed you to daylight the moment you were looking for it the most.

You still crave Joel’s touch on your face, his fingers wrapped around your own.

You missed his eyes finding yours across the room, sharing a secret language only both of you could understand.

And you missed him despite all.

But his cold eyes sliced your heart in half and you still waited for the moment.

Under the same moon.

Tags < 3 @jasminedragoon @mandaloriankait @jellybeanxc @spencercmlover @lilac-boo @disco-fairy75 @correapunk @existentialdreadofhumanity @secretcheesecakenacho @laliceee @exzidss @missladym1981

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[tryingtofindava]

── 𝐌𝐲 𝐃𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐉𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥

A Twitch streamer and a YouTube vlogger start interacting online, and the internet can’t look away.

a/n: this is modern day tlou au, these are just headcanons but I might make this a series :P

: ̗̀➛Back to source

{[Streamer!Ellie x Vlogger!Reader]}

╰┈➤ 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

You first take notice of Ellie when you come across one of her twitch clips while doomscrolling on TikTok.

It’s a clip of her absolutely raging after losing a game in the funniest, most unhinged way. You watch it three times because her reactions are hilarious and weirdly charming.

You don’t even realize she’s a big streamer. You just think, “Who is this angry little goblin and why is she so entertaining?”

So you fall down a mini rabbit hole, watching her highlights, and funny clip compilations, then finding her Twitch.

You start putting her own for background noise while you edit your vlog videos. Of course having to turn the volume down when you do voice overs, though you can always hear her tuned town voice yelling as she keyboard smashes.

One day you comment on her TikTok post,

Xx.y/n_l/n.xX: You’re the human version of a broken controller and I love it.

And Ellie is IMMEDIATELY interested in you, since she doesn’t really ever have verified accounts comment on her videos who aren’t her other streamer friends.

Ellie recognizes your username, vivid memory of your overly cutesy vlogs popping up on her YouTube feed as she searches for new games.

Ellie likes and replies,

RageSaurusRex: Takes one to know one

On stream, she casually mentions you, “Apparently some YouTube vlogger called me a broken controller… solid first impression.”

After that, you both lowkey stalk each other’s content. Ellie watches a few of your vlogs while pretending she isn’t invested. She especially likes your get ready with me posts. While you still watch her chaotic Twitch streams, trying not to laugh out loud when she accidentally says something stupid.

The mutual stalking goes wild.

In a random Twitch stream, you pop into her chat and she immediately notices. “Wait. No way. Xx.y/n_l/n.xX is in my chat? Mods, behave.” It’s playful, but her ears turn red.

Safe to say her chat went crazy as she perfectly pronounced your user with no thought at all, perfectly memorised.

Ellie slides into your DMs after the stream, casual at first… well, casual to Ellie’s standards anyways… sending you memes so unfunny they turn out hilarious and it quickly spirals into an ongoing conversation that never really stops.

╰┈➤ 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

Ellie’s streams are mostly chaotic, she likes playing bloody and violent video games, with lots of graphic content. But if you ask her to play more relaxing games she hops on that shit so fast you have no idea.

Suddenly the games she plays on stream are more chilled out, but she somehow makes peaceful games rage inducing. Though she still likes to play her violent games… she likes to throw in some Animal Crossing and A little to the left, just for you.

And you start mentioning her in your vlogs, maybe you are filming a ‘find stuff at the thrift with me’ video, and come across a guitar, Savage Starlight comic, and dinosaur plush and casually mention your online friend liking that stuff.

And your viewers IMMEDIATELY know who you’re referring to. This is the moment where fanbases start to merge.

Everyone goes crazy when Ellie calls you on stream to invite you to play a co-op game, and who are you to say no?

The first few minutes of gameplay are filled with awkward jokes, Ellie trash talking her own gameplay as she mines, and both of you getting caught up in a whirlwind of laughter.

By the end of the stream, fans are already making jokes about you two being ‘that couple’ even though you’re just starting out as gaming buddies.

So now you and Ellie have a little series on her Twitch channel of your guys cute modded Minecraft world.

After the collab, Ellie occasionally drops little comments during her streams, like, “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll let Y/n win this round. I’m that nice.” Her fans eat it up. They tease her, ‘Are you just trying to impress them?’ and Ellie plays along, dramatically rolling her eyes. It’s all an inside joke, but the fans are certain something more is brewing.

You and Ellie have this natural, easy back and forth relationship. Teasing, bickering, laughing at anything and everything. Feels totally unforced too.

Viewers eat it up, clipping every little moment where you two banter like an old married couple and the editors go crazy editing your cutest and funniest movements.

You guys get close very quickly, though you are complete opposites, you guys get on so well. And your viewers notice this, clipping every moment you two mention each other on your channel or her streams. Making cute compilation videos.

Makes people question if you two could maybe be more?

After the first few collabs, you and Ellie start messaging off-stream more often than you did originally. Late-night Discord calls, sending each other dumb memes, casually complaining about trolls and the stress of your uploading schedule … until it starts feeling weirdly personal and real.

You and Ellie fall into a natural rhythm of playful teasing. If Ellie messes up, you’re quick to call her out, “I’m pretty sure I could’ve done that with my eyes closed.” And she comes right back with, “Maybe you should! It’d be an improvement!” There’s no real tension, it’s all fun and games.

But fans definitely start noticing how comfortable you two are with each other.

Off-camera, Ellie is way softer. She sends you voice notes with her raspy laugh, asks you for recommendations for songs she should cover with her guitar on live, and lowkey gets jealous if she sees you post content with someone else.

The line between online friends and something more gets messier every day. Little inside jokes turn into flirty comments. Your chats get longer. Your smiles get a little too genuine on camera.

You’re in the middle of an co-op, and Ellie jokes, “You know, I think we’d make a great team… in life.” Your response? “Right, as long as you promise not to scream my ears off.” Chat erupts. Clips start circulating of the back-and-forth, with comments like ‘Are they secretly dating or just the most iconic duo ever?’

Sometimes, mid stream, there’s this tiny pause after you say something sweet, Ellie wants to say something but doesn’t. And chat definitely notices how her freckles cheeks get a bit more rosy.

Also, even when you two aren’t playing together she always somehow manages to bring you up. She casually mentions your name in her streams, “I was playing with Y/n the other night, and you know, they almost didn’t completely suck. Almost.” Her chat immediately lights up with comments like ‘Aww, they’re cute’ and ‘is this wuh luh wuh?’.

Yeah, you guys definitely could be something more.

╰┈➤ 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞

And people ship you guys so hard, everyone in her chat always asks about when she’ll stream a Minecraft video with you again they practically demand it, and she always laughs it off saying something along the lines of: “She’s got her own channel to take care of, chat. Go watch her vlogs if you miss her.”

A few fan edits appear, showcasing moments when you and Ellie are too comfortable with each other. One fan edit has a side-by-side of you two laughing, with the text “When you realize you’re lowkey in love with your gaming partner.” The comments go wild, including one that reads, “They’re definitely dating, there’s no way they’re not.”

They start shipping you two so much that the hashtag #EllieAndY/n quickly trends on Twitter, even though you two are just friends… for now.

People go crazy when you guys comment on each others instagram posts, especially when she calls you pretty on your most recent post. Your fanbases start colliding faster than expected. The crossover is hilarious, with Ellie’s followers getting curious about your YouTube content, and your subscribers discovering her Twitch streams.

Fans put together compilation videos of the ‘cutest moments’ between you two, including Ellie pretending to be offended when you win a round, her leaning into the mic to yell your name in a faux-dramatic way, and both of you staying up past midnight to finish a game. The fans add text like ‘#CoupleGoals’ and ‘Best. Duo. Ever.’

A flood of fanfiction starts to appear in your comment sections, all based around you and Ellie being an unlikely couple. One fanfic is called ‘Unlikely Duet’ where you two play games and bicker, but end up falling for each other after a series of increasingly ridiculous gaming mishaps. Readers comment things like, ‘If they’re not together in real life, I’m going to riot.’

╰┈➤ 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐑𝐋

People start speculating on how you posted on Instagram a photo of you at the airport, theorising how you could potentially be letting each other??? Maybe???

Of course they were right.

Ellie starts one of her streams where she just talks to her viewers, and it’s only a few minutes in when she announces she has a special guest.

And pulls you into frame on an old spare gaming chair she has. Her chat goes CRAZY. Even some of your viewers joining her stream.

The stream lasted only half an hour before she ended it. And it mostly consisted of you two giggling and smiling at each other as you talk about random stuff.

Not even two days later you list on your YouTube a vlog titled, ‘Travel with me to Seattle’.

And the blog consisted of you travelling the first few minutes, until you finally meet Ellie in person, giving each other a big hug. (imagine the cutesy edits).

