#Million A Week Radiation

[spockvarietyhour]

☢️Goncharov Radiation Warning☢️

[mostlysignssomeportents]

An end to the climate emergency is in our grasp

On June 20, I'm keynoting the LOCUS AWARDS in OAKLAND.

The problem with good news in the real world is that it's messy. Neat happy endings are for novels, not the real world, and that goes double for the climate emergency. But even though good climate news is complicated and nuanced, that doesn't mean it shouldn't buoy our spirits and fill our hearts with hope.

The big climate news this past week is the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration's clarion call about surging CO2 levels – the highest ever – amid a year that is on track to have the largest and most extreme series of weather events in human history:

https://www.noaa.gov/news-release/during-year-of-extremes-carbon-dioxide-levels-surge-faster-than-ever

This is genuinely alarming and you – like me – have probably experienced it as a kind of increase in your background radiation of climate anxiety. Perhaps you – like me – even experienced some acute, sit-bolt-upright-in-bed-at-2AM anxiety as a result. That's totally justifiable. This is very real, very bad news.

And yet…

The news isn't all bad, and even this terrible dispatch from the NOAA is best understood in context, which Bill McKibben provides in his latest newsletter post, "What You Want is an S Curve":

https://billmckibben.substack.com/p/what-you-want-is-an-s-curve

Financier and their critics should all be familiar with Stein's Law: "anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop." This is true outside of finance as well. One of the reasons that we're seeing such autophagic panic from the tech companies is that their period of explosive growth is at an end.

For years, they told themselves that they were experiencing double-digit annual growth because they were "creating value" and "innovating" but the majority of their growth was just a side-effect of the growth of the internet itself. When hundreds of millions of people get online every year, the dominant online services will, on average, gain hundreds of millions of new users.

But when you run out of people who don't have internet access, your growth is going to slow. How can it not? Indeed, at that point, the only ways to grow are to either poach users from your rivals (through the very expensive tactics of massive advertising and sales-support investments, on top of discounts and freebies as switching enticements), or to squeeze your own users for more.

That's why the number of laptops sold in America slowed down. It's why the number of cellphones sold in America slowed down. It's why the number of "smart home" gizmos slowed down.

Even the steepest hockey-stick-shaped exponential growth curve eventually levels off and becomes an S-curve, because anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop.

One way or another, the world's carbon emissions will eventually level off. Even if we drive ourselves to (or over) the brink of extinction and set up the conditions for wildfires that release all the carbon stored in all the Earth's plants, the amount of carbon we pump into the atmosphere has to level off.

Rendering the Earth incapable of sustaining human civilization (or life) is the ultimate carbon reduction method – but it's not my first choice.

That's where McKibben's latest newsletter comes in. He cites a new report from the Rocky Mountain Institute, which shows a major reversal in our energy sources, a shift that will see our energy primarily provided by renewables, with minimal dependence on fossil fuels:

https://rmi.org/insight/the-cleantech-revolution/

The RMI team says that in this year or next, we'll have hit peak demand for fossil fuels (a fact that is consistent with NOAA's finding that we're emitting more CO2 than ever). The reason for this is that so much renewable energy is about to come online, and it is so goddamned cheap, that we are about to undergo a huge shift in our energy consumption patterns.

This past decade saw a 12-fold increase in solar capacity, a 180-fold increase in battery storage, and a 100-fold increase in EV sales. China is leading the world in a cleantech transition, with the EU in close second. Cleantech is surging in places where energy demand is also still growing, like India and Vietnam. Fossil fuel use has already peaked in Thailand, South Africa and every country in Latin America.

We're on the verge of solar constituting an absolute majority of all the world's energy generation. This year, batteries will overtake pumped hydro for energy storage. Every cleantech metric is growing the way that fossil fuels did in previous centuries: investment, patents, energy density, wind turbine rotor size. The price of solar is on track to halve (again) in the next decade.

In short, cleantech growth looks like the growth of other technologies that were once rarities and then became ubiquitous overnight: TV, cellphones, etc. That growth isn't merely being driven by the urgency of the climate emergency: it's primarily a factor of how fucking great cleantech is:

https://rmi.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/the_incredible_inefficiency_of_fossils.pdf

Fossil fuels suck. It's not just that they wreck the planet, or that their extraction is both politically and environmentally disastrous. They just aren't a good way to make energy. About a third of fossil fuel energy is wasted in production and transportation. A third! Another third is wasted turning fossil fuels into energy. Two thirds! The net energy efficiency of fossil fuels is about 37%.

Compare that with cleantech. EVs convert electricity to movement with 80-90% efficiency. Heat pumps are 300% efficient (the main fuel for your heat pump is the heat in the atmosphere, not the electricity it draws).

Cleantech is just getting started – it's still in the hockey-stick phase. That means those efficiency numbers are only going up. Rivian just figured out how to remove 1.6 miles of copper wire from each vehicle. That's just one rev – there's doubtless lots of room for more redesigns that will further dematerialize EVs:

https://insideevs.com/news/722265/rivian-r1s-r1t-wiring/

As McKibben points out, there's been a lot of justifiable concern that electrification will eventually use up all our available copper, but copper demand has remained flat even as electrification has soared – and this is why. We keep figuring out new ways to electrify with fewer materials:

https://www.chemanalyst.com/NewsAndDeals/NewsDetails/copper-wire-price-remains-stable-amidst-surplus-supply-and-expanding-mining-25416#:~:text=Global%20Copper%20wire%20Price%20Remains%20Stable%20Amidst%20Surplus%20Supply%20and%20Expanding%20Mining%20Activities

This is exactly what happened with previous iterations of tech. The material, energy and labor budgets of cars, buildings, furniture, etc all fell precipitously every time there was a new technique for manufacturing them. Renewables are at the start of that process. There's going to be a lot of this dematerialization in cleantech. Calculating the bill of materials for a planetary energy transition isn't a matter of multiplying the materials in current tech by the amount of new systems we'll need – as we create those new systems, we will constantly whittle down their materials.

What's more, global instability drives cleantech uptake. The Russian invasion of Ukraine caused a surge in European renewables. The story that energy prices are rising due to renewables (or carbon taxes) is a total lie. Fossil fuels are getting much more expensive, thanks to both war and rampant, illegal price-fixing:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/an-oil-price-fixing-conspiracy-caused

If not for renewables, the incredible energy shocks of the recent years would be far more severe.

The renewables story is very good and it should bring you some comfort. But as McKibben points out, it's still not enough – yet. The examples of rapid tech uptake had big business on their side. America's living rooms filled with TV because America's largest businesses pulled out all the stops to convince everyone to buy a TV. By contrast, today's largest businesses – banks, oil companies and car companies – are working around the clock to stop cleantech adoption.

We're on track to double our use of renewables before the decade is over. But to hold to the (already recklessly high) targets from the Paris Accord, we need to triple our renewables usage. As McKibben says, the difference between doubling and tripling our renewables by 2030 is the difference between "survivable trouble" and something much scarier.

The US is experiencing a welcome surge in utility scale solar, but residential solar is stalling out as governments withdraw subsidies or even begin policies that actively restrict rooftop solar:

https://twitter.com/curious_founder/status/1798049929082097842?s=51

McKibben says the difference between where we are now and bringing back the push for home solar generation is the difference between "fast" and "faster" – that is the difference between tripling renewables by 2030 (survivable) and doubling (eek).

Capitalism stans who argue that we can survive the climate emergency with market tools will point to the good news on renewable and say that the market is the only way to transition to renewables. It's true that market forces are partly responsible for this fast transition. But the market is also the barrier to a faster (and thus survivable) transition. The oil companies, the banks who are so invested in fossil fuels, the petrostates who distort the world's politics – they're why we're not much farther along.

The climate emergency was never going to be neatly solved. We weren't going to get a neat novelistic climax that saw our problems sorted out in a single fell swoop. We're going to be fighting all the way to net zero, and after that, we'll still have decades of climate debt to pay down: fires, floods, habitat loss, zoonotic plagues, refugee crises.

But we should take our wins. Even if we're far from where we need to be on renewables, we're much farther along on renewables than we had any business hoping for, just a few years ago. The momentum is on our side. It's up to us to use that momentum and grow it. We're riding the hockey-stick, they're on that long, flat, static top of the S-curve. Their curve is leveling off and will start falling, ours will grow like crazy for the rest of our lives.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/12/s-curve/#anything-that-cant-go-on-forever-eventually-stops

[harryslittlefreakk]

just between us

summary: when y/ns life starts to fall apart, her boss is there to pick up the pieces… behind his wife’s back. nanny reader x ceorry

warnings: cheating, smut (foreplay, soft dom, sex, daddy kink), angst

wordcount: 5.2k

a/n: the plot of this is so loose lol, please don’t read if you want a masterpiece 😭 it was a really fun one to write enjoy <3

*not proofread because i stayed up until 2.30am to write and post this*

thank you so much for reading 🤍 MASTERLIST

You curled your legs up to your chest, the evening breeze doing little to soothe the ache in your chest. The last of the day’s sunshine lingered in pale pinks and oranges amongst the clouds, blurring together as you stared out into the night.

The drink in your hand, a mix of something strong and sweet, was meant to numb the feeling, but it only seemed to deepen your sense of isolation. You raised the glass to your lips, letting your head roll back as the burn slid down your throat, your thoughts going a million miles an hour.

It had been sudden, unexpected. The words still echoed in your mind, as if they were stuck on repeat. How could something that once felt so sure, so safe, suddenly fall apart? You clenched the glass a little tighter, the cool condensation dampening your hand.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the sliding door open or the soft footsteps approaching. It wasn’t until you caught a familiar scent - a mix of woody cologne and something uniquely him - that you realised you weren’t alone.

You turned slightly, rushing to pull the blanket higher over your chest to cover your bikini top. Harry was standing there, hands in his pockets, watching you with the same furrowed brow wore when he knew something was wrong.

“Sorry, Harry. I didn’t think anyone would be home tonight,” you whispered, placing your drink down on the table. The whole family was meant to be away for the week, a trip that not only gave you some time off, but something that was now timed quite well since you had the week to mend your broken heart.

“I had to come back early for a meeting, Anna was meant to call. Mind if I join you?” he asked, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

You shook your head, a forced smile playing on your lips. “No, of course not.”

Harry sat down beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, but not so close that it felt intrusive. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat there in silence, staring out at the fading light. There was something comforting in his presence, in the way he didn’t rush you to talk or try to fill the silence with empty words.

After a moment, he glanced over at your drink and then back at your face. “Rough day?”

Your lips curled into a bitter smirk, your fingers pushing through your hair. “You could say that.”

He nodded, as if he understood exactly what you meant, and maybe he did. Harry had always been good at reading between the lines, at knowing when someone was hurting even when they didn’t want to show it.

You looked over at him, his slacks perfectly creased down the centre, his shirt buttons loosened. You couldn’t deny that he was attractive, with his chiseled body and messy brown curls. But he was your boss. You were his son’s nanny, and you’d built a close relationship with his wife. You never allowed yourself to see him that way.

But when he showed so much love and care for you, it became borderline impossible not to blur the lines.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he offered, pulling you out of your thoughts. “But if you do, I’m here.”

He scooted closer, leaning his elbows on his knees as if he was incredibly interested in what you had to say. Harry always had a way of making you feel seen, recognising your needs faster than you recognised them in yourself. As a boss and a friend, he was a whole lot more than you bargained for.

Under his gaze, the weight of the day suddenly felt too heavy to carry alone. “Sam broke up with me,” you muttered, not wanting to admit it.