The rest of the video is you and her meeting some of her friends while you film everything cool you could find in Seattle. Until you end it in her film room.

Now, after maybe half a year of just speaking online you guys do everything you can while you’re with each IRL.

Posting on instagram, taking photos together.

Getting on with her friends, Jesse and Dina, who when you aren’t around, tease her about you. Safe to say Ellie may have developed a little crush…

“You’re set up is way cleaner then I thought it would be.” You casually mention as you look at her fancy gaming set up. “You thought it’d be messy?” She laughs at you, nudging you as she lets you play some of her games. (She won’t tell you she cleaned her whole apartment for you staying over for a week.)

When she’s dropping you off at the airport to go home she gives you a big hug that lasted a little too long for friends..

“I can’t wait to do this again.” You whisper in her ear, arms around her neck, your suitcase and bag carelessly left on the ground as you say your goodbyes. She let out a chuckle, shaking her head. “Yeah, me too.” Her freckled cheeks heat up.

And after your year long online friendship, and a whole week of being together in person, you guys share your first kiss in the airport.

It was just a complete coincidence when one of her viewers recognises you two and takes a sneaky photo and post it on twitter.

WAIT STOP I LOVED WRITING THIS SM!!! SHOULD I DO MORE BUT ITS THE START OF THE RELATIONSHIP???

[houseofthedragonn]

MY LIEGE I HAVE RETURNED, day two of requesting CREGAN STARK MY BELIVED (you’re gonna be sick of him if I have my way 😈). PLEASE follow upmyour AMAZING PIECE OF ART where it’s like the day after or smth and Cregan goes, “oh wait what about honor” and kinda feels guilty because “technically” and on paper he just took readers maidenshead or smth (boo period typical sexism but whatevs) and some shenanigans happen and they get married or smth PLEASE IT WOULD BE SO FUNNY and like reader gets picked up by her brother and Rhaenyra goes, “where have you been” and reader just goes, “secured the troops, got married, the usual” so casually that the Queen just… blanks, and goes, “wait WHAT”. AND THANK YOU ONCE AGAIN FOR BLESSING MY TIMELINE AHSHDGDJJSHSHS

if i’m your liege you’re my favorite vassal and cregan is our beloved🫶NEVER sick of him ever���ty! oh i can see this…

THE KING, Cregan Stark x

jace’s older sister!reader

SYNOPSIS / (part 1) rhaenyra hounds jace about your whereabouts after bribing him to leave early so you could be alone with cregan. flying to winterfell themselves, they see you did not need saving, and are rather at home there…

WARNINGS / you and cregan fucking like rabbits in winterfell after your first night together at the wall. STARK BREEDING KINK is universal in fics idgaf !!

“GODS BE GOOD, WE SHOULDN’T KEEP DOING THIS, love…” Cregan tried to no avail in dissuading ourselves from pre-marital sex.

Utterly ravenous for one another after our first time together last night. And my first time with any man like that. I knew he worried about my maidenhead as he spent all night long into the morning, in between fucking me, apologizing for ruining my honor. Stark insisting he just could not help himself under my spell. To which I used to my advantage again and again, and again.

“Cregan, never apologize… not for making me feel so good. Besides, I lost my maidenhead years ago from horseback riding. But I’m honored you were the first man to bed me. I want no one else to have that honor but you alone. So please do not feel guilty…” I pleaded with Stark, running my hands through his long dark hair he had untied. The half he had tied back before now falling in his handsome face all loose.

Just like our limbs in his big featherbed, under the wolf’s fur blankets. Keeping us warm in Winterfell’s cold, with the large, crackling hearth in the corner of his spacious chambers. As Lord of Winterfell and Warden—Wolf—of the North, Cregan got to do as he pleased. And if that meant staying in bed with me all day after the long carriage ride back from Castle Black, his servants did not bat an eye. Even at the curious fact that the alleged Velaryon Princess of Dragonstone now seemed to be the de facto Lady Stark of Winterfell. Who they greeted and tended to just the same, as their future queen. Their lord in like to be my King Consort.

“Alright… but what if you’re pregnant? Surely you might be after how many times we…” Cregan trailed off, tracing the flesh of my breasts with his fingers again, distracted.

“You’re right, I may be… so what are you proposing, my love?” I teased, rolling on top of him to straddle his hips with mine.

Before sinking back down onto his cock after just having finished what must have been our seventh round since the first last night. Not stopping until the sun came up, and still going even now. As sunlight crept in through cracks in the wooden shutters of the windows to his chambers. Casting shadows on the cold stone floors. Stark moaned my name as his hands gripped my waist. I rolled just how I learned he like in that short time. Mere hours we spent tangled up in each other felt like years and seconds all at the same time. And all I knew is I wanted it to last decades. Forever if it could. I stayed like that and didn’t move until he answered.

“Gods! I’m proposing we do not raise a bastard… let us get married, my love… marry me, my pretty Princess, please…” Cregan practically begged as I rode him. My hands pressing against his muscled chest and I lifted myself up and down on his hard, wet cock with my gushing cunt. Only getting wetter at the sound of him begging me to marry him.

“Fucking hells, yes! Of course I’ll marry you, my handsome husband…” I whined, rutting my hips against his, still wanting more, wanting to drain him dry. And felt like I was with how hard I clenched around his cock as he came again after a while from how sensitively overstimulated we both were, coming so many times in a row.

Stark sat up and held me tight, with me still sitting on his cock, sat in his lap. Cregan could not help fucking up into me from that new position as he rode out both of our highs as mine came crashing down soon after. With his strong arms wrapped around my waist and lower back, holding on for dear life. I brought my hand down to my clit after he whispered in my ear.

“Touch yourself for me, my wife…” Stark snarled, hot breath on my neck as he attacked it with more love bites bruising my neck.

I did, just how I liked when his fingers did, circling my clit. My orgasm was reached soon after, crying out Cregan’s name as I squeezed him tighter than I had the whole time we spent in bed together. My nails dragging down his back turned red and raw after I did so all night long.

“Seven fucking hells… yes, Stark! Fuck me hard like how you fight…” I panted as my pussy went numb from how hard he pounded into me. My head falling on his shoulder I bit to try and ground myself, Cregan not minding at all in the slightest. Actually getting rougher, harder, and faster in his thrusts when I did as he loved it. Loved looking down to see the marks we both left on each other.

“You’ll never want for that, my wife. You shall have it, always. As now our only job is to breed our heir…” Stark said with a wolfish grin bigger than any smile of his I had ever seen.

“Breed me then, husband…” I smiled down at him as I felt another orgasm of his building by how he twitched in me. Cregan let go at my words, and his warmth washed over my insides as he pressed his hand down on my belly to feel how deep he reached. Making me let go like a river washing over him. We rode out our highs like a pair of rabbits before messily climbing off of him and collapsing to lie beside Stark again.

“I plan on it, wife…” He breathlessly teased. “I never thought I could marry for love. Not until I met you, Princess… I always thought duty is sacrifice and love the death of duty but you’ve shown me… we can have both. My grey beards are well-honed and they will fight hard, like Northerners, for your mother… for you. Even more so after we marry. After you are their Princess of Winterfell.” Cregan rambled with a smile and I swore it was the most I heard him speak since meeting but mere hours ago. Love at first sight.

“I like the sound of that proposal, pretty boy…”

And so we did just that. Eloping in a small ceremony in the godswood. With only our servants and my handmaidens as witnesses. Weeks after meeting, neither of us caring how sudden it all was as we were certain we were right for one another. Enjoying our honeymoon alone in his chambers, where we most often found ourselves no matter the time of day. He pulled me in for another kiss as his pounded inside my pussy for hours on end.

“Fuck! You feel so fucking tight every time, love, gods…” Cregan cooed in my ear as his muscular chest pressed against my back, pressing me into his featherbed. Fucking me like a mad dog. Sounds of our skin slapping against each other echoing off the stone walls of his chambers.

“Seven fucking hells, you’re just so big, Cregan…” I whimpered into the fur blankets and pillows I bit to tether myself to reality as everything spun.

I felt every inch and vein of Stark’s cock moving inside my pulsing walls. Milking his throbbing, thick length of every drop of his seed he gave him with each release every time we came. Crying each other’s name as he chased our climaxes and rode out our highs. Bringing his hand around to circle my clit and squeeze my tits. Kissing the back of my neck and biting my shoulders in return. Until we were all fucked out. And took a nap. Only to start again when we woke up tangled in each other’s limbs. Still covered in each other’s come. Sliding his cock back in me, we got a rhythm going. Chasing our umpteenth orgasm of that hour alone. Pulling him in for a kiss.

Until we were rudely interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Gods, who fucking dare disturb us?” Cregan growled in my ear, before the door swung open.

“Brother! Mother…” I embarrassedly greeted them, pushing Stark off of me faster than I ever have, usually never wanting him to leave my walls.

“Apologies, my Princess, they barged in with their dragons and insisted we show them to you…” My poor handmaid explained as I held up a hand to stop her, as it was not her fault.

“Don’t worry, Wylla… just leave us, please, I’ll call if I need you.” I excused her before starting to get dressed. In only Cregan’s cloak and my chemise underneath. Whereas he hurriedly in a panic pulled on his tunic and trousers under his featherbed’s fur covers.

Dishonoring the Queen’s daughter was not the first impression he would have liked to make on his mother by law.

“So this is where you have been… in some great Lord’s b ed when we are at war!” My mother chastised me before I could tell her the good news.

“Aye. Lord Stark and I have been sharing his bed. After we got married and I secured you your troops you need to win the war. Which you’re welcome for, mum…” I would not let them make me feel embarrassed before my husband in what was now our chambers.

“Well, the least you could’ve done was send a raven to let us know you’re alive, sister!” Jace added onto our mother’s scolding, before my words finally hit her.

“Married?!” My mother incredulously could not believe the news, as she always believed me to be too headstrong and stubborn as she was. Believing I would never marry as she did not, if I could not for love. But now I could.

“Yes,” I said proudly, grabbing an abashed Cregan’s hand, his handsome face red. His beard finally having started to grow back in some stubble on his chiseled chin. “Married…”

“It’s true… I never wished to dishonor your daughter, Queen Rhaenyra. It’s just… we fell in love.” Cregan could hardly meet my mother’s gaze, but Jacaerys and I could not help but find the whole exchange amusing.

“Fell in love or lust at first sight?” My mothered demanded an answer, and I could not help but roll my eyes.

“Can’t it be both?” I jested, as that was the most honest answer, my honorable husband already rubbing off on me.

“Well, yes, I supposed it can be…” My mother relented after a while, and after seeing how clearly in love we were. If the state of our messy chambers smelling of sex was any indication. “And I suppose a well done is in order, seeing as you single-handedly secured Stark troops to fight against the Greens. And made a formidable political marriage match all on your own. I am truly happy it is also for love, my daughter.”

“As am I,” I smiled up at Cregan, forgetting of my mother and brother in the room once more as I pulled him in for that kiss before we were so rudely interrupted.

[graytodd]

What are your headcannons for pre-relationship dickjay?

Example: mutual pining, who confesses first, is one of them dating someone else, are they friends, don’t realize their feelings, etc?

Ooh, I love talking about my headcanons 🥂✨

I like to think that Jason's first and only crush is Dick Grayson !! it starts like a puppy love when Jason was young ofc and after he comes back as RH, Jason realizes his feelings aren't changed, unfortunately! but Jason's too insecure, inexperienced, uncomfortable in his own skin; Dick'd never like someone like him right? in my hd Dick's a man who prefer casual hookups after two failed long-term relationships and thinking of Jason confessing first would be unlikely. So them flirting and banter, until they find comfortable with each others again is another hc of mine ~ their pre-relationship is so messy; constant misunderstanding, unresolved issues, but there are tho brief period of calmness, tranquility, when they're in their own world, when they challenge themselves, sparring as foreplay! they're both stubborn and proud, a slow mutual pining is in their core.

Jason is freedom, sarcasm, intoxicating and stimulating; Jason loves challenging Dick's inner critic, that negativity he hides behind several masks, that part of Dick only Jason knows. Such a breath of fresh air! Eventually Dick realizes he can make Jason blush and he's captivated, totally obsessed. Dick cannot stop to tease Jason, light-hearted banter that drift into a playful flirting making Jason feel vulnerable, as young (and pretty) as he is. Dick's that safe haven to take refuge, a spark of light, he usually means comfort and protection, but when Dick smirks all savage and inviting and dangerous, Jason cannot help to indulge him lol

These are mostly my main pre-relationship dickjay headcanons, thanks for asking dear anon ~

[firstkanaphans]

wandee goodday anon reporting back, i enjoyed it so very much. loved the characters, loved the dynamics, wanted to punch dr ter in the nose a few times. i loved that there wasn't a episode 11 of doom?? and how generally light and colourful the show is, both in mood and visually especially as i watched never let me go (phuwin's kissing is my enemy but that's off topic) just before lmao, the contrast was something else.

i also was delighted to have a side couple that a) was established from the start and b) only had drama totally unrelated to their relationship and stayed wholesome and loving each other the whole time, cher bestest boyfriend/brother in law/son in law/gym manager 💕💕.

the whole one night stand to fwb to fake dating thing in 2.5 episodes was hilarious and so was the fake dating to swimming in denial for about the whole rest of the show taking about one or two episodes, thank god yak got clarity soon enough because i would've tried to punch him too but he ended up having the patience of an angel. i was highly entertained that being seen in a same sex relationship as a public figure was a problem for him that lasted a whole 5 minutes too.

dee is the loveliest bean and i love a character who stands their ground when the person who rejected them just magically realises their feelings when a new love interest appears, like how many times was ter basically told to get lost ffs.

oh right i also love a forgiving parents for things that are actually forgivable moment because i've had enough of the shittiest parents of the decade in drama-land crying over their faults for a minute and the kids are like yknow what it's okay i don't mind about the trauma you gave me anymore ✌️🤪

had fun spotting a few places from other shows (golf's gay café, vivi's place in love sea -love what they did to it btw, dee's place might be one of my favourite fiction apartments-, boston's pace) and had even more fun laughing at emi's hair extensions, who did that to my girl?? and that ~american~ champion whatshisname's thick ass french accent.

all in all, 10/10 show, greatinn are wonderful together, might rewatch in the future, can't wait for the memoir of rati heartbreak (i was already looking forward to it bc of actual plot reasons but now that i've seen the guys in it can act good and kiss pretty, it's all bonus points).

I'm so glad you liked it! Sorry it took so long for me to respond to this. I was actually in the process of re-watching Wandee Goodday myself and wanted to finish it before I answered this ask. It's such a good show and stands up very well even on a rewatch.

Since you watched after the fact, you avoided most of the fandom drama, but when I tell you people hated this show and yet continued watching week after week just to shit on it. It was one of my more bizarre fandom experiences for sure. Like I get why there was drama surrounding Only Friends. I don't get why there were such a visceral reaction to a cute little romcom.

The highlights for me were the incorporation of casual sex into the narrative in a way I felt was realistic and, of course, OyeiCher who still have my whole heart. Emi's extensions were an absolute travesty.

One thing I did notice on my rewatch which I missed the first time through is that Yak often switches his polite particle to "ka" when talking to Dee, which is very soft and flirtatious. The reason it stood out to me is that I've noticed Great does this with Inn too and I wonder if it was his choice to change the dialogue rather than something that was in the script?

Memoir of Rati only has 2 or 3 Qs left, so I'm hoping we will get it by June. I have a lot of faith in this screenwriter and am very excited to see GreatInn again because I miss them terribly 😭

[polyamorousmood]

Fuck...

Ok so, I have a heck of a dilemma here, and I apologize if this is the wrong place to vent/seek advice about this, because the only thing specifically poly about this is the fact that there happens to be a polyam relationship involved here.

But anyways, I have these couple I'm friends with who I've recently started dating. Going to call them... L and V. And I have a best friend who I'll call S. Everyone involved I've known for years now.

Niw things have been going absolutely magically with L and V, I have no problems with the relationship. It's something that kinda started out casual, but may actually be headed in a more serious direction bc the longer we date and talk to each other, the more it really seems like we're falling more and more in love with one another. Communication has also been crystal clear and impeccable, probably my only complaint is how far away they live lol.

Now um, the issue however, is my best friend... S.

I went to celebrate the news with her shortly after this all began... and she told me a pretty awful story about some stuff that V did to her. I will spare the details, but essentially this was sexual harassment and bullying, and it had a very profound effect on her...

Now, I would have broken off the relationship then and there... However, the tricky thing about this is it happened when they were like 14. Nearly a decade ago. So long ago that V literally had a different name and pronouns back then.

She is not the same person she was when she did these things, and she hasn't been for years and years.

It seems wildly unfair to her to judge her for this behavior, which is so disconnected from the person I know her as today. Additionally having spoken with L about this, she confirmed that having known about this story, she has kept an eye out through the years the two of them have been dating, and she can corroborate this with her own observations and judgement, which I trust immensely.

Yet at the same time, I can completely understand S's feelings on the matter and why she wouldn't want to forgive her for what happened, it would also be unfair to her to dismiss these feelings when they clearly hold have had such a profound effect on her.