Sam had been the final piece of the puzzle, the last thing that needed to slot into place for your life to be full and worthwhile. The day that he’d proposed to you was the single most important day of your life. He was your everything. Until he’d phoned you earlier that day to tell you that he wasn’t sure that he loved you, and he wasn’t sure he ever would.

Harry didn’t react immediately. He just nodded again, taking in your words. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, his voice sincere.

You shrugged, though the motion felt hollow. “It’s probably for the best,” you whispered, though the pain in your chest told you that you didn’t fully believe that yet.

You finished the rest of your drink, the burn of the alcohol replacing the sting of heartbreak and failure. Your eyes closed, the reality starting to wash over you.

Harry reached out, placing his hand gently over yours on the table. The warmth of his touch was grounding, pulling you out of your thoughts. “You don’t have to be strong,” he said quietly.

That simple reassurance, the permission to not have it all together, was enough to crack the fragile composure you’d been clinging to. You laced your fingers through his as if you needed the stability, your eyes filling with tears before you could stop yourself. Harry didn’t say anything, just held your hand and let you cry, something steady and comforting in his presence.

When the tears finally slowed, you wiped her eyes with the blanket, feeling a little embarrassed but also lighter, as if a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. “Sorry,” you murmured, your voice still thick with emotion.

Harry squeezed your hand gently. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he replied.

You sat there for a while longer, the silence between you both now filled with some sort of understanding. The sky had darkened, the first stars beginning to twinkle above your heads. You took the last sip of your drink, this time letting the sweetness linger on your tongue, and for the first time that evening, you felt a small spark of hope flicker inside you.

“Another one?” Harry asked, nudging his head towards your empty glass.

You nodded, easing yourself out of the chair on unsteady legs. Whiskey on an empty stomach had your head spinning, but you weren’t sure that was the only reason. You were evil. Despicable, even. Turning your heartbreak into lust for a man that had showed you nothing but kindness, allowed you into his life as more than an employee, a man who’s family was special to you.

But his hand on your knee, the way he brushed away your tears with that gentle touch. You couldn’t think straight, let alone walk straight as you tiptoed into the kitchen.

You opened the whiskey with a pop as Harry’s body came up behind you. His abs rock hard against your skin, his bulge pressing into the small of your back. His arm came beside you, placing your glass on the marble countertop.

“Forgot your glass,” he murmured, making no attempt to step away. You turned against him, his jaw tight as he stared down at you.

You were frozen, doe-eyed and open mouthed as you looked up at him, the dark concern on his face morphed into something more.

“You need to learn how you’re supposed to be treated,” Harry drawled, his forearm slipping behind you and lifting you onto the countertop in one swift motion.

His knee nudged between your legs, opening them up for his body to fit inside. Your head fell back against the cupboard door as he bucked his hips into your core, the fabric between you both just thin enough for you to feel almost everything.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” Harry whispered, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip. “Like you’ve wanted this all along.”

The whimper you let out was almost pitiful, a sure sign to Harry that you were losing the battle with your morality. When you wrapped your calf around his waist, tugging him closer to you, he just about lost it.

“Your wi-”, you started, your voice barely a whisper, like you didn’t actually want Harry to hear you. You didn’t want him to think about her, to come back to his senses and realise what he was about to do. But he didn’t even let you finish.

He tugged at the straps of your bikini top, the sudden chill as he exposed you enough to make you fall into silence.

“Doesn’t need to know anything,” Harry finished for you. “If this is want you want.”

You wrapped your fingers around his wrist, pulling his hand to cover the curve of your breast. “It is, Harry.”

A small smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth as he rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes still fixed on yours. “Do you need to feel better, princess?”

“Please,” you panted, slipping a finger through his belt buckle, desperate for some relief from the pleasure that was already building up inside you.

“Please what?” Harry whispered, leaning down to press his lips to your nipple, the soft bud immediately warmed by his mouth.

“Please Daddy,” you corrected, the last syllable turning into a long, deep whine when he finally gave you what you wanted.

He pulled your legs tight around his waist, your arms snapping over his shoulders as he lifted you from the counter and carried you upstairs to your bedroom.

Your core was rubbing against the fabric of his shirt with every step, your panties becoming more and more uncomfortable the closer you got to your room.

Harry eased you down to your feet when he reached your bedroom door, your core sliding over his erection.

He pulled his bottom lip into his mouth at the contact, his hands fumbling with the door handle. You pushed it open, letting him guide you to the edge of the bed where Harry nudged you to sit.

He sank to his knees in front of you, his hands immediately finding your knees, tracing circles and patterns up your thighs, a trail of goosebumps left in their wake. You leaned back on your hands, panting even before he made an attempt to give you any real pleasure.

His thumb dragged over the wet spot on your bikini bottoms, pressing the fabric against your entrance. The contact made you writhe, your clit aching for more.

When he slipped two fingers under the fabric and pushed them into you, you were completely at his mercy, whining loudly as he immediately found your sweet spot.

You looked down at him through clouded eyes, and that recognised that same, torn look you’d seen flash across his face before. But now you recognised it as a hunger, borderline desperation to have you in a way that would destroy everything he’d worked for.

But you didn’t have time to question it, to fall apart over the way his gaze trailed over your body, the sparkle against the deep green of his irises, because suddenly he was everywhere, his lips warm and insistent against your skin, his free hand groping and roaming anywhere he could reach, his fingers fucking in and out of you with pure determination.

You were his, all his, as Harry leaned down to lick a circle around your clit, before pulling his fingers from you and kissing and licking at you with persistence. His mouth was fast and firm against your core, his moans vibrating around you as he let your juices pool on his tongue.

His nose was nudging against your clit, his hands cupping the curve of your ass to open you up for him. The pleasure had built to a deep ache, spilling out of you in the form of whines and moans, but Harry was unrelenting in his pursuit of your high. He kept licking and sucking, grabbing and groping until you came apart on his tongue, your body going rigid under the strain of such an intense orgasm.

“You need to learn how you’re supposed to be treated, kitten,” Harry murmured, his voice muffled as he kissed over your mound, his lips warm and wet.

You pulled yourself to sit up straight, reaching for his belt buckle with desperation. “Show me, daddy,” you whined, pouting as he pushed your hands away and got to work undressing himself.

He nodded his head towards your pillows, a silent command for you to get yourself ready for him as he pushed his slacks down.

You could see the outline of his erection through his boxers, the material stretched tight over the monster he’d been hiding. You’d expected him to be big, but you weren’t even sure that he would fit inside of you.

You kept your eyes locked on his body as you scooted back, your mouth hanging slightly open. You’d seen him like this before, in his shorts in the pool or topless as he barbecued, but knowing he was undressing for you, to fuck you into complete and utter bliss, you were spiralling.

You wanted him to fuck you everywhere, in every way. Bent over the kitchen counter, in the pool, his cock hitting the back of your throat until you were begging for relief, his mouth and hands touching you until they became one with your flesh.

At some point during your daydream, Harry had fully undressed, his cock dangerously hard as he knelt between your legs.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he drawled, swiping a finger through your slick before bringing it to your lips, his free hand stroking at his length.

You opened your mouth a little wider to let him in, your lips immediately wrapping around his knuckle as your tongue swirled around his fingertip, your nectar sweet on your tastebuds.

The movement elicited a low groan from Harry, his hips bucking into his hand, and without any warning, he was pushing into you with a sharp ache in your walls, his hands planted either side of your head.

Your arms immediately snapped to his shoulders, steadying yourself against him with a gasp, your pussy throbbing as his cock stretched you.

“More, Harry, please,” you whimpered, wrapping your calf around his hips, tugging him impossibly closer to you.

He brushed a stray hair from your face, pulling out of you slightly before easing his way back in, your walls rippling around his tip.

“Say my name again,” he commanded, his voice low and gravelly.

You opened your mouth as he slammed back into you, his skin slapping against yours as his name left your mouth in a strangled cry.

His hand came around your throat, squeezing just enough to give you that rush of excitement and risk, the pain melding with your pleasure. He was pulling out faster, fucking into you with relentless determination, setting a pace that you had no hope of following. You were putty in his hands, submissive and yielding as he thrust into you.

Your walls were getting tighter, clamping around the strain of his girth as the beginnings of an orgasm started rolling through your core. “I can feel you struggling, princess,” Harry warned, his grip on your throat tightening slightly. He could see in your eyes how much you liked it, how you wanted to lay there and take whatever he gave you. You knocked your hips into his, unable to speak through whimpers and whines, starting to lose control as the tingles spread through your centre, your inner muscles pulsing around his cock.

“Cum for me, milk me like the little cum slut you are,” Harry groaned, leaning down to pull your nipple into his mouth, his tongue warm and desperate as it rolled over the bud.

His cock hitting every inch of you, nudging your g-spot and every other part of your core, your nipple hard between his lips, his hand wrapped around your neck, his body dwarfing you - it was too much to handle, too much to cope with even without his filthy words. You were cumming before you could even think twice, the pleasure rolling over you in waves, reaching every part of your body. Your fingers curled into his hair, fingertips pressing into his scalp, collecting his curls in their grasp. Your legs were tight and rigid against his skin, your back arching off of the mattress. You were crying out his name, every inch of you throbbing as your vision blurred into stars and static.

But Harry was still fucking into you, still licking and sucking at your breast, still restricting your air with that big, strong hand, until you felt his cock jerking, twitching against your walls and the ribbons of hot cum painting you, marking you as his. He didn’t slow down until he was empty, everything he had to give dripping from you as he pulled out slowly, until he finally collapsed beside you.

You lay in silence for a while, chests heaving as you panted in sync, before Harry sat up to collect his clothes. It felt dirty, wretched, having him fuck you like that in a room that shared a wall with his sons, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything other than pure bliss.

Even as he picked up his clothes and left the room without saying another word to you, you were on another planet, totally lost in the comedown of the most intense orgasm you’d ever had.

—

You woke the next morning with a sinking feeling in your stomach, the memory of the previous evening replaying over and over and over. You stared at the ceiling, the weight of what had happened settling in. Harry had kissed her, and she had kissed him back—without hesitation, without thinking about anything else but the moment. Your sheets still smelled like him, your body still aching from the way he’d fucked you.

But the reality hit like a wave, devastation washing over you. Harry was married. You were single, heartbroken, and you’d come close to getting yourself fired and kicked out of your home on top of that. You sat up, pressing your hands to your temples, trying to push away the guilt that had crept in overnight.

You forced yourself out of bed, moving through your morning routine on autopilot. The house was quiet, too quiet, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. You had no idea if Harry was still around or if he’d left early, but you knew you weren’t ready to face him yet. At least no one else would be home, leaving you the chance to figure things out in your own time.

You padded downstairs, the kitchen feeling too bright, too normal for the reality you’d found yourself in. Every sound seemed magnified - the clink of your mug against the counter, the hum of the fridge - while your thoughts raced, a tangle of emotions you couldn’t quite sort out.

Was the night before a way for Harry to cheer you up - just a mistake, a lapse in judgment? Or was it something more, something neither of them could admit out loud? You shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clung like the humidity in the air.

You were pouring a cup of coffee when the sound of keys in the front door made your stomach drop. You froze, your heart hammering violently against your ribs. Turning slowly, you found Harry standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. He hesitated, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, eyes locked on each other.

“Morning,” he finally said, his voice softer than usual.

“Hi, Harry,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to cut through.

Harry stepped further into the kitchen, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “About last night…” he began, trailing off as if he wasn’t sure how to continue.