(Like, I was real piece of shit too when I was 14... I would feel so distraught to have that brought back up against me now as a different person, but ar the same time I would understand why someone I hurt back then wouldn't want to speak to me.)

Now, at first it seemed like it may be possible to thread the needle here.

I talked this out with each of them, and I established some formal rules and boundaries to keep V away from S, and make sure my relationship here doesn't bring them into contact with each other. V even quite graciously volunteered unprompted to step away completely from all of our mutual friends.

And for a time S seemed satisfied with this, it seemed like we could move forward.

But now that some more time has passed she's come to me again, and appears to be changing her mind. She seems upset with me for having continued with this relationship, and is now stating that she doesn't think she can continue to be friends with someone in a relationship with L or V.

And, frankly I just feel exhausted about this whole situation at this point.

I've skipped over a good amount here but I've been thinking about and discussing this for weeks now and just, fuck....

I really don't want to have to choose between these relationships...

S and I have been best friends for years now, and my relationship with her is one of the most precious in my life. I love her immensely.

Meanwhile what's been happening with L and V has felt like a dream come true, I've also been friends with them for years, and I feel so happy with them, and I also love them quite dearly. It feels like exactly the sort of thing I've needed in my life for a while now and I just, I feel, almost angry that events have transpired such that this joy is being ripped away from me,,, (even though I that this not the crux of the issue).

I feel like if it really comes down to it, I need to pick S, because then I at least get to keep L and V as friends. But honestly it just feels like such an impossible situation. Even if I did that I don't know how I can just, put away my feelings for them like that all of a sudden...

To complicate matters even further, some additional points I didn't really know how to fit in:

- S has also been experiencing a pretty severe mental health crisis at the moment, unrelated to the present issue. Her emotions and intensity towards these issues seems to vacillate quite dramatically day to day, which makes engaging with this make me feel nervous and unpredictable.

- L and S are also exes, though this relationship was brief and it happened years ago. It ended on terms which I would describe as neither amicable nor acrimonious, with neither party really at fault.

- V does not dispute that this happened, but does have what seem like very plausible objections to some of the details in S's account.

- I have also been in a bit of a bit of a mental health episode with some of my own issues, as I write this I'm going through a couple different med withdrawals because I lost track of my prescriptions, had a bout of substance abuse the other day (which is unusual for me), and generally just kinda feel like shit, I am not just emotionally exhausted because of this, but from my own issues, and actual physical exhaustion. I feel nervous to engage at the present moment, because I'm not in a great headspace but S also clearly seems to want to talk and I've already been deferring that conversation, I don't want her to feel like I'm ignoring her.

I just feel so fucking lost... I don't want to lose anyone... and my plate is already so full with my own neuroses and fuckups, I just feel... Numb.

Yeah, that's A Lot. I'm sorry all this is weighing on you, and being overwhelmed is absolutely the normal response. 🫂

I'm gonna keep it real with you, man, I'm not able to tell you what to do here. What I will do, though, is raise some points I think you should consider moving forward. I hope it helps you sort through everything.

Can you handle this right now? Frankly, it sounds like maybe the answer is "no". If so, are you able to take a step back? Can you go a stretch of time without talking to either "side" while you get your bearings and stabilize yourself? Do you have a therapist or very strong support system outside of S, L, and V? If not, you need to get that set up yesterday

Will whatever you choose be permanent? Since you think S is more sensitive to this than usual, is it possible to step back from one side or the other for a while while S stabilizes? (Also how long will that take and can you handle it?) Then look at reintroducing or ramping back up whichever the other one was when S is better equipped to deal with that?

Can you talk to S openly? Can she help you understand why its so hard on her even with the limits you've already put in place? Have you explained that while you understand S was seriously hurt she has no mandate to get over that, it also feels incredibly unfair for you, a party who was not involved, to hold something a decade old over the head of someone else, and that it feels unfair you're being forced to choose sides in that? If you can't now, will you ever?

Spinning off of that, how will it impact your friendship with S that she put you in this situation? Especially if you're not able to talk it through with her about how shitty if feels for you. As much I consider myself a gracious person, I personally would absolutely hold a grudge against that friend forever despite my best efforts. You said you felt you'd "have" to choose S if it actually came down to it, but would that even save the friendship with S? I'd hate for you to choose that and then have your own resentment spoil the friendship anyway, but maybe you're a much stronger person than I am in that regard.

How you feel about sneaking? Don't get me wrong, this is no one's first choice, and this is not necessarily a recommendation. Could you pull it off to keep L and V your dirty little secret? Do you want to? Would they? Can what S doesn't know hurt her?

What are the odds S is okay (and stays okay) with you staying friends with L and V? Has S said explicitly that was okay, or does she expect you to cut off contact when/if you stop dating them? If she is okay with you staying friends, can she explain what that difference is and why it matters to her? Might her feelings on that change like her feelings on you dating them (or something akin to dating them) did? What do you do then?

How are V and L doing with all this? How understanding will they be to your choices?

Will your choice, whatever that may be, set a precedent? Do you like the precedent it sets? Are you prepared to deal with future issues under the precedent you'd be setting now?

Lastly. There is a lot of potential progress that could be made by S talking directly to V and clearing the air. It sounds like V would be willing to apologize for a lot of stuff, and maybe closure could be had. But it also has the potential to go very bad, and fast. With S being less than stable, it might not even be something you want to float by her. But I have rarely seen things get 100% resolved without that, anecdotally, so if its not an option, be prepared to buckle down for the long haul. If that is an option, consider a moderator, and make sure that moderator is someone other than you or L.

Okay. Breath time. That's a lot, so take a sec here to regroup. Do something to reset. Get a drink 🧃 or wash your face🧑🚿 or image search "hamsters in hats"🐹👒. Like for real. The rest of this answer will still be here when you get back.

Once you're refreshed... I do have a little bit of actual advice. Its not the core problem, but in my experience, these will be integral to preventing additional spiraling. I'm tired of the bullet format, so I'm going to try each point in its own font. If that doesn't work with your eyes, maybe copy/paste into a notepad or notes app and it should make it all the default font.

Do not talk shit on S with V&L and vice versa. Find a neutral third party to vent to. If all your friends are involved, get a new one or a therapist. Do not vent to one about the other. When you have to tell them about something, prep them that you will be doing so, keep your tone neutral, and own your decisions. For example, you will NOT say "S is making me break up with you" to L or V. You MAY say "Its very hard on S for me to be seeing you right now, so I am considering taking a step back from both of you."

Try not to let shit fester. That is very difficult when you've got to balance another's precarious mental health (ask me how I know. Actually, please don't). But if you're fucked up by something, you have a right to respectfully discuss it with the relevant person. If you're going to be mad or hurt, it will make things worse long term if you never say something. That shit earns compound interest (please don't ask me how I know) so you gotta make sure you pay it off quick. If you consider something a sacrifice, the other person should know, and they should show you some amount of gratitude for making that sacrifice. Watch yourself if you're the type to lose your temper that it doesn't slide into berating, guilt-tripping, etc. But you can and should talk about how its affecting you.

Let people know ahead of time, when you can, what things are likely from you in what situations. "I may have a few days of radio silence if I get overwhelmed," for example. This applies not just to L, V, and S, but your other friends as well.

The End

Those are the big points. There are always a lot of things to juggle when its messy like this, so you'll have to forgive me if I overlooked something. You'll also of course have to use your own judgement. In addition to my normal "see your therapist" reminder, I feel the need to add in this case: you don't have to be suicidal to utilize your crisis line of choice📞. You can call just for emotional crisis, or if you're considering using, or if someone ELSE is in an emotional crisis and you don't know how tf to deal with it. I'm not gonna plug any particular hotline here, because its very easily googlable, but I recommend choosing one to have saved in your phone, even if you're sure you'll never use it.