You felt your chest tighten. You wanted to say something, to ease the awkwardness between you both, but the words caught in the back of your throat. Instead, you just nodded, fingers gripping the edge of the very counter where this had all started.

“It was-”, Harry paused, running a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. I shouldn’t have…” His voice faltered, guilt flickering across his features.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Harry, you’re married,” you said quietly, the truth of it hanging in the air between them.

“I know,” he replied, his tone heavy with regret. “I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You nodded again, feeling like you needed to be anywhere but there. The awkwardness between you felt like a chasm now, one they couldn’t easily bridge. “It’s not just on you,” you admitted. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Harry edged a little closer, only his footsteps and the hum of the coffee machine cutting through the silence. You could tell that the weight of what had happened was pressing down on him. At the realisation, you felt a pang of sadness, a dull ache in her chest that told you things would never be the same between you both. They couldn’t be.

“I think it’s best if we just-” Harry started, then stopped, struggling to find the right words. “If we can try to move past it. Go back to how things were before. But I understand if you’d rather find something else. I have contacts, I can-”

“No, Harry,” you interrupted. “I’d prefer to stay here if I can. If that’s okay.”

You knew he was right, but the idea of pretending nothing had happened felt impossible. Still, your job was important to you, and you didn’t actually have to spend that much time with Harry.

He offered a weak smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll be okay,” he said, more as a reassurance to himself than to you.

But as he left the kitchen, you weren’t so sure. Last night had changed something between you both, something that couldn’t be undone. And as much as you both wanted to pretend otherwise, you both had agreed to continue as you always had, the truth of it would always be there, lingering in the space between you.

—

You were curled up on the sofa, a soft blanket draped over her legs as you half-watched the movie playing on the TV. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the flickering screen and a nearby lamp. You’d picked a rom-com, hoping it would distract you from the turmoil swirling in your mind.

The whole day had been weird, with Harry working from home but spending significantly more time locked in his office than he usually did. You’d wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to avoid you, but you didn’t even know if he was. Any time you’d crossed paths had lead to strained silences and forced politeness, the easy rapport you once shared miles away.

You sighed, trying to focus on the movie, but the memory of your night together kept intruding. He’d shown you more care and respect than Sam ever had, his hands and that mouth trailing over every part of your body, worshipping you as if you’d been crafted by the Gods.

You pulled your knees closer to your chest, half wishing you could just disappear as Harry appeared in the doorway. His presence filled the room, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

“Hi,” you smiled, your heart quickening. You shifted slightly on the sofa, trying to make room, though you weren’t sure if you were ready for another encounter.

“Can I?” Harry asked, gesturing to the spot next to you.

You hesitated, but only for a second, before nodding and patting the sofa to your right.

Harry sat down, leaving a careful distance between them. You both turned your attention to the screen, though the tension in the room was palpable. You could feel the awkwardness settling in, making it hard to concentrate on anything but the fact that Harry was inches away from you for the first time that day, and you’d just been fully engrossed in a mental re-enactment of the night before.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, you couldn’t take it anymore. You turned to him, your voice low. “This is weird, isn’t it?”

Harry let out a soft laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, it is. I’ve been trying to figure out how to make it less weird, but I’m not sure how.”

You nodded, your eyes drifting over his face.

“I value our working relationship, y/n, the things you do for our family,” Harry told you, reaching out to pause the movie.

You appreciated his honesty, but the reality of the situation still weighed heavily on you. “I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen, Harry. You’re my boss, and your family-” you sighed. “It’s just complicated things.”

“I crossed a line, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop being sorry for that. But I don’t regret anything,” Harry confessed, something conflicted in his eyes.

You swallowed hard, your words caught in your throat. You couldn’t reply, couldn’t tell him that you didn’t regret it either.

Harry turned back to the movie after a moment, the tension between you both easing up. It wasn’t gone, but the room suddenly felt warmer. He leaned back into the sofa, and after a moment’s hesitation, you did the same.

He shifted slightly closer, closing some of the distance between you. You noticed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. You let herself relax, resting her head against the back of the sofa as you watched the movie together, side by side. There was an undercurrent between them that neither could ignore, reminiscent of some kind of world where he wasn’t your boss, wasn’t happily married, and could be yours.

You’d felt it even before, every time you were alone in the same room, a tension that simmered just beneath the surface, waiting to spill over. You could see it in the way Harry looked at you sometimes, his gaze lingering just a bit too long, his voice dropping a little softer whenever he spoke your name. It was there in the moments when your hands would accidentally brush, sending a jolt of electricity through you that you struggled to hide.

You were lost in your thoughts when Harry’s arm brushed against yours. You could feel the heat of him, the familiar scent of his cologne wrapping around you, clouding your mind.

Your breath caught in your throat, and when you glanced over, you found Harry looking at you, his face closer than you’d expected. His eyes were intense, searching yours for something you weren’t sure you could give. The moment stretched, the silence between you both heavy with unspoken words.

“Y/n,” he said softly, his voice rough around the edges, as if he were struggling to hold something back.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “We said-”

“I know,” he interrupted, his brow furrowed, voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was anything but hesitant. This time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty. The kiss was hungry, desperate, as if you were both trying to make up for the time lost denying what you wanted.

You melted into him, any resolve crumbling under the weight of your own desire. You’d told yourself it couldn’t happen again - wouldn’t happen again - that it was too complicated, too messy, but now, with Harry’s hand cupping your face, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that left her breathless, all those reasons seemed to vanish.

He pulled you closer, deepening the kiss as if he couldn’t get enough, and you responded in kind, your fingers tangling in his curls as you gave in to everything you had been trying to push away. It was reckless, dangerous even, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was how right it felt, how much you had needed it, and needed him.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing hard, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath. Harry’s hands were still on you, his touch lingering, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go.

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured, his voice small. “I know we said we wouldn’t. I don’t know why I-”

“None of this is fair on anyone, Harry,” you whispered, your hand dropping to his shoulder. Your gaze fell to the wall behind you, covered in beautiful family photos. His wedding, nights out, his arms cradling a newborn baby. The reality of the situation loomed over you, a stark reminder that this wasn’t just about what they wanted. “We can’t keep acting like we’re the victims here.”

“I know,” he said, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “But it doesn’t feel like a mistake.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of his words sink in. You were both standing on the edge of something that could change everything, and once you crossed that line again, there would be no going back.

When you opened your eyes, you found Harry looking at you, his expression a mix of hope and nervousness. It was a look that mirrored your own conflicted feelings, torn between what was right and what you wanted.

“It doesn’t,” you admitted, hating even hearing the words coming out of your mouth. “But where does that leave us?”

Harry was silent for a moment, his gaze steady as he pulled you closer to him. “I don’t know,” he finally said, his voice barely a whisper. “That’s something we have to figure out.”

The room was still and silent, the gravity of everything you had done settling in. But despite the uncertainty, a small sense of relief bubbled below the surface. You’d crossed a line, yes, but you had done it together. And you were happy to kid yourself that you’d find a way forward, even if it wasn’t clear yet what that path would look like.

For now, you let yourself be held by Harry, allowing yourself to savour the feeling of his strong arms around you, the warmth of his breath against your skin, and the undeniable truth that something about him felt right.

eeek thank you for reading!!!

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[writting-stuff-sometimes]

Night in Vegas- Lando x fem reader

Summary: Y/N had been Lando's PR, it had been messy and she moved to Red Bull, but maybe things were not as bad as she thought.

Warnings: Abusive Max (Sorry someone had to be the bad guy) smutty ending.

Notes: No hate to anyone this story just needed a villain.

___________________________________________

The moment the job offer came from Red Bull you didn't think it twice. You had been Lando's PR for the last 2 years, which was kind of a nightmare. He had the worst cases of verbal diarrhea, not that Max didn't but the paycheck was worth the extra work. Also, the interactions with Lando had always been weird and uncomfortable.

He was so nice and funny around everyone else but you, whenever it was just you two, you could hear the grass grow. In the beginning, you tried to get to know him, create somewhat of a bond so you could understand him better and work around that info, but every time you tried to get him to tell you something about him he would shut you out, keeping his answers short and dry.

And here you were, your first six months as Max PR agent were...interesting, he was a master in driving but thanks to his dad and the people around him, his public image was a challenge, a challenge you loved to work, at least you did until he started showing his real self. It began with small tantrums, mood swings when an interview had been scheduled when he had agreed to go play paddle, or that one time on a bad day when a reporter asked him about his dad's history with the law even when you had precisely warned them not to ask about any of that.

But that was all fun and games until tonight's event for the Vegas GP. Usually, the US GP's parties were a nightmare. Tons and tons of media people and influencers with little idea about F1. Yet they were important to attend because of the amount of rich people the teams craved as their lawful sponsors, so all the drivers were requested to go. This meant an awful fight with Max who hated these events where he had to "prostitute" himself for a couple of millions, it was particularly tricky now that some pictures and supposed messages showing Kelly might have been cheating, surfaced. You promised him to warn everybody that any questions about his personal life were off the table for any of the interviews, but American media cared little about that.

"Are you stupid or something?" His angry voice was so much like his dad's. Dry, hurtful, and insulting even when he wasn't using big curse words.

"Max, I told everyone personal questions were off the table. I sent a memo last week and a reminder this morning" You walked following him closely as he exited the event venue. Your heels making it difficult for you to keep his pace.

"I don't care!" He stopped and turned towards you abruptly, making you crash against his body. "If Christian gives me any shit about not being here I will make sure he knows this was all your fault" His voice loud and angry felt even more intimidating as he was towering over you, his red face so close to yours you could feel the heat radiate from it.

"But-"

"Shut it, I don't want to hear it" He spat.

"Hey, mate, easy" You both turned to look at the curled hair driver approaching at a firm pace.

"Lando, this has nothing to do with you"

"It does when you're talking like that to Y/N" He gently held your arm pulling you back, placing himself between you and Max.

"How did you deal with this shit for two years? she's the worst"

"I disagree, she's the best"

"What? Why are you defending her?" Max looked in shock from Lando's intervention, and to be honest, so were you.

"Because I know the mess you are and you talking to her like that is unacceptable and most likely uncalled for. We should've never let her go, I've begging Zak to get her back and after this, there's no way I'm letting her stay at RB"

"What the fuck? I don't...Wait, did you two ...? She must be a good fuck if you want her back so bad" A bitter laugh left his chest.

There it was, the angry verbal diarrhea.

You wanted to jump in and tell him you had never even crossed two complete phrases with Lando, how the hell were you going to fuck him? But no sound left your body, you were just a passenger in this trainwreck.

"Max, come on, It's not her fault your life's a fucking mess and that you have no idea how to deal with it. And take it from me, mate, you don't need a PR manager, you need a therapist."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Max took a couple of steps forward and faced Lando menacingly. He wasn't much taller than the Brit but seemed angry enough to cause damage.

"This is enough" You finally spoke, your voice shaky as you grabbed Lando's arm trying to pull him back. But he didn't move an inch.

"I'm not afraid of you mate" Lando hissed.

"Ok enough" You said in the most motherly voice ever and stepped in between them. "Lando, thanks but that's enough. You two don't want to do or say anything you'll regret later"

"See you on the track, mate" Said Lando as he took your hand and pulled you toward the parking lot.

You walked with him still in shock from the situation, expecting for him to let go of your hand as soon as you were out of sight from Max, but he kept going until he reached the Valet and gave him his ticket.

"Thanks fo that" You tried breaking the uncomfortable silence. "I think I need to go back there tho, I might not have a job tomorrow, but I don't need them to fire me because of not complying with my duties, Maybe I can find Max and convince him-"

"If they don't fire you, you're quitting" He said as he typed on his phone.

"What?! No, I can't do that, I can't afford to lose my job"

"You'll have a job"His voice was confident as he kept typing.

"Lando, I really-"

"Your car, Mr.Norris" The valet cut you off opening the passenger door for you.

"Get in" Lando walked toward the door to hold it himself.

"Lan-"

"Get in... please" He finally looked at you, something in his eyes telling you to do it. Not wanting to perform another scene now in front of the valet, you got inside the fancy McLaren. Your feet thanked you for the much-needed rest after the little sprint.

He removed his suit jacket, got in the driver's side, and drove off.

"I swear, you're not going to be jobless, you can stop with the bouncy leg" A hint of a laugh in his voice. Of course, he could laugh about it, he was worth millions, if he lost his job that same night, he'd have enough money to live comfortably for two lives.

Your phone started ringing in your bag. Chirstian's face on your screen made your heart beat a thousand miles. You could almost hear him, his calm yet angry voice made your skin crawl.

"Don't answer him, there's no need"

"Lando, you don't get it, it's not that simple"

A ding on his phone and a pop-up notification on his console screen called your attention.

Zak: Fine, I'm ok with it, we can talk details tomorrow.

"See?" He said smiling at the notification. You stared at him confused.

"I promised him I would behave my best for the rest of my contract if they took you back. Welcome back to Mclaren" A big smile on his face. It was odd being on the receiving end of that smile.

"Sadly, you won't be working with me. You will be part of the team's PR, I think that's an even bigger paycheck, tho"

"Ok, stop stop stop" Your voice filled with slight panic. "What the fuck's happening?"

"Wow, your first bad word" He was way too entertained with the situation.

"That you know of" Your facade was off, screw being professional, this moment was a moment for panic.

Christian's number shined on your screen again.

"Hello" You finally answered.

"Y/N, I just got a thousand messages from Max, and from the team at the event, what's going on?"

"Christian, Max lost it after some journalist asked him about Kelly, I had clearly said no questions about that were allowed"

"You should not have left Max to leave the party, we need him back there"

"I tried to stop him but-"

"No buts, Y/n, that's your job"

"No"

"What?"

"No, that's not my job, I'm not a babysitter, I'm a PR agent, I should not be dealing with tantrums and the equivalent of being spit in the face by an angry baby just because he's Max Verstappen"

You took a deep breath as the man on the other side of the phone kept quiet. Netflix would kill to have footage of this situation.

"I quit" You finally said

"What?" His high-pitched voice told you he was as surprised as you by the words leaving your mouth. You turned to look a Lando, he had the biggest smile on his face.

"I quit, Christian. I can stop by to sign my resignation tomorrow."

"But-"

"I'm sorry but I have to go now. I will stop by your office tomorrow to sign whatever is needed and to return my credentials. Have a good night" You hung up with shaky hands. As much as you sounded confident you were screaming inside.

"Nice" Lando's accent so thick.

"Oh my God" You placed your head between your legs and took deep breaths, trying not to faint.

"It's ok, it will all be ok" You felt his hand run softly up and down your back which felt weirdly soothing and calming.

You finally felt calm enough to lift your head, realizing he had pulled over at a truck stop next to the highway.

"What the fuck just happened?" You closed your eyes, the world felt as if it was spinning out of orbit.

"It will be ok, you were amazing"

"I will regret this tomorrow"

"I could help you with that" he said under his breath, you barely catching his words.

"What?"

"Never mind. Listen, you'll be fine, you'll join the team for the next season, and you can take this time as a well-deserved vacation"

"What are you talking about? Maybe Zak only told you that so you would stop bothering him. I can't wait until the next season. Oh my God, I need to call Christian back, if I apologize and explain that I was drunk or something he might not fire me" you said as you fumbled with your phone trying to get your shaky hands to get your calls.

"Stop, no, Y/n" In a swift move, Lando took your phone from your hand.

"Give it back! This is all your fault!"

"What?!"

"If you had stayed out of this I might have convinced Max to go back to the party and none of this had happened" You said as you almost jumped over him to get your phone back as he moved his hand around keeping you away from it.

"Oh c'mon, you wouldn't have lasted two more weeks with his annoying ass, I love Max but he's a pain" He sounded way too entertained by all this.

"Lando, stop it! Give me back my phone!"

"No, you have to calm down"

"No, give it back" you were almost kneeling over the seat.

"Y/n, stop"

"No"

"Y/n!"

"NO, GIVE IT-" Before you could finish your sentence his free hand grabbed you from your neck and pulled you toward him, his lips crashed into yours, finally getting you to stop moving. You even stopped breathing.

After a couple of seconds or hours, you weren't sure anymore, he let go of the fist he had formed around your hair and pulled back. His cheeks flushed as if he had been the one who had gotten kissed out of nowhere.

"Have I been drugged? Am I hallucinating? This has to be a weird trip"

His particular laugh sent chills down your spine.

"C'mon, it wasn't my best job but I'm not used to kissing people as they're having a panic attack, I needed you to calm down"

"And kissing me was the best you could come up with?"

"You're not thinking about your phone or Christian anymore, are you?"

"You're sick"

"Listen, I'm sorry I did it like that, ok? I stepped over a boundary and I apologize, but I know that after this you might hate me for the rest of your life and this seemed like the only moment I was going to be able to do it, so I'm sorry but not really"

"You can't go around kissing people just because"

"I didn't do it just because"

"What?"

"Y/N, I'm fucking in love with you!" He screamed.

"What?" Your voice is barely a whisper

"I'm sorry, I was dumb ok?"

"I'm not getting any of this"

"Ok, I'll explain. It took me about 2 months to fall head over heels for you, ok? You're smart, incredibly beautiful, funny, and so good at your job, it was hard not to fall in love with you. But I know I can be an asshole, so trying to stay away from you and not ruin everything I behaved like an even bigger asshole, pushing you away and into Red Bull's arms. So as an apology, I've been having talks with Zak. this has been going on for months. So no this just didn't come up, Max just made it easier for me to set the plan in motion"

You stared at his proud face in awe.

"Are you breathing?" He asked when not. single sound had left your body for a long time.

"You're in love with me?"

"Um yeah" He blushed and almost looked away but he didn't.

"For the two years we worked together, you were in love with me?"

"Yeah, basically"

"You have a shitty way of showing love"

"Sorry" he laughed under his breath

"You're nuts"

"I know" As soon as he saw you had calmed down he stretched his hand softly caressing your cheek. "I'm nuts for you"

"Ew, don't"

He laughed, the sound making you feel something new.

"I don't know"

"What?"

"What's going on"

"Maybe another kiss might help? I'm actually asking this time"

"Ok" You answered in a low whisper.

"Ok" He softly whispered as he took you by the neck, and pulled you toward him. It was a mutual kiss now, your lips dancing with his. His tongue traced your lips and they parted allowing your tongue to start a fight with his.

The kiss heated up as his other hand grabbed your hips and pulled you over him. Your ass pressed on the horn startling both of you and making you laugh, but quickly you returned to your make-out session.

His hand shily traveled down your spine and stopped over the soft satin fabric covering your ass. You knew exactly what he was trying to test, so you moved yours down his chest, feeling his racing heart, and traveled down all the way to his pants. You could feel his growing bulge and you gave it a squeeze. He moaned deeply and he gave a slap to your ass, making you moan too.

You were about to unbuckle his belt but his hand landed over yours.

"Wait, do you actually want to do this?" he asked out of breath.

"Yes" Your voice shaky from the excitement.

"Are you sure? I don't want to force you or-"

"Lando, I want you to fuck me"

Your words sent an electric shock through his body, you could even feel his dick twitch under your hand.

"I'm all yours" He smiled and moved his lips to your neck, you threw your head back giving him space to explore it and its sensitive areas. He gave soft bites around it, as he stretched to the glove compartment getting a condom out of it.

"You're a manwhore"

"I was just manifesting this"

"Sure" you answered squinting your eyes.

"I promise, You can ask Oscar, I've not had sex for months"

"I don't need to know that"

"Yeah you do, I swear I wasn't going to use this with anyone else, I promise"

He was most likely lying, but you decided to believe him, at least for tonight.

"Fine" You said as you took the condom from his hand and opened it as your lips went back to his.

He helped you by pulling down his pants and his boxers enough for his throbbing cock to spring out and slap his stomach.

"Hello Mr. Norris" You said with a cheeky smile

"Don't act so surprised"

"Sorry"

He now took the hem of your dark blue dress and pulled it over your hips, softly caressing the soft flesh of your thighs and ass. He moaned at the feeling of no underwear under it.

"You're naughty"

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me"

"I love it" He said and bit your lower lip as he placed you over his hard cock. You took the condom and without breaking the kiss you rolled it over his dick, enjoying the feeling of the heat and the veins that ran through it.

He couldn't wait any longer and as soon as he felt the condom in place he lifted his hips entering you in one deep thrust making you moan loudly from the incredible feeling of being so full.

"Fuck, Lando" you said as he started thrusting. A slow yet hard pace made your eyes roll to the back of your head, as he held you one hand by the neck the other one caressing your ass.

"Fuck, you're so fucking perfect" He moaned against your tits that were spilling out your dress.

He took one of your nipples in his mouth, pushing you closer to your release.

You had forgotten when was the last time you had sex, but none of your previous experiences could compare to this one. Lando being a manwhore was quite a benefit.

His hips hitting against yours at such a perfect pace was driving you crazy. He could tell by the way you were pulsing around him that you were close. This was probably a record and he was going to savor it.

He brought one of his hands down to your clit and just a couple of circles helped by how wet you were pushed you over the edge, loudly moaning his name in his ear. That sweet sound looped in his brain, making him reach his climax shortly after.

"Fuck" he finally said after you two had reached a decent breathing pace.

"Shit"

"Fourth curse word of the night"

"Shut it" You said as you pushed yourself off his chest and kissed him.

"I'm going to love having you around again"

"Me too"

"Well, Max was right about one thing" A cheeky grin on his face.

"What?"

"You're such a good fuck"

"You're a dick" You slapped his chest as he pulled you back to kiss him.

This was probably going to be a mess, but at least for a couple of months you were unemployed and free to date whoever you wanted, that included F1 drivers who would probably be off limits once your contract started, but that was a problem for your versions of the future.

Tag List: @wtrmlnsgr94, @ricsaigaslec, @ironmaiden1313, @formulas-bitch,

[barcaatthemoon]

happy birthday || alexia putellas x reader ||

alexia takes you out for your birthday.

you hated that the closer your birthday got, the more nervous you were. alexia had no obligation to take you out, but you hoped she would. dates with alexia were rare, especially ones outside of her apartment. she was a homebody, and a night in was absolutely perfect in your eyes. you liked a good night in, but sometimes, you just wanted to be a little more social.

in hindsight, there had been little hints that alexia was planning something big. your birthday fell right around the same time that she was due back from a business trip. alexia was going without her ibiza trip this year, and she had asked if you'd stay in with her for a couple of weeks.

alexia returned early from her trip. she had been a bit distant, but not enough to raise too many questions. your mind had been going haywire trying to figure out what could be going on. you were terrified of alexia breaking up with you, but when you woke up on your birthday, you realized how safe your relationship was.

"bon dia! i made you breakfast." alexia looked like a little kid as she stood in the doorway holding a tray of food. she looked so proud of herself, and your heart was swelling at the sight of her. "happy birthday bebita. i hope that today is perfect for you."