And with that out of the way, let me once again offer you my condolences. Its a shitty place to find yourself, and resolving the situation will also probably be stressful. But that doesn't mean its eternal. It will be over with eventually, one way or another, and you will stand on the other side. So deep breath. Godspeed and Good Luck. 🫂🍀

[dessarchive]

enhypen reality⠀𝜗⠀🌼 🌸 🌺 & 🪷 !!

had to send the two blossoms because it's my favorite song of theirs :3

EEE thank you so much amie for the ask (btw blossom is in my top three enha songs hehe)

🌼 : BEAUTIFUL BLOSSOM . . . what do you find most beautiful about your significant other(s)? what about that aspect of them is so beautiful to you? and in turn what do they believe the most beautiful thing about you is? why do they think that way?

his eyes. it’s how i realized i was in love with him when the moonlight sparkled in them. when he smiles they get even prettier like how?? i cry and cry and cry cause they literally hold all the stars and the moon in them and i could look into them forever and never get bored. his favorite things about me are my voice and my smile :3 (going to sob again so i have to :3 my way through this) he says my voice cause it’s calming to him and he loves to hear me sing. he’s always one of the first people i show my new songs to and i become the yapper of the century when we’re together so it makes me so :’) that he loves my voice so much. i’ve always been scared of annoying people by talking too much so it’s reassuring. he says my smile cause “it brightens his day even if he’s had the worst day all he has to do is look at me smile and he’s okay” mind you he said this so casually while we were eating in-n-out on my bedroom floor 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

🌸 : COMPASSIONATE CHERRY BLOSSOM . . . has your significant other(s) gotten you anything that has become really meaningful to you? have you gotten them something that has become really meaningful to them? when was the gift(s) given? what is the story behind them? have you scripted it as an object you have in your current reality so you feel more connected to them?

i can think of two special things he’s gotten me which are my necklace with his initial and the lego flower set that we built together. i’ve been obsessed with call it what you want by taylor swift since reputation was released and jake always memorizes the little things so he got me the necklace for my 20th birthday. the lego flower set was bought on a whim while we were grocery shopping. he’s gotten me flowers almost every week since we started dating and when we got these i asked if he’d still get me flowers and he said yes and i don’t know why but it made me really emotional 😭

🌺 : HELPFUL HIBISCUS . . . how do you and your significant other(s) personalities react to each other? are there times where you bump head about stupid stuff? or do you and you significant other(s) seem to blend together?

we blend really well together but we love to playfully bicker especially when he acts like the freaking grammar police like GET AWAY FROM ME. he’s so dramatic and when we’re together it’s worse like there’s so many reiyun being dramatic complications on youtube… he started it!!! we’re also the type to laugh in the worst situations 💔 do NOT put us in the same room if you want us to make a video or talk about something serious. we were doing a try not to laugh challenge for en-o’clock and jake and i were fine until we got to each other… we didn’t even do anything except move spots towards the camera then we spit water on each other at the same time then proceeded to bicker about who won… ME obviously.

🪷 : LOVELY LOTUS . . . do you and your significant other(s) do any "cheesy" stuff? like having matching pajamas, matching halloween costumes, and picnic dates? or building the flower legos, cooking together, baking together?

the fact i already talked about the flower legos and didn’t realize it was a part of this question LMAO anyways cooking and baking has been a prominent thing for jake and i since we were in middle school. we’d come home and immediately cook or bake a snack (mac & cheese, ramen, popcorn, and chocolate cake were the core four 🙏) but it’s a little different now because i’ll wake him up at 3am cause i want chocolate chip cookies or brownies!!! we always do couples costumes because halloween is taken VERY serious in our household. our first year as a couple we went as johnny and mavis from hotel transylvania (our fave childhood movie), victor and emily from corpse bride the next year, then morticia and gomez from the addams family, and flynn and rapunzel from tangled :3

[cogniizaant]

hello hi I love your writing🔥🔥🔥🔥 you should write some more Froggy stuff, like possibly with an affectionate reader? /nf

THANK YOU SO MUCH ANON i'm very flattered and i'm so glad you requested. and im also sorry i saw this a bit late i hadn't checked my laptop when i had left work yesterday. anywho enough about me i would be happy to write more stuff about Froggy. these will also be headcanons kinda so i hope you're cool with it.

i ran out of related banners so quick.

Froggy x Affectionate!reader HCS.

It's definitely shocking for him at first and you might have to ease him into it. I wouldn't say he'd be unfamiliar with affection or anything, but rather just used to more toned down expressions of it. SO, if you're the type to go all out with declaring your love for him, do be prepared for his initial reaction to be a bit more timid.

He'd never fully get used to it. It'll be that one thing about dating you that he can never fully get accustomed too. One minute you guys are talking, having a casual conversation and then you just out of nowhere turn to him, hugging him until your faces are pressed against each others as you remind him again for the umpteenth time that day that you love him. He'd shiver a bit, but struggle to fight back a smile as he pats the arm wrapped around him. He actually really likes hearing despite how hesitant he is to say it back. It's not that he doesn't feel the same, because he does. He's just too embarrassed to say it back. He's also a bit embarrassed of how easily you can get to him. He's obviously not the calmest guy ever and he's relatively outspoken with his feelings, but it's for him to get this giddy over another person is crazy to him. None of his past relationships were like this at all. He's the type to say he's a 'grown ass man' whenever warranted but has to cover his face and stop himself from giggling and kicking his feet whenever you're with him.

On any special holidays, he's learned to brace himself and be prepared to wake up to enough gifts to cover every birthday for the rest of his life and then some, or an expertly planned date for the two of you that you've curated every aspect of since the year prior. He might think it's a bit too much at times or complain that he won't be able to get him anything of equal value. If you respond in anyway saying he doesn't need too and that you're doing this strictly because you love him and you want too, then he might call you corny. He doesn't mean it at all, it's just to distract you from the fact that he's super flustered over it.

On the topic of gifts, whenever he gives you anything he's finally accepted the fact that you will have the most over the top reaction ever. He's gotten tackled and smothered with kisses enough times to know there's no curbing your excitement. He's honestly grown to enjoy it, and even anticipate it. I think he'd be pretty attentive and would do his best to remember what you like so he can get something aligned with your interests with you. He feels proud that he's able to make you happy even though he still feels that his gifting abilities are subpar in comparison to yours.

"Hey, it's nothing. Really. I just remembered you said you liked that show." "Froggy, I love it so much. I've never been gifted anything this great before ever in my life. I swear I'm going to craft a ring with my bare hands and propose to you with it one of these days." "How am I supposed to respond to that?!"

A lot of your conversations go like that. You're so insanely nice and loving towards him it genuinely throws him off so much. The gears in his brain stop turning every time and he has to manually restart them. He enjoys it a lot, but questions himself often on whether he's built to handle this. You're able to say how you feel to him so clearly and consistently and he can barely respond back without blushing and stuttering. You make him really nervous, but in a good way. You could have been dating for decades, now. Married, even. He'll still get flustered over you being affectionate with him either way. It's like a never ending crush on you.

He's very wary about letting you meet his colleagues. You all would probably get along very well, so that is not his concern. He can't let anyone see him in that state. Well, with the exception of you, of course. I mean, how can he retain his authority then? In reality, none of them would say much about it, though it would be a shocking sight. You cannot convince him of that, though.

Overall, Froggy will never be unsure about your love for him, so good job on that. He loves you back. He's just working up the courage to say it with a straight face.

[writing-whump]

On the train

We are starting the road trip! Have some sick Rip at the train with Dylan and Hector.

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" Hector said, chewing his lower lip.

"Totally sure," Arnie repeated.

"Absolutely and completely?"

"Urreversibly," Arnie said with a grin.

"I don't know. Isaiah is finally feeling better, the trip is a great opportunity to spend quality time with him..."

Arnie lifted his hands. "Go and enjoy it. I'm glad you guys are reconnecting."

"You should be reconnecting too."

"You need it more. Besides, it's basically a wolf road trip."

"I'm taking Olive to meet Isaiah. He is taking Seline. They are historical tourist cities. Enough space for humans."

"It's gonna be all couply and cheezy. I won't stand in the way."

Hector must have looked pathetic, because Arnie's expression softened.

"To be real with you, I'm really okay. I don't believe you are neglecting me or leaving me out. I want to try to have two weeks for myself without your check ins and control and random bursts into the place."

Hector eyed him sceptically. "That makes me want to go even less. What do you want to do without my supervision?"

Arnie stuck his tounge at him. "No parties, passing out drunk or doing drugs. Swear. I'm gonna be responsible."

Hector frowned, looking down.

A sigh from Arnie. "Hex, I love you, man, but you are smothering me. I'm trying to make friends outside the freaking pack and I can't have them over, stay over and you scare whoever stops by the door. Please, just go."

"Arnie..." He didn't know what to say. It made sense. It also made his chest heavy with panic and dread.

"We are gonna figure something out, okay? I'll look into apartments-"

Hector jumped up from where he had been leaning against the table. "What-"

"Two apartments," Arnie cut in. "Two. Next to each other. So you can hover behind another wall, if you won't allow me the student dormitory. And honestly, this could solve crap for you too. You spend most of your waking time with Olive in that tiny place, cause you can't bring her over to the pack base. You need a place where you can be together and you can keep me safe. Perfect solution."

"I have no idea where such a place could be," Hector said dryly, looking away in shame. Maybe he really did spent a lot of time with Olive now. He hated he couldn't have his two most important people at one place.

Sure, he did get Arnie and Olive together from time to time and they were on good terms. But he couldn't bring Olive to the pack as his human girlfriend. Not as his chosen partner. It was dangerous and risking an upheaval he wasn't ready to deal with. He needed more people in his corner first.

Plus, it would put Olive in danger too. Uncomfortable at the very least. He didn't know how to explain what being with him would entail...and if he could, he would spare her from it for as long as it was possible.

"I can't believe you're gonna leave me alone with Rip," Hector said, cause it was easier than acknowledging the rest.

Arnie watched him knowingly though. "It's not gonna be so bad. You spend 2 days in the car with him last summer. A one day train ride will be much easier."

"That's just the first part. I thought you would be there keeping me company."

"You will have Dylan and then Isaiah, Sel and Olive waiting for you there after the flight. You won't even notice the guy for the rest of the trip."

"That would be too soon. I don't like him."

Arnie chuckled. "I don't think so. You are jealous, but that's not really his fault, is it?"

"I know. It's Isaiah's."

That earned him an eyeroll. "Jeez. One of these days, you could also stop thinking about relationships in hierarchies. People don't just get replaced, they create new roles for themselves."

The younger boy leaned into Hector's side casually. "I'm so not worried about Olive replacing me or whatever you keep stringing up in Hector-fantasy-land, okay? Go and enjoy the trip."

...

Rip wasn't particularly happy about the travel arrangement either.

On one hand it was cool they didn’t have to take an extra car for him. And that this wasn’t a training trip but a real holiday kind of thing.

Rip loved travelling. He had managed to criss-cross most of Europe on his own — on top of trains, hitchhiking rides, walking the backroads. He avoided crowds and tourist traps, sure, but he could move through cities on top of roofs with his parkouring skills just fine.

Being invited like this—being trusted enough to tag along with Isaiah, Seline and Dylan—it was unbelievable. He was still getting over his excitement and disbelief.

Okay, not trusted exactly. Isaiah probably wanted him as backup. Extra eyes and muscle. Someone who could move fast, stay alert, cover for them if things went south. Maybe, maybe, Isaiah felt a little safer with Rip watching his back when he wasn't at a hundred percent.

That was fine. Rip could be useful. He wanted to be useful.

It had been a couple of weeks since Isaiah's hospital release and he had reassured them all he was ready—which they had believed, once Seline confirmed it.

Rip was glad just to be included. He would bring his best game. Be sharp, strong, effective. Maybe if he proved himself enough, Isaiah would trust him again on future trips. Even the ones involving wolves.

Especially the ones involving wolves.

The last half-year under Isaiah’s care—going with him to meets, not just lurking in the shadows—had been so different. Like someone had pulled a blindfold from his eyes.

He hadn’t even realized he had gotten used to living like that. Half-blind, half-feral.

Isaiah was helping him see it.

Rip had thought he didn’t miss wolves. Or company. But being seen—being able to walk through crowds without shrinking, to meet the eyes of those who would have spat on him before—it was different.

He had fought for survival, for his right to exist, wherever he went.

But now he could walk among wolves who once judged him an outcast and a waste of oxygen—and face them directly.

It made him feel dangerous. In a good way.

Not that he knew what Isaiah was really after. The guy moved like he was playing three games at once, seeing five different meanings where Rip barely caught one. Held ten agendas, eleven sets of cards.

Rip didn’t get it. But somehow, Isaiah always ended up helping people. Even the ones no one bothered with.

It was...something to see.

Isaiah wasn’t perfect. Wasn’t even easy to read most days. But what he was building—whatever this was—it felt solid. It felt good.

Rip wasn't supposed to think about that. As long as wasn't betraying strays and he wasn't hurting anyone who didn't piss him off nonetheless, he didn't give a shit about what he did. Feelings really had nothing to do with life.

This was new. Risky, even. He wasn’t sure what the hell was happening to him. But he knew this much: He wanted to stick around and see what Isaiah did next.

...shame he was stuck with Hector of all people in the train. They had their own compartment, so it was just Rip, Dylan and Hector. Even with the six seats, it felt way too crowded.

Rip offered to come on his own. He could hitchhike the trains just fine, thank you. But then Dylan said he would come with him and Isaiah shook his head in that exasperated way...but nobody wanted to make it difficult on Isaiah so early after his recovery and there was no way Rip could handle a flight.

So here they were. In the spirit of being helpful, Hector offered to take the train with them, sending his girlfriend ahead with Seline and Isaiah to fly for one hour, instead of riding the night train.

Rip honestly wondered how long this pretense would last. Someone with such a fiery temperament as Hector wouldn't take long.

On most days, Rip considered himself quite resistant to most things. But he didn't like loud, explosive people demanding attention and things to be their way with that implied or else.

Hector fit that to a T.

"I'm telling you, trains are the most comfortable rides," Dylan said, getting comfortable over two seats next to Rip. "Rode them for half of my life. You can move more than in a car or plane, you are way more steady, there are snack bars. What's not to like?"

Rip had to admire how unconcerned Dylan was. Crowds of people filling the train in the other compartments didn't seem to register to him at all. For all looks and purposes, he acted like a real human.

Dylan's shadow was so tightly suppressed that Rip could barely feel it. That had its own kind of limitations. Getting in touch with it would take a couple of days. But it was more than fitting for a two-week road trip through Italy.

Hector scoffed. "The best is obviously the car. You can control the ride, stop and go off some predetermined path. That's why we are getting a rental car, when we arrive and you two are both going to be okay with it."

Dylan rolled his eyes, which was precisely what Rip wanted to do. Someone should remind Hector that he wasn't in charge of them, like with every other wolf in his life.

Someone other than Rip, preferably.

Rip crossed his arms, like that would keep Hector out. He didn’t want to need him for anything. Mildly disappointed by not having Isaiah there was one thing, but he couldn't even talk with Dylan like he wanted to. Not with Hector staring at Rip the way like he wanted to have a fight Rip couldn't retaliate.

Urgh.

Dylan wasn't bothered. Got himself earphones and kept showing Rip some kind of game on his phone that made Rip's eyes hurt.

The stray wolf was content to get some sleep. If Isaiah was there, he would want to show off and be alert and helpful. But with Hector eager to be in charge and Dylan's shoulder against this, he didn't care.

Rip wasn't sure why he was feeling so sleepy. He kept yawning, although he could go less than 4 hours of sleep a day and be fine for a couple of weeks—something Isaiah wouldn't allow him, anyway.

It was unsettling, feeling this sleepy with Hector right there, glaring and scowling.

There was this pressure behind his eyes though. When the promised snack handling mini-bar came over, Dylan cheerfully took over their orders and got sparkling water, coffee, croissants...

Rip wanted to share into Dylan's enthusiasm, but the smell of the croissant and coffee repelled him. Settling on sipping the sparkling water, he couldn't understand the feeling of unease that was drying his throat.

The sparkling water wasn’t sitting right.

Half an hour later, his stomach sloshed with every lurch of the train, bloated and tight. The compartment felt smaller by the minute, buzzing like a tin can full of bees.

Rip shifted in his seat, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Heat pulsed under his skin.

Tried to forget the noise, the motion, the way Hector’s scowl seemed to scrape against him even when he wasn’t looking. But the heaviness behind his eyes wouldn’t go away. And every breath tasted like iron and heat.

Rip leaned his elbow on the armrest, pressing his forehead into his palm.

The coolness helped, a little.

At least until the train jerked again and the nausea sloshed back, hotter and heavier.

He shifted, trying to breathe slower. Maybe if he focused on the window—on the blur of trees and concrete flashing past—it would ground him. He rested his forehead lightly against the glass.

The cold bit into his skin, but it wasn’t enough. The buzzing in his ears didn’t stop. Neither did the sickly heat pooling deep in his stomach, twisting like a rope pulled too tight.

He heard Dylan laughing beside him, tapping something on his phone, chatting about a game Rip wasn’t even registering anymore.

He didn’t have the air to answer anyway.

Rip closed his eyes, trying not to look obvious, trying not to draw attention.

Dylan didn’t notice. Hector sure as hell wouldn’t care.

The pressure behind his eyes had turned into a pounding throb now.

Each sway of the train sent another wave rolling through him—heat, cold, nausea, dizziness—until he didn’t know if he could stay upright.

He gritted his teeth. Counted down stops in his head.

Tried to convince himself it wasn’t that bad. He just needed to last a little longer.

He elbowed Dylan into the side. "H-hic-how much longer?"

Dylan blinked, pulling out one earbud. He checked the time on his phone. "Uh... two hours down, about five more to Bologna, if everything’s on time," he said easily. Then he turned properly toward Rip, frowning. "You good?"

Rip nodded, which was a mistake. The world tilted sideways for a second, the heat in his face flashing hotter, making his stomach clench. He jerked his head away, pressing it back against the cold glass like it could pin him there, hold him still.

"Yeah," Rip muttered hoarsely. "Fine."

Dylan didn’t look convinced.