"thank you ale," you said as you leaned over to give her a kiss. alexia deepened it, slipping her tongue past your lips teasingly before she pulled away. alexia watched as you ate the breakfast that she had made for you. alexia didn't do a lot of the regular cooking in the house, often having to make her meals different from yours. you didn't mind, especially because more often than not, she was stealing bites of the food you had made yourself.

"i know that it's not as good as what you'd make, but i tried," alexia told you.

"it's delicious," you promised her. alexia's ego liked that more than anything, which was evident with the little pep in her step for the rest of the morning.

alexia seemed to have the whole day planned for the two of you. she let you call and text everybody that you needed to from the comort of her arms while a movie played in the background. you hadn't been paying much attention to it, nor had alexia. all of her focus was on you the entire time, which definitely had you feeling some kind of way.

"we can not skip lunch altogether, so i'll pick us up something quick in here. sandwich okay?" alexia asked. the two of you had gotten modesty dressed up to pick up a present that alexia had for you. there was a suitcase in the backseat, something that you didn't miss. however, alexia wasn't answering a single one of your questions.

"that sounds good. you know what i like." you pressed a quick kiss to alexia's lips, dismissing her to leave. alexia raced off to the store. you waited in the car for just a couple of minutes, alexia having sprinted back after getting the sandwich and some drinks. alexia ate her half quickly. the excitement was practically radiating off of her.

alexia didn't make you wear a blindfold, so you figured out the destination about halfway through the drive. there was a little resort on the coast about an hour and a half's drive away from your house that you absolutely loved. it wasn't nearly as fancy as some of the other places alexia had taken you, but you loved it a million times more. alexia was convinced that if you could pick that place to stay every year, you would.

"it's not ibiza or columbia, but i figured that since it was your birthday, i'd pick the place i knew you liked the most," alexia said as she parked the car. she looked a bit nervous, but all of that was pushed away when you launched yourself into her arms. you mumbled your gratitude in between kisses pressed all over her face and neck.

"i love you so much. you didn't have to do any of this, really," you told her. alexia rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly, as if she hadn't expected this sort of praise.

"it's not over yet. there's a dress on the bed. dinner is in a couple of hours, so you have plenty of time to get ready," alexia told you. she placed her hands on your hips, which was when you knew exactly what she was thinking. smirking, you led her back into the bedroom.

…

"ale…" you were at a loss for words. whenever she said dinner, you had expected a restaurant. this was so much better than that. alexia had sectioned off a little part of the beach and set it up for the two of you to enjoy together. it felt like something out of a romance movie, and you were honestly too shocked to respond.

"come, sit down. it's not perfect, but i made you dinner," alexia said as she guided you into a seat. she brought a plate over, which was when you saw your favorite meal laid out on the plate. alexia had a bit of trouble making things from your home country, mainly out of the lack of available ingredients. some of these things you knew she would have had to get shipped here to really complete the experience.

"this is it," you said to yourself. alexia paused, fearful that you were upset. you didn't blame her, your voice was obviously overwhelmed with emotion, and alexia couldn't tell which way it swung. "this is what it's like to be loved by someone else. this is what it's like to feel important. i don't ever want to give this up."

"you won't have to, i promise," alexia told you. she leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. you needed the moment of reassurance from alexia. you had never shied away from your feelings for her, but you did tend to retreat into yourself when you got scared about her leaving. "i love you far too much to ever do something like that. football won't last me forever, but we will."

[ghost-proofbaby]

september love (e.m.)

eddie finds you awake on the first night he's home from the hospital, and wonders what you're thinking.

pairing: eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of canon ending of season 4, except eddie didn't die. mentions of hospital and medical procedures (in passing). sort of sad, sort of not. a little bit of angst? hurt/comfort. religious imagery (specific mentions of heaven).

wc: 1.7k+

an: this was just some sort of weird rambling upon seeing the poem mentioned above at like 11 pm? 1 am? who knows. time is a construct. also, reader is compared to a 'violent' dog/animal during eddie's recovery, and if you like this metaphor/vibe, then i strongly suggest and urge you to go read @myosotisa's fic Half Life. she does it far more beautifully than i ever could, and it is one of my favorite fics. ever.

Your head is on his chest. 

Your temple and your ear are flush with the soft cotton of his wrinkled t-shirt, the one he insisted upon sleeping on his first night home, and it’s all you can think about. The smell of week old laundry, the stubborn linger of a cologne gifted too long ago to remember the worn name of. A steady heartbeat that still pumps along a little too slow for your liking. The rise and fall of each promised breath that you force your lungs to pace themselves with. Just enough heat radiating off of him to keep you warm, here in bed, here in the dim light of twilight as he rests.

No tubes and no IVs to worry about. No nurses barging in every ten minutes. No beeping of a dozen machines to be your symphony tonight. 

No, you don’t need a machine now to keep track of his heart rate. You’ve learned to do that entirely on your own; your heart has learned how to match his with each dulled thump against the skin you cling to through this dingy old t-shirt.

It can’t be long after 3 AM, the moonlight almost as bright as a rising sun as it peeks itself in through the curtains of the window, as if whispering to check if you might still be awake.

And you are. And all you can think about, is your head on his chest. 

It’s been over a month since you’ve had this type of moment with Eddie. A moment where you’re truly, sincerely, utterly alone with him. Privacy had become a delicacy that you weren’t aware of the fragility of. You hadn’t understood its importance until you had to bask in its absence, always on edge for the next body to walk into the room and take the air out of your lungs. Always anxious for the next sound of news, always worried for the next shoe to drop. 

You’d forgotten what it had felt like for Eddie to twitch his fingers along your spine in his sleep, and for you to be the only witness to his quiet worship, even unconscious. 

Your lips part, and you almost consider whispering hard truths into the trembling night air. There’s a million and one dying words cementing your tongue to the roof of your mouth, and you know that every single one you could even manage to utter would only make you sound like a broken record. 

I’m sorry this happened to you.

I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.

I’m sorry I couldn’t prevent it. 

All things already said to him when he had been drifting in and out of consciousness in that hospital bed. All apologies already buried between muted sobs as you’d clutched his knuckles a little tighter than you should have, a little too selfish in the moment to wonder if it might be hurting him. The only thing on your mind had been keeping him, holding him, feeling him. He was alive – he was alive. And for the first seven nights of his endless rest, all you could wonder is for just how much longer that desperate prayer could ring true.

Would he leave you again? Would he lose the fight? 

You can’t recall without bias which one of you had been the true wounded animal in that little room, scented with burning bleach and cacophonies of nearby patients just beyond the curtains. 

Eddie, looking up at the police who had finally come once he woke, eyes big and teary as he’d tried to wrap his head around his new reality.

You, baring teeth and claws at them in the end, ready to bite hard at anyone who got too close.

It wasn’t just the police. It was everyone. 

It was the same juxtaposition between the two of you at those nurses who would interrupt the nights, always frowning so dutifully at the sight of your carefully curled figure at Eddie’s side. When friends and family came to visit, and they all had the same look of disbelief. As if they were about to tell you that you had imagined it all; he hadn’t survived, he hadn’t come back to you, you were imagining it. You’d been all bark and awaiting bite towards Steve Harrington and the newly revived Jim Hopper, all the same. Their figures bore no difference to you when it came to protecting what was so holy to you. Him, Eddie, here and alive. Eddie, who slept enough for the both of you those nights. The pain in your back from all the uncomfortable hours spent in that little chair at his bedside was insignificant, all the headaches you’d endured from the smell of iodine that still clung to the air after every surgery were pitiful attempts at the Universe removing you from him. 

If you could, you might try to recall your reaction when Dustin Henderson had babbled on through tears as to what had happened to Eddie when the two were left alone. His final act of heroism, or so he thought. 

But you can’t. Right here, right now, you aren’t capable of living in the past. You’ve been haunted enough these last few weeks, and all your numb mind can handle is counting the beats of his heart. Like the rhythm of a song – 1, 2, 3, 4. 1, 2, 3, 4. Staccato verses that you sometimes whisper in time, getting worried when they don’t follow the infallible metronome you’ve set for him. 

“You’re still awake.”

The murmur of his voice is a drink of cold water, startling in the dark greys and blues wrapping the two of you up. 

You lift your head ever so slightly against your better judgment, “Go back to sleep, love.” 

“Touche.” 

You can see his grin even through the shadows. It’s weak, not yet quite as vibrant as it once had been, but it’s there. He’s still alive. He’s still grinning. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” The pads of his fingertips are more intentional against your spine now, longer strokes and mindless shapes, “I’ve got a penny in my pocket if you tell me.”

His words are only slightly slurred. Probably residual of the pain medication they’d prescribed him.

“I wasn’t thinking about anything,” you say, and you mean it.

You hadn’t been thinking. You had just been listening to his heart and his breaths, feeling the weight of him beneath you. 

Little things you had taken for granted once upon a time. Never again, your soul aches as you let your head drop back to his chest carefully. Never again.

“You’re just laying awake, not thinking about anything, at…” he trails off, turning his cheek and squinting in the direction of the alarm clock across the room. The glow is dim, and you know you’ll have to change the batteries soon, “Four in the morning?”

4 AM. Last you had checked, it had been 3 AM. You hadn’t even noticed an hour had passed. 

“Is that really so hard to believe?” you smile up at him, and it’s just as sincere as your words had been. When his honey brown eyes meet yours, warmth drizzles down your entire being. Across your brain, down your spine, wrapping around your limbs. You could spend an eternity here, simmering in his warmth, content to your heart’s fullest capability. 

You’d almost lost him. You’d almost lost this warmth. 

You take a second to memorize his features. Studying him as if you didn’t already know every curvature, every freckle, every winkle better than you knew your own soul. You’re looking at him as if you may never look at him again, and he can tell. 

He doesn’t have to say that he gets it. His hand simply wanders up to cup your face, basking in you as you were him. Two souls, intertwining over overlapping legs and synchronized heartbeats, and he doesn’t have to say a word. 

The moment his fingers card into your baby hairs, you’re turning your mouth quickly to that warm palm. One, two, three kisses. Quick pecks, rapid succession. A secret language that you know he, and only ever he, can begin to understand. 

I love you.

I love you.

I love you. 

It drowns out all sorrow, all guilt, all hauntings. Your cracked lips, and the feeling of those lines across his palms. If there is a Heaven, it’s not somewhere in a pearly gated kingdom above. There are no hark angels and there is no bearded man awaiting. 

It’s here. It’s now. It’s 4 AM, in bed with your lover, getting to experience moments you’d come so close to losing for eternity. 

Do the poets know? They must. All the love, all the adoration, in both your bodies is too abundant for them to not feel it. To not write about it. 

“Go back to bed, love,” you repeat almost a perfect imitation of your first command when he had awakened, and this time, his eyelids flutter with your words, “I’m not gonna disappear between now and sunrise. I promise.” 

“No,” he quickly whispers back as his eyes fully shut, and your palms smooth out the wrinkles of the shirt to feel the ridges of scars hidden for now. Scars he’s ashamed of, for now. Scars you’d one day show all the love in the world to, sacred proof that he came back to you, only once he was ready. One day. “But you’re looking at me like I might.”

His words are heavy in the shades of violet now sinking into the room. But the moon is high in her sky, and the crickets are chirping to the East, and he’s right.

You’re terrified the daylight will steal him from you. You’re terrified the new day might tear away all that you’ve sunk your teeth into. 

“I’m not going to,” he mumbles around a yawn, arms slowly encasing you, pulling you in closer, “I’m not going anywhere. Yeah?” 

He’s back with that warmth, coaxing you right back into heavenly notions with him. You let him; he baits you, and you follow. 