"You’re pale, man. Like...ghost-level pale," he said, peering closer.

He lowered his voice. "You gonna be sick?"

Rip tightened his jaw. He hated the question. He hated the hiccup that slipped out again when he tried to answer.

"I’m good," he said through gritted teeth. Mostly because if he said anything else, he wasn’t sure he’d keep it together.

Dylan didn’t push, but Rip could feel his friend hovering now, his easygoing buzz replaced with a low, sharp awareness — the kind only wolves could slip into when something was wrong.

"Uhm," Dylan said, voice sarcastic now, "you say it, but you don't look it. Just lemme know if you need-"

Another hiccup cut him off, rough and wet in Rip’s throat. He hunched lower, elbow slipping off the armrest as he pressed his fists against his mouth.

The train rocked slightly, and Rip swallowed hard against the rising bile. The sparkling water sloshed miserably inside him, his stomach cramping up in waves.

"Obviously not fine," Hector said dryly. "Get him into a bathroom before he throws up all over the seats. The train's too full to find a new compartment of our own."

Somewhere beyond the pounding in his head, he registered Dylan getting to his feet, dragging him up by the arm.

Rip wanted to snap back, but the words wouldn't come. The train lurched and he lost his balance, stumbling sideways into the seat.

A strong hand caught his arm at the elbow.

Hector.

Rip flinched instinctively, but Hector just steadied him with a grim, impatient look. "Get a grip," Hector muttered under his breath.

Dylan was already at the door, sliding it open and peering out into the corridor. His eyes were blown wide and he was glancing at them and back, as if not sure what to do, how to best intervene. "Bathroom’s two cars down," Dylan announced. "Come on. You can make it."

Rip tried to push himself upright, but the movement made his vision gray out around the edges. He swayed—and Hector caught him again, this time gripping his shoulder with a steadier, almost awkward firmness.

"Move it," Hector said, quieter now. Not as angry, just brisk. Far cry from Isaiah's calm, gentle tone, though.

Rip swallowed down another hiccup, the taste of bile burning higher in his throat.

The train lurched, stronger and faster than he'd expected, throwing Rip sideways. His vision was all out of sorts, stomach in turmoil, insides practically wringing together.

Dylan was too many steps away, hurrying towards the bathroom and then jumping back for him.

"D-" Rip coughed, then gagged into his hand. Another violent lurch. He couldn't catch his balance at all, shoulder hitting the door of another compartment hard. He squeezed his eyes shut, sweaty bangs falling into his vision. "S-stop moving so fast- I can't-"

"Okay, okay," Dylan said, suddenly appearing by his side. He hooked his arm around Rip's, giving him something to latch onto. The walk was painfully slow, Dylan holding into the railing in the hall while Rip held onto his sleeve like a lifeline.

Rip retched into his hand, the sparkles climbing up his throat, but managed to swallow it back down. It made him stumble, legs all tangled up.

Dylan grunted with the effort of keeping them upright. "Almost there."

The bathroom door loomed ahead, just a few steps more, and Dylan kicked it open with his foot.

Rip basically fell inside against the small sink built into the wall and sank to his knees painfully. The moment he was sure they were inside, disgust shivered through him like lightning from the sheer crampiness. And his body gave out.

He lurched against the movement of the train, seeing stars as the water rocketed out of him. His stomach squeezed and he groaned as his breakfast made a reappearance into that dark grey toilet.

"Christ," Dylan cursed beside him, trying to fit his long limbs inside the bathroom. He had to keep it halfway open.

Rip was panting over the toilet, not feeling better at all. He burped up another mouthful of bread crust, wrapping an arm around his gurgling middle.

"You are okay, man. Did the sandwich from morning-"

Rip whimpered at the mention, pressing his forehead into his elbow. "D-don't talk about food..."

The toilet flushed above him. Shortly after, Dylan lowered himself next to Rip, rubbing between his shoulder blades. "What brought this on? We did the same thing all day...if you aren't allergic to Hector, that is. Totally fair."

That should have made him laugh, he knew, but all he managed was a hitch and a queasy hiccup. "I still feel so sick, D."

Dylan squeezed his shoulder, his hand warm. "Now that we are on it, do you like, get motion sick?"

"I didn't before..."

Dylan pressed the back of his hand to Rip's cheek from behind. "Well, you aren't feverish, so that's the only explanation I got for now."

"G-got something that would make it better?" Rip's stomach rolled along the train, a whole new wave of nausea crashing over him.

"Not here, I'm afraid. We can get you something for carsickness when we stop." Dylan sounded as mournful as Rip felt. "I'm sorry."

Rip just groaned, curling tighter against the cabinet. This was going to be a hellish ride.

[sakachichi]

Drabble!Nanami

Yall ever think of Teacher!Nanami? Because I always do, and this is how I imagine it 🤓 picture this, two high school teachers; fairly young, single, and very in touch with their students. All the kids at school love them, their classrooms are right in front of each other, and every morning when you and nanami open your doors, he waves and you wave back — smiling briefly at each other. You can’t lie, he’s handsome, but you’ve never thought that you’d fall in love with him. In the beginning of the school year he introduced himself to you since you were new, he seemed so professional and respectful, he told you if you had any questions/problems to feel free to contact him. You thought he was so sweet for that and thanked him, and that was it, no further conversations just small casual waves throughout the day. During the faculty Christmas party he saw you sitting alone, drink in hand as you observed everyone around you, he walked up and politely asked if he could sit next to you — you agreed.

“How are you liking the school so far?” He asks, voice rumbling as you sip on your drink. “Uh well, everyone’s very kind, and it’s a lot calmer than my last school.” He nods as he engages in more small talk, later wanting to get to know each other a little more. He found out you were the same age as him, and that you had gone to the same high school as him. “Really? I don’t remember you-uh not in a bad way..” he raised a hand as he reiterated his stance, “no no it’s okay, I was very shy, I didn’t have many friends.” You say giggling, “ooh I see. The world is so small isn’t it?” You nod, muttering a small yes. After the party, Nanami would come by your classroom to say hello and goodbye, his smile small but still so captivating. Slowly he began to fall for you, the way you carried yourself, how nicely dressed you always were, hair always pinned up, your enchanting perfume, and your makeup — so polished. So beautiful.

His everyday greetings went from small polite compliments, and sometimes he would bring you a coffee or a sweet treat to “get through the day.” The harder he fell for you the harder it was to suppress his confession, he knew he couldn’t break that code, the relationship between you two should remain highly professional — he can’t pursue you in any way. But one day you came in, hair down, curled and teased to the gods — hair bouncing with every step you took. Heels clacking as your perfume followed behind you, you wore a black pencil skirt and a blue button up; similar to his. A few buttons were left untouched, but still keeping it modest enough for school. He was already standing at his door, leaning against it, and when his eyes landed on you he held his breath. You looked amazing, as you stopped at your door to unlock it, you turn to wave your fingers at him, “good morning Mr.Nanami.” you say with a smile, “g-good morning…” he replies back, your words knocking him back to his senses.

As the day went on, he kept looking over to your direction, watching as you greeted students, as you laugh with them, and how serious you look when you were teaching — there’s no way he can hold back anymore. After the day ended he went over to knock on your door, it was already open as he popped his head in to make sure you were inside, “hey…” he called out to you, you instantly turned and smiled at him, “hi, come on in!” You chimed, hand pointing at a chair in front of you. Now Nanami wasn’t a shy man, he’d like to think he was rather confident and liked to be straight up with people. So why is he feeling extremely nervous right now? As he sat down on the chair he let out a shaky breath, hands on his lap as he cleared his throat. You tilt your head to the side, expression concerned, “every okay, Nanami?” The way you say his name sends him over the edge, it just rolls perfectly off your tongue he fucking loves it.

“I was just wondering if you’d like to go to dinner with me?” He straight out asked, “if it’s okay with you — this weekend…” your eyes widened, a smile creeping up on to your crimson lips. “Finally you asked!” You say clapping your hands once, slightly leaning in. He flinches a bit as he grins, “you’ve been waiting for me?” He sounds shocked, but should he really? I mean the signs were there, and you were sure he couldn’t miss them. “Ever since the Christmas party, actually,” you reply, your tone velvety and soft, “after that I’ve noticed how you changed your behavior towards me, I wondered if you noticed the same in me…”

Nanami chuckles, arms now crossed over his chest, muscles threatening to burst out of his sleeves, “honestly, I thought you were just being nice.” He chuckles nervously, “but now I know.” He smiles, that usual smile he always flashes towards you, “this weekend works just fine, Nanami.”

“Great I’ll pick you up!”

Heheheheh hi 🤤 I’ve fallen for nanami 🤤 anyways lmk if yall want a part 2 cuz ik u want it 😈🙏 (I’ll post the part 2 anyways lol) happy Saturday primas 🫶🫶🫶

[anime-fan-05]

HII, good afternoon!! I hope your having a wonderful day! I been meaning to ask a request, you don't have to answer it if you don't want to! Can you do YYH of the main cast (+ Jin, Koenma and Botan!) Of this one comic I found. Like how they react, how they feel, and would they let it happen again? It's this one!

Yu Yu Hakusho ~Receiving kisses from their girlfriend with different lipsticks~

Manga/anime: Yu Yu Hakusho

Warnings: nothing

(Y/N): your name

I divided the headcanon into two parts: second part is here (it'll be posted in a few days).

U. Yusuke

At first, after you ask him, he'll act like a boaster, saying something like: "Oh? You want to kiss me so much you make up games like that, dear? All you had to do was ask..."

Nevertheless, after receiving the first kisses, which he'll have reciprocated with passion, squeezing your hip with one hand and cupping your cheek with the other and hugging you tightly at the end of each one, he'll start to be a little overwhelmed, and in the end he'll arrive almost in the same state as the man in the picture

In fact, with a racing heartbeat and a red face, he'll collapse on the sofa or a chair, with his lips and cheeks all covered in lipstick or lip gloss smears, almost completely inert

It'll take him some time to recover from your "assault", and even the following days he'll continue to think about you and your kisses

He would definitely do it again, but he'll have to admit to be a little uncomfortable asking you, so he'll try a more... indirect approach: for example, he'll bring up the topic in the most casual moments ("Ne, (Y/N), how about you give me some kisses afterwards? Don't worry if you still have your lip gloss on!" "Yusuke, you're in the middle of a fight, do you think it's appropriate to bring up a topic like that?!")

K. Kazuma

He'll immediately accept your offer to kiss him with a different lip gloss or lipstick each time: after all, they'll be free kisses, so why would he refuse?

Every time you two kiss, he feels his knees buckle and his heart beats twice as fast as normal, so imagine his reaction to a flurry of twenty kisses in the space of a quarter of an hour!

He'll be literally identical to the man in the picture: he'll reciprocate the first kisses with passion, but then he'll start to blush and cover his red face with his hands out of embarrassment, and he'll also have to sit on the sofa or on a chair because his legs will no longer support him standing

He'll definitely want to repeat the experience, and he'll even buy you a hundred new lipsticks to convince you to do it again (seriously, stop this guy before he squanders all his savings to buy them for you)

"(Y/N)-chan, could we do the lipstick test again? We've a few new ones to try, and last time we didn't even find the perfect kiss-proof one, we absolutely can't leave this problem open!"

Kurama

He'll look at you curiously when he sees you bring a huge amount of lipsticks and lip glosses to the table in front of the sofa and look at him with hopeful eyes

Then he'll chuckle, shaking his head, after you make your request; he'll sit on the couch and look at you expectantly

Every time you kiss him, he'll smile sweetly on your lips and hold your waist; if you expect him to show some embarrassed reaction, you're very wrong because, if there's anyone who will be embarrassed, they'll be you

At a certain point Youko might take over him; he would aggressively squeeze your waist and growl possessively at your kisses, which would become much less chaste than Kurama's ones

If you want to try it again, he'll let you, but he won't be the first to ask to do it again; the most he'll do is buy you more lip gloss or imply he wants to ("Awww, thanks, love! How did you know I was missing this color?" "I remembered it from when we did that kissing experiment. By the way, don't you think the color looks good on the skin? Would you like to try it?")

Hiei

As soon as you propose him the experiment, he'll answer with a firm no: "Absolutely not. What's this other human oddity? Do you really have nothing better to do than invent stupid things?"

However, after your endless pleas, he'll give in to your request, also because it'll have actually intrigued him a little, only he won't have wanted to appear too enthusiastic so as not to undermine his reputation: who would ever have feared him anymore if it had been known he was hanging from your lips for your kisses?

In fact, he's crazy about them and, every time you kiss him, he'll deepen the kiss, holding you possessively

He'll really like the taste of your lipsticks and lip glosses and with every kiss he'll lick and suck your lips, ruining the experiment ("No, Hiei! This way the experiment doesn't make sense!" "You're already forcing me to do it, at least let me do it my way...")

Did he like it? Yes. Would he do it again? Absolutely. Would he ask you? Absolutely not, he has a reputation to uphold

If you didn't know, the saying "to hang from someone's lips" (pendere dalle labbra di qualcuno) is an Italian saying which means, among other things, showing deference and submitting passively to someone.

💮 Rules 💮 Masterlist 💮

[undead-moth]

I know I've been on about this for a while now and I'm being a hater but you're telling me SydCarmy was "always meant to be platonic" even though there are two seasons of writing making use of tried-and-true explicitly romantic tropes, themes and writing signals, and SydLuca is going to be romantic because...he was nice to her on screen for a few minutes?

I don't even care if people ship SydLuca, or if they just prefer it, but you can't honestly tell me that you believe Carmy was always meant to be a friend but Luca is an obvious love interest.

Just because Syd and Carmy haven't kissed or confessed their love to each other doesn't mean that isn't very obviously the direction this show is going. The Bear has already shown you who is endgame. It has shown you every episode of the show so far.

Honestly I really don't think The Bear fanbase understands this show or cares about these characters or the story being told here, which is unfortunate because this show is shockingly well-written in comparison to most shows right now, and we should be so grateful for it but all we're doing is complaining that the writers led us on by not making a ship canon fast enough. It's just. Sad.

[shannonsketches]

lays on the floor do you guys ever think about how in ResF Bulma falls for Vegeta's fake-out with Freeza and both she and Yamcha are worried about Vegeta's villain fake-out strategy in Champa and Beerus' mini tournament and how it's only been a couple of years since the Buu saga and how Vegeta straight up stopped using that strategy after that tournament

[throughpatchesofviolet]

Hi I am here to revive ask culture with you

Are there any things Sherry and Heathcliff like to do together after a busy day to unwind?

- @solitaireships

Hi, Shepherd ~! Sorry this took me so long to get to--thank you very much for the ask! Putting my answer under a cut, since it's fairly long.

What these two do after a busy day tends to vary depending on the Mirror World, as their dynamic shifts depending on which "universe" they're in--for example, the Shi/Zwei versions of Sherry and Heathcliff have an enemies-to-lovers arc, which leads to a lot of their relationship being bickering (they love each other, I promise), while the Seven and R. Corp versions of them have a bit of a workplace romance going on.

I do often think about the Pequod Mirror World when it comes to them unwinding after a busy day, though ... Heathcliff is pretty quiet in that universe, and spends a lot of time at the inn Sherry runs with Mycroft--at least when he isn't aboard a whaling vessel. He likes to help Sherry out with managing the inn, mainly by keeping an eye on the guests in the dining room and making sure they don't get too rowdy, but sometimes he helps out by running errands for her while she cooks, cleans, and serves patrons. A day at the inn ends fairly late--around 11 at night, if they're lucky--and they usually relax by the fire after everything's tidied away. Heathcliff likes to sharpen his harpoon or carve scrimshaw, and Sherry will just sit nearby, appreciating his company ... they don't say much, but being close to each other like this is very comforting for them.

In the LCB Mirror World--or the main canon--however, things are a smidge different. At the end of each day, Dante dismisses the Sinners so they can rest, granting them about 12 hours of free time each day. Every Sinner also has a room aboard Mephistopheles (the bus is bigger on the inside--a theme that's common throughout the Project Moon games, with the Library and L. Corp having a similar trait), which is shaped by the occupant's mental state.

Heathcliff's room tends to be stormy--thunder, lighting, rain ... not exactly a pleasant place to sleep. So he often spends his evenings with Sherry, who's room is a replica of Baker Street Office. She has a fireplace, a sofa, an armchair, a desk littered with chemistry implements, and, of course, plenty of bookshelves. Initially, Sherry didn't let anyone into her room, but after she warms up to the Sinners, she lets a few visit at a time--Heathcliff, however, gets the special privilege of being able to drop by whenever he wants and stay for as long as he wants.

Much like in the Pequod Mirror World, they tend to be quiet when they're alone together--Sherry will be tinkering with her chemistry set, or reading a book or the newspaper, and Heathcliff will lounge on the couch. Sometimes, they'll talk--and usually it's Sherry who does the talking, with Heathcliff listening and providing occasional input--but a lot of the time they're just ... coexisting.

Also, Heathcliff does sometimes start up a conversation, usually to complain or seek Sherry's advice, and she always listens, no matter what she's doing. And they occasionally bicker, or they gossip over a news article Sherry comes across. Fairly normal stuff. But I think that's part of what makes them work so well together--they can just ... be.