“Yeah.”

It’s a sigh. Of hopefulness, of relief, of belief. 

This time, the I love you is more than a prayer repeated in your mind. And he somehow manages to say it back, just as he begins to slip back under. Still holding you and hands still twitching where they rest against your back. 

Let daylight come. You aren’t capable of worrying about it, or stressing about all that has happened. You aren’t capable of thinking about anything right now, because only one thing matters as your temple and ear find his heartbeat once more. 

Your head is on his chest.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @mediocredreams @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin

@ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87

@thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea@kellsck

@cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking

@witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore

@mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog

@vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria@loveryanax@stylexrepp

@princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

@writinginthetwilight @trixyvixx @kittydeadbones @munson-addict @bluejeangenies

@cryingglightningg @joannamuns9n @missmarch-99 @rhirojo@findmeincorneliastreet

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Summary: It's Hendrix's first Thanksgiving, and though he's not even one month old, he still manages to be part of a sweet surprise.

TW: Reader is breastfeeding, mention of Grandma, reference to the events of chapter 8

WC: 1.2k

Divider credit to @saradika

November 1999

You had given Eddie one job: buy the items on the shopping list—and only the items on the shopping list. There’s the usual weekly groceries, but now there’s the addition of ingredients for Thanksgiving dinner. 

And, of course, a plethora of diapers and wipes for your nearly three-week-old son. 

Sweet baby Hendrix is the reason why you’re excused from navigating the overcrowded Walmart aisles, and why Eddie and Harris have gone in your place. You gaze down at your infant son, wincing as he latches onto your breast. 

“There you go, little man,” you murmur, smoothing down a wisp of his hair. “We’ve got this.”

The apartment is unnaturally quiet; the only sound coming from the living room radiator kicking on to ward off the early winter chill. It’s the calm before the holiday whirlwind, a slice of silence carved out just for you. 

You savor it, inhaling deeply. Hendrix remains undisturbed by your chest rising and falling, happy to be filling his belly before his next nap. He spends his days eating, sleeping, or crying. As Harris says, he doesn’t do any tricks yet. 

Hendrix finishes nursing as the front door clicks open. Adjusting your shirt, you offer Eddie and Harris a tired smile. 

“Glad to see you two survived.”

“Sure did.” Eddie places the bags on the countertop. “And we stayed within budget.”

Your heart surges when he begins unpacking and pulls out a plastic bag filled with Granny Smith apples. Even though Eddie and Wayne will be doing most of the cooking this year—which means a lot of pre-made and boxed dishes—you had insisted on making Grandma’s applesauce. 

“These the right ones?” Eddie asks, wiping a fake bead of sweat from his brow when you answer in the affirmative. “Thank God. I know how much the applesauce means to you.”

You offer a grateful smile as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. It reminds you of the very first Thanksgiving you’d spent with him happened before you two were a couple—before he’d even taken you on a date. 

And, no, the drunken hook-up after his show at The Hideout didn’t count. 

Thanksgiving 1996 was spent eating Oreos and snuggling up on the couch, watching A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving with Eddie and Harris. Grandma was still alive, and you even caught a glimpse of her pre-illness self when Eddie played the Sinatra record. It seems like a million years ago, but it’s only been three. 

“Mommy, guess what?” Seven-year-old Harris calls out from where he’s peering into Hendrix’s bassinet. He doesn’t give you time to guess before he blurts out, “we got a surprise!”

You raise your brows. “A surprise? What is it?”

“Can’t tell ya.” He throws you a wink—where did he even learn that?—and makes a beeline for his room. 

Turning to your husband, you put your hands on your hips. “That surprise better not be more candy,” you warn. “He still has so much left from Halloween.”

Eddie shakes his head and grins. “Not candy.”

“Then what?”

“Can’t tell ya.” Eddie mimics the same wink as his oldest son, solving the mystery of its origin, tucking one particular bag underneath his arm. 

If you weren’t still freshly postpartum, you may have chased after him and insisted that he spill the secret. For now, you settle for flipping him off, and he blows you a cheeky kiss in return. 

Thanksgiving begins like any other normal day. Well, normal for the Munson household. 

Hendrix wakes up around the clock, but you get up for the day when his shrill wail jolts you from your sleep at six A.M. Your breasts are heavy with milk; a good thing, considering he sounds hungry. 

Harris, clad in his blue flannel pajamas, shuffles into your bedroom an hour later. He’s still wiping sleep from his eyes even as he talks. 

“Can we watch the parade?”

You hold your forefinger to your lips, praying that Harris’s entrance doesn’t wake the baby sleeping in Eddie’s arms. 

“It’s not on for another hour, Har Bear,” you whisper, patting the comforter. “But you can hang out with us until then.”

Harris nods, scrambling up onto the bed and plopping down between you and his dad. He glances up at Eddie with a pout. 

“Can I hold Hendrix? Pleeeeeease?”

Never one to shy away from theatrics, his brown eyes are wide as he pleads. 

“Actually,” Eddie says, his gaze flicking over to Harris, “I think we should get the surprise ready?”

Harris wrinkles his nose for a split second before he remembers. “Oh, yeah!” He tugs on Eddie’s undershirt sleeve. “We gotta do the surprise.”

You reach out for the baby, but Eddie shakes his head. “Not so fast, Sweetheart. All of the Munson boys are in on this.”

You’re not quite sure what your three-week-old could possibly contribute, but damn if you’re not intrigued. So you sit back, propped up against the pillows, and wait for them to return. 

Five minutes is long enough for you to doze off again, your body desperate for any scrap of sleep it can get. 

“Dad, she’s sleeping!” It comes from a voice right next to your ear. 

“Gently wake her up.” This voice is a bit farther away. Something shakes you. “I said gently, Har!”

You blink, massaging the back of your stiff neck from the awkward position you assumed during your impromptu nap. 

“I’m up.” You manage a small, tired smile. Harris stands right next to your bedside, but Eddie and Hendrix are nowhere to be found. “Is my surprise ready?”

Harris nods, glancing back at the empty doorway. “So…we just unwrapped the turkey, and it looks a little weird.”

He’s supposed to deliver it like it’s bad news, but his mischievous smile betrays him. 

Still, you play along. “It looks weird? What do you mean?”

That’s apparently Eddie’s cue. He creeps into the room, cradling Hendrix in his arms. Except the baby is no longer wearing his sage green pajamas. Now, he dons a brown onesie, a cartoon turkey face emblazoned on the belly. But the pièce de résistance is a tiny hat, a light brown pom pom puffing out from the top.

“That’s the cutest turkey I’ve ever seen!” Tears spring to your eyes, another sign that you’re still in the throes of postpartum hormones. You wipe them away before they can cause concern for the emotionally intuitive Harris. 

You reach out to take the teeny turkey from your husband. “I could just eat you right up,” you coo, pressing a kiss to Hendrix’s chubby cheek and breathing in his baby powder scent. 

“I found it,” Harris announces with a triumphant grin, “and Dad paid for it.”

“I know my place,” Eddie chuckles. “My wallet and I were ready.”

There’s a beat of silence as you take it all in. Your husband, proudly beaming as you snuggle Hendrix to your chest. Your oldest son, tickling Hendrix’s onesie-clad feet and making himself laugh. And your newborn-turned-turkey, scrunching up and then unfurling his little fist as he relaxes contentedly.

Harris looks up at you expectantly. “Is the parade on now?”

You and Eddie laugh, and Eddie ruffles Harris’s hair. 

There’s certainly plenty to be thankful for this year.

--

[h8ani]

Sasuke Uchiha x Reader

Word Count - 4k

Warnings - smut, angry sex, public sex, fear of getting caught, hair pulling, angst, slight paranoia, kinda non-canon structures (its been a long time since i watched naruto tbh so disregard the village not being exactly how the anime is), oral - male receiving, face fucking, gagging, degradation, penetrative sex, fem!reader, choking, reader is described to be wearing a dress in this chapter, there’s a voyeur

A/N - Just a reminder that if you have joined my taglist and change your username please let me know! If you haven't joined I put the link down below :) But holy hell you guys I can't believe I actually finished this after almost 5 months in my drafts, but I hope you enjoy it!

taglist! - @bloodsiren @blackfire2013 @benkeibear @suyacho @kodzukein

join my taglist → here

Part One → Part Two → Part Three → Part Four

It’s been a few days since the last time Sasuke was over. You’re used to the silence in between his visits; it’s become second nature to go days, even weeks, without seeing him, and the radio silence between each time he visits has become more common than the last. 

It doesn’t bother you. It does. You could really care less. Sasuke has been the only thing that’s been on your mind. You absolutely hate him. You feel…conflicted.

~~

Limbs tangled with one another, all you could hear were the heavy breaths that escaped both of your lips, your body rising and falling every time Sasuke took in a deep breath as you laid on top of him, his hands dancing along the skin of your back so featherlight it almost tickled. 

Neither of you had uttered a word, just basking in the feeling of touching the other’s skin; the warmth radiating off each other’s body heat brought a sense of familiarity that you couldn’t quite pinpoint just why you felt most comfortable in his arms. You mentally shook the thought away; there was no need to focus on that. Your mind had already cleared up from the sex fog he had put you under and had started to race with a million different things that you wanted to bring up to him. Why did he do what he did? When was he going to leave again? He’s going to leave right away, don’t be stupid. When were you going to see him again? Why did he leave in the first place? You wanted to bring up so much, but you couldn’t brush off this feeling that something was about to happen, as if the rainstorm you were caught up in earlier today was a warning of a disaster brewing and about to happen. 

“What’s wrong,” Sasuke spoke up, his words sounding more like a statement than a question. His eyes were trained on you, making your stomach involuntarily tighten with their intensity. He had been focusing on the multitude of expressions that had graced your face within the last minute; you were completely oblivious to his stare; somehow, he wanted to blame the sex for your lack of inattentiveness and not the fact that you may feel safe around him, no it couldn’t be that. Being distracted has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you being incompetent. Yeah, that’s it.  

Your eyes met his, and before he knew it, your eyes lit up, a small smile appeared, and a simple shake of the head erased any form of contemplation he had previously seen. “Nothing.” You quickly say, “Just thinking.” Bullshit

“About what?” He interjects, his hands that were once dancing lightly across your back were now holding your hips, gripping ever so slightly. 

“Just thinking, random thoughts, it doesn’t matter.” 

“If it doesn’t matter, then you can tell me.”

Huffing a sigh, you stare back at him, his emotionless pools of black not letting you get a read on him, yours: uncertainty. “You won’t answer me even if I ask.”

He raises and sits up, causing you to reposition yourself in an upright position as well; your eyes stay trained on him as his stare hardens, almost as if what you just said offended him somehow. His eyes glance into yours as if he needs to be wary now. “I’m not answering anything about why I’m back in the village or why I left.” He blurts out quickly, a scoff following soon after. “You know you can’t say anything about seeing me. Don’t go blabbing about it to any of your little friends, or I won’t be coming back.” His stare solidifies as your jaw drops ever so slightly; the hardened look he’s giving you makes your chest tighten, and your body rises in temperature. 

Sasuke sees your expression fall ever so slightly before you catch yourself and, in turn, sends the signature scowl he’s grown accustomed to back in his direction. Your eyes narrow while you sit up straighter, the discarded sheet on the bed now pulled tightly to your chest, and he curses at the way that made his stomach clench. He doesn’t care if you’re mad at him, but he can’t lie and say he didn’t want to ruin your two’s good momentum today. The sex was great, and he wanted to leave on what would be considered a good note for the both of you.

“I think you should go,” you say simply. You avert your glare and decide to stare at the wall instead, avoiding his eyes. “You know where the door is.” Ouch.

He rubs his face and sighs. “Look, you don’t get-”

“I don’t care, Sasuke. Like I said, it didn’t matter. So why don’t you just leave? I never saw you, and I’m not going to tell any of my “little friends.” 

You sigh and throw the blankets off you, quickly grabbing your clothes and slamming your bathroom door shut. 

Your throat tightened from the moment you got up, wanting to get away from him from the very moment he opened his stupid mouth. You take a slow, deep breath and let it out; the tightness in your throat drops to your stomach. Why would he even snap like that? What gives him the right to think he could speak like that to you? You miff another sigh out as the conflict in you bubbles up even more with the thoughts running rampant. How stupid could you be for thinking he actually could’ve been somewhat of a nice human being after today?

Your thoughts were quickly silenced by the sound of your front door opening and closing, the door shutting louder than necessary. Fucking asshole.

~~

You shake your head to rid yourself of your thoughts as you look at yourself in the mirror, you fix your hair and check over your outfit in the mirror, quickly doing a little 360 in your mirror. Everyone had decided that tonight was a good night to hang out and have some drinks as no one had any missions for tomorrow, so there was no need to worry about any impending hangovers. 

You changed into a nice dress that fell mid-thigh; it was form-fitting and casual enough that you didn’t overdress or underdress with it. You pulled your hair into a high ponytail and just enough makeup to cover any eye bags that were more prominent than usual, no less from your sleepless nights thinking about he-who-shall-not-be-named-or-thought-of. You looked yourself over in the mirror and smiled. You felt pretty tonight, and it was nice not constantly to be in work mode for once.

The stressors from work and the expectations you always got from everyone took a toll on your body more than you would have liked. You were expected to never make any mistakes and always be three steps ahead, and it was simply a lot. Was it fair? Probably not, but it was also what you got for being a perfectionist at such a young age. You gave everyone expectations where you could only rise instead of fall. If you fell, everyone would know, and you just couldn’t have that. 

You leave your apartment and make your way down to meet your friends. The air had a slight chill to it as the sun was finally setting, but something along with the chill was bothering you. You couldn’t brush off the feeling that someone was watching you. 

Your feet skid to a halt as you spin, eyes cascading along the rooftops of the buildings around you. Your breathing picks up as your heart begins beating, and you feel every thump as your anxiety spikes. You internally curse yourself for being so stupid as not to even bring a single shuriken with you. For god’s sake, you could’ve popped one in your purse just for safekeeping. The anxiety you feel is derived from being paranoid, and you have to remind yourself no one is watching you and that it’s just your own mind playing tricks on you. You take a deep breath as you hear a name call out to you; turning back around, you see Shikamaru and Choji waving you over. You speed walk over to them, swallowing down the feeling of someone’s eyes on you. Was Sasuke here again? You wouldn’t expect him to be over so soon after the fight you two had just days ago. He’s never over this soon after he leaves anyway. Usually, it takes weeks for him to come over, sometimes even months. Although his eyes being the ones you’ve felt had to have been it, there’s no other explanation.

~~

The buzz of the alcohol was finally settling in; once you got inside, you decided you needed a tiny little shot to calm your nerves and anxieties, then another once all your friends arrived and wanted to take a group shot, and now here you are ordering your third. You’re a lightweight, no shock about that, and feeling a bit dazed as you stare at the shot of alcohol sitting in front of you. You’re so zoned out, not even realizing the presence of someone taking the seat next to you at the bar table.

“You look nice tonight.” A familiar voice catches your ear, and you turn, seeing Shikamaru next to you. A sudden rush of heat hits you as you stare back at him. “Oh, T-Thank you.” You stutter out and mentally smack yourself. You divert your attention back to your shot glass, suddenly remembering how intriguing it was just two seconds ago. 

Suddenly, hearing the sound of glass scraping against the bar table, you look up and see a similar shot in Shikamaru’s hand. “Cheers?” He holds up his shot glass, waiting for you to do the same. A small chuckle leaves you as you hold yours up and clink your glass with his. “Cheers.” 

You knock back the shot, grimacing over the familiar burn down your throat and the fuzzy feeling deep in your stomach. You sigh and slump back against your seat as you look at Shikamaru. “You look nice too, I think I forgot to compliment you back.” 

He chuckles, “Thanks, I didn’t really know what to wear. I wanted to come in sweats and a hoodie, but Ino just about had a conniption when I mentioned that.”

“Oh, don’t lie, you didn’t even want to come to this.”

“And you did?”

“Well, you got me there, didn’t you?” 

Laughter fills the air around you two as you continue to talk about past missions, the latest drama you’ve heard around the village, and even as mundane as the midnight snacks you two have had, you were actually…enjoying yourself; the thought of Sasuke had been dissipated like the rain that had come and gone from the prior days. Listening to Shikamaru talk was something you found yourself rather enjoying. Still, maybe that’s just the alcohol in your veins talking. Yeah, that was definitely it. “So, what’s new with you?” Shikamaru asks, his eyes finding yours, and the sudden tightness is once again back, whether that being because the only thing that seems to be ‘new’ in your life was Sasuke and every little defiling and obscene moment between you two replayed again in your head or because you actually might be liking the attention Shikamaru is giving you the world will never know. 

“Ah, you know. Lots of training, lots of missions, lots of-”

“Staying in your apartment all day and night?”

You quirk an eyebrow up at him, lips slowly following suit. “Shikamaru Nara, are you stalking me?” An indiscernible giggle leaves your lips, which shocks not only you but also him. You can see the pink rising to his cheeks at your minor faux accusation; his eyes widen, and his hands immediately come up to defend himself. “No, I just hear Ino constantly nagging at me to hang out with her, that’s how I know. I don’t stand out of your window or anything like that. Do you know how much time and energy that takes? Do you know-”

“Shikamaru?” 

“What?”

“I was joking.”

“Oh.”

“You know, for someone with an IQ higher than a tree, you’re kinda dumb.”

“You know what…Shut up.”

~~

The air around you as you step outside drops a few degrees, causing you to shiver despite the multiple shots you had earlier. Glancing around, you notice how barren the pathways are and how barren the town seems. You glance back over your shoulder to see that Shikamaru is already on his way with his teammates, all drunk themselves, as you see them stumbling against each other. 

Your apartment isn’t far from where you are, so you, in turn, make your way down the path. Bad idea. The more you walk, the more you regret that last shot you took and every single life choice you seem to have made tonight because the line you had been walking in had slowly turned into a wave, making you plant your hand on the building beside you. “Just a little more, and I’m almost home.” You blow out a sigh before taking another step forward. Looking up, your body freezes as you see a rock fly past you and fall to the floor to your right. Your senses come to realize that someone is near as you stare at the rock. The alcohol has slowed your reflexes because you’re yanked backward, a scream bubbling up in your throat. Still, before you can release it, a hand is clasped over your mouth, and you get dragged in between the two buildings down the small alleyway.

You begin kicking back and screaming into the hand, fighting as you’re dragged back further into the small space between the two buildings, your front pressed against the wall and the chills finding their way back up your spine once you hear his voice. “How stupid could you be?” His voice is loud in your ear, hand still firm against your mouth, not allowing you to utter a word. “Walking home drunk is one thing, but what the fuck are you wearing?” He seethes. Your dress is already riding up higher on your thighs, just below your ass, due to being pressed between the wall and the man himself. It took all of one big gust of wind to blow it up or one perverted old man to ‘drop’ something of his to catch a look up your dress. The anger that welled up in his chest was undeniable as he pushed off of you and spun you around to slam you harder into the wall itself. Your eyes caught him scanning over you; his already dark eyes seemed even darker tonight. The dress you wore hugged every inch of you perfectly, and it drove him madder seeing it hiked up higher than intended, all thanks to him. One more inch, and he could see the little lace thong he knew you were wearing. He finds your eyes and tsks at the dumbfounded look you gave him; just how stupid were you? 

“Sasuke-”

“Shut up and get on your knees.” He cuts you off, hands gripping your arms and tugging you down until you plop down on your knees. The dirt underneath you digs uncomfortably into your skin. You look up, pupils dilated as you stare up at the ravenette. “Unless you want us to be caught, I suggest you not utter a single noise.” Without warning, Sasuke pushes two fingers past your lips and into your mouth, pumping the digits like they were his cock until they were soaked with your own spit. “I suggest you act right, given your circumstances.” He speaks, and your eyes narrow up at him; the urge to clamp your teeth on his fingers threatens to come to fruition, but you can’t ignore the subtle throb in between your legs. “Suck.” He says while pushing his fingers deeper and tugging his pants down with his other hand, pulling down the material along with his underwear, allowing his cock to spring out. You could feel yourself salivate just looking at him, wanting to trade his fingers for his cock against your better judgment. He presses his fingers down harder against your tongue, causing you to gag and choke on saliva; you can hear the snicker that comes from him as he watches you trying to quieten your coughing spout. 

His hand threads into your hair, messing up your almost perfect ponytail, the grip burning your scalp as he pulls you forward, knees dragging against the ground while the tip of his cock presses against your wet lips, his precum smearing across them in an almost erotic way that Sasuke doesn’t think he could last by just looking at you. 

You drop your jaw open while he pushes his cock past your lips, enveloping himself in the warmth that is your mouth. The grip on your hair grants you nothing but pain as his hips begin to move to their own rhythm, his cock hitting farther back than the last thrust. You try your best to breathe through your nose as he fucks your face to his liking; maybe if your mind weren’t so focused on Sasuke being here, cock down your throat and his eyes watching you so meticulously, you’d have the nerve to push back, make him slow down, maybe even explain why he knew you were out with your friends in the first place and not at home. 

Tugging you even tighter, Sasuke pushes your head until your nose is brushing against his stomach; your throat tightens as he effectively pushes each inch into your throat. “You feel me? Do you think that Shikamaru could ever stretch your throat out like I do? He might as well try something with you seeing how fucking drunk you were tonight.” His hips rock forward until his dick hits further back into your throat. You choke around him, drool effectually spilling past your lips and down your chin. 

Eyes squeezing shut, you sputter another cough, which turns into a gag around his length. A disapproving noise is heard from him as he pulls away, allowing you to take in deep breaths. As you open your eyes, you see him crouched down in front of you, a look one can only describe as displeasure. “How stupid could you be?” he says, slightly shaking his head before he speaks again. You’re supposed to be better than them.” 

“Better than-”

Crack!

“Naruto! You idiot!” You gasp as you hear the rest of your friends walking down and getting closer to the alleyway you were in. They must’ve just now left the bar you all were at; this isn’t good; you need to leave; they can’t see you like this. You pull farther away from Sasuke as you see them pass the opening between the two buildings, all of them stumbling and unknowingly passing you as they walk. 

Another tsk leaves his mouth as he shoves you forward; you catch yourself on your hands while grimacing at the sting that travels through the skin of your knees. You feel his hands positioning himself behind you, all while pushing your dress up to your hips and pulling your thong to the side. Suddenly feeling every bit of alcohol drain from your system, you become hyper-aware of what is really happening; you jolt forward, and before you can spin around to ask him what he thinks he’s doing, you’re yanked back by your hair, back arching to the point where you’re staring straight into his eyes. “Make sure to be quiet, or else everyone is going to see how much you love taking my cock.” A deep chuckle vibrates through him. “What would they think when seeing you on all fours in an alley? Perfect little (y/n) crying from how good my cock makes her feel; how would you ever live that down? You think Shikamaru would ever give you the slightest bit of attention after that?” 

Letting go of your hair, a knee between your thighs pushed them further apart while you balanced yourself on your hands. The itching feeling that someone could see or be watching from a distance burns brighter than the pain in your knees. The swollen tip of his cock prods your already glistening entrance; you bite down on your lip to stop any form of a whine from slipping out. You swallow down the nerves as his hand leaves your hair to slip around your throat; the silent plea that he wouldn’t make this difficult left the moment his hips slammed into yours, his hand tightening on your throat, restraining the scream that threatened to bubble out. He gave you no time to adjust, his hand leaving your throat and falling to your waist, fingers digging into your flesh so tight as he slammed into you that you knew bruises would be there by morning. 

You can’t help but glance up, fearing that any of your friends could leave the bar at any time and pass by, seeing you in the most compromising position you feel like you’ve been in. The subtle feeling that there’s a pair of eyes on the two of you grows larger while you scan around. No one has passed by the entrance, and this feeling could only be explained by you being scared of getting caught. 

Sasuke’s breathy grunts found your ears, and a pang of alarm shot right through you as he was the one making noise. The subtle sound of skin slapping skin makes you even more fearful. The coil in your stomach is already winding tight; the quieter you have to become, the more your pussy grips him. You clench around him, pussy squeezing for dear life. Your nails dig into the ground beneath you, knuckles turning white. 

“Oh, God…” You pant, dropping your head down between your shoulders. The sounds of everyone’s voices can be heard in the distance, and you try desperately to focus on anything other than the impending orgasm that’s slowly building up. 

Sasuke shifts, bringing his hand in between your legs and fingers quickly to find your clit, rubbing quick little circles. You bite down hard on your lip, the silvery taste of metallic dancing on your tongue from allowing the moan that threatened to escape. No, You won’t give him the satisfaction of making you cum, especially this fast. You grab his hand to stop his fingers and feel his hand that was once placed on your waist slide across your skin and reach back up to your throat, drawing your back flush to his chest, knees digging deeper into the gravel on the ground and seemingly reaching deeper within you, a desperate whine left your lips as your eyes faintly rolled back. “Stop me from making you cum, and I swear to god, you’re going to regret it.” He growls while tightening his grip on your throat and bringing his other hand back to your clit. His hips snapped into you even deeper while he assaulted your clit. You struggle to gasp as the coil in you snaps; your body shakes as you lean back into him more, pushing him even deeper that you swear you see stars. You spasmed as you dug your nails into the hand that held your throat while he continued to pound into you. 

He was chasing his own release, and the way he felt like you two would be caught at any moment spurred him on even more. He knew tonight was a lot, even on his standards of fucking you, but the way your pussy was fluttering around him, the deeper he got, and the rougher he became, he couldn’t stop. Your walls clenched around him, climax dragging out as your pleasure was heightened as he fucked into you; your name tumbled off of his lips before he bit into your shoulder, muffling the sinful moan he released as he came. You both fell forward, barely catching yourselves before hitting the ground, with heavy breaths syncing with one another while you catch your wit on what you two just did. 

The feeling of someone watching you never did go away. 

The angry pair of eyes attached to the redhead at the back end of the alleyway never left you two, either. 

network: @enchantedforest-network

[gorgeys]

imagine….

gently holding maddy’s hands while applying a topcoat of nail polish on her fingernails. you treat her so delicately, the brush barely grazing her nails and your fingers cautiously holding hers, afraid of pressing too hard.

your eyes are trained on the slight movements of the brush, your eyebrows knitted in concentration, and your lips pursed ever so slightly. you’re afraid of messing up.  you always are, but especially on her. luckily the soft, familiar music playing in the background and the silkiness of your sheets beneath your knees is comforting against the sensation of her in front of you.

she’s just as focused on you, her brown eyes unable to retreat from your face. she’s come to love the way you focus on your craft, the way you focus on her.  she’s learned every little quirk of your lips and twitch of your nose from the times you’ve worked on her, committing them all to memory.

she feels awkward and obsessive about the way she thinks about you but she can’t help herself.  she loves the way you care, the way warmth radiates off of you whenever you’re touching her, the way you look up at her every so often to check on her.  its a sort of calm that she hasn’t felt before.

you had only begun giving her manicures a couple months ago when one of her friends recommended you for a cheap set.  you had learned how to do nails from youtube tutorials and it had become your talent, but never in a million years did you think you’d be good enough for the most perfect girl in school.

but you were sat across her on your bed every couple weeks painting intricate patterns on her acrylics. you talked frequently during your sessions but seldom outside the confines of your room.  nevertheless, conversation flowed smoothly.  she always made you nervous but she was surprisingly easy to talk to. you were like the oasis from her usual, dramatic world.

but then there were moments of silence. there were moments where the only thing you could feel was the soft skin of her hands and the beating of your own heart. and moments when she felt her chest tighten as you made the simplest eye contact.

as much as she wanted to deny it, she knew she felt things for you, even in the short time you had spent together. she knew when she got home each time after leaving your house and was already craving to be with you again.  sometimes she tried to ruin her nails just so she had an excuse to see you again.  she knew when she laid in bed at night after a bad day and the one thing that made it a bit better was the thought of your sweet smile.

and she must have known you felt things for her. the way your eyes gleamed when she complimented you was almost embarrassing. a single word from her would make your entire day. and every single time you went the extra mile to add painstakingly complex details to her nails and give her a discounted price.  though she always paid you more than what you asked of her.

when you were done, you looked up at her with a smile, pushing the brush back into the nail polish jar.  you didn’t let go of her hand and she didn’t pull away.  the corners of her lips curled upward, her heart melting when she recognized the pride in your eyes and your smile.  she slightly squeezed your hand, a silent thanks and praise.

your gaze flickered to your hands and then back to her face, your heart beating faster when you realized just how close you were.  you waited patiently, hoping that the adoring look in your eyes would coax her into making the first move.  luckily you wouldn’t have to wait much longer.

[hyewka]

boyfriend | c.bg

summary; choi beomgyu is a name that means different things to different people. to you, he's the pest that you can't quite get rid of. he's always around to bother you, embarrass you, all of the above. unfortunately his hatred for you ends up ruining your chances with his best friend, choi soobin. and now all the years of effort you've spent tolerating him dissipates.

you've had enough of his bitchy attitude.

warnings; sub!beomgyu, harddom!reader, degradation like this is mean (as i can get with beomgyu) lol, slight mommy kink, overstim, dacryphilia, nipple play (m receiving), titty sucking, bed humping, attention whore gyu + praise kink, dumbification ?

w.c; 4.3k

a/n; the god of titles..am i right (note sarcasm) this originally had more plot but it took too long to edit so i kept this simple, straight to the action 😭

When you were on your way to the address Soobin had suggested to hangout at, you felt giddy all over. You met the boy a few weeks ago yet you’ve grown attached to him rather quickly—he was a gentleman if you ever knew one.

Though, he did end up ghosting you for a few days. But hey, he just invited you over to his flat! Maybe all those days of him going completely ghost had just been a tactic to keep you on your toes, in which case, he succeeded. Or maybe he was just busy. At least with that thought process, you wouldn’t feel like an idiot for getting so clingy over him. 

And this time, it isn’t under the pretense of a stupid school project either, but an actual, official, one on one hang with Soobin.

The smile on your face as you knock on the door couldn't be any larger even as you internally scold yourself, attempting to fight the way your body naturally responds to the thought of the guy who's been plaguing your thoughts for weeks now. 

He was just too darn cute, everything about him to you was pure, and you couldn’t help but want to bask in the shine he radiates. It really couldn't be helped—the wait on Soobin opening his door being spent on quickly looking over your reflection for the umpteenth time through your phone screen, in hopes of tidying yourself even more.

When it opens though, your smile is with no sort of extraneous effort, wiped, faster than a lightning bolt as you narrow your eyes, a million questions popping in your head.

Before you could say something, the boy in front of you is the one who scoffs, just as surprised at seeing you at his doorstep. "Why are you here?"

You blink twice, then thrice, trying to understand why the hell he— Beomgyu was here. It doesn’t make sense—well, until it did. 

Beomgyu was Soobin’s other half, best friend they call it. It was like the gods purposefully wanted to torture you—they didn’t even make sense together!

Unfortunately for you, you’ve known Beomgyu for an estimate of at least two years so you’ve grown to know what he was like. Beomgyu was this annoying brat who had nothing good to say, Soobin…the complete opposite. He was a romantic, a sweetheart—

This—this was supposed to be a date! 

“I should be asking you that…” through the sharpness of your tone, it was obvious you detested the boy—but you still stood there, with no sign of hatred, your face completely neutral. Which you know pisses him off as his upper lip twitches—he hates you don’t give him the satisfaction of a frown and you know it. 

That’s off your mind rather quickly due to your quick disinterest in his response, trying to get a glimpse of the apartment with the little crack Beomgyu's body had given you access to, your neck craning to look for the boy you came here for in the first place. Unfortunately, Beomgyu obstructs your view, catching onto what you were doing, arms pressing on the doorframe as he clicks his tongue at you, as if to mockingly disapprove of your actions. 

See? He was such a little bitch! He even had the audacity to wear a large grin, as if he just succeeded in his master evil plan.

Still, you push your annoyance down, already exasperated that you had to exchange two interactions with him. “Where’s Soobin?”

“Where’re your pants?” he retorts—a little too proud of his comeback. Your eyes quickly look down at your outfit, which, god how embarrassing. If this wasn’t the date you thought it was going to be, the dress you’re wearing would look absolutely ridiculous.

“Can you—ugh, can you just tell me if Soobin’s here?”

Beomgyu opens his mouth to say something until the person you’ve been meaning to see shows up behind him. Soobin. Again, it’s like you’re under a spell as your eyes turn into one with sparkles in them as if you’ve just been graced by an angel.

You wave your hand at him meekly, your mood taking a complete one eighty. Beomgyu catches that, his smirk faltering, immediately turning behind. You guess he didn’t notice the older boy’s presence.

Soobin’s smile widened at the recognition of you, the darned dimples you loved so much making show. "You made it!"

He ushers Beomgyu to make way for you—the boy rolling his eyes before practically stomping off inside the flat. Beomgyu had issues, and you weren’t going to be the one to unpack them.

You focus on slipping your shoes off until Soobin’s honey-like voice halts your movement temporarily, your smile freezing. “I thought we could game, you know, to get closer as friends. Beomgyu already set it up and everything!” 

His excitement is evident in his tone and god, you want to facepalm yourself—of course. This wasn't a date. He said ‘as friends’, as friends! You weren’t going to huddle up in his bed watching movies, no, you were going to game. You sigh, looking up to give him a smile as if you approve. 

But you don’t. It’s not even one of those moments where you’d realize spending time with someone you like is what ‘truly matters’. 

Because it’s a lot worse than you imagined. First, Beomgyu didn’t only set up the game for you and Soobin, he was joining you and Soobin. Which, great, can it get any less romantic? Second, Beomgyu situated himself conveniently between you and Soobin—so, yes, it can get a lot less romantic. Third, the majority of the time, you sat trying to tug down your short dress, truly a less than fitting dress for an occasion like…this. Due to that, your already lacking gaming skills are affected, which then creates the perfect opportunity for Beomgyu to berate you. How fun.

Under the stress of the game, you reacted pretty negatively to his yelling, your anger bubbling up. Finally, Beomgyu snapped, demanding you to get off the game. You’d agree under normal circumstances but he was pissing you off, so you’re stubborn, not exiting the lobby. 

“Y/N, come on, please?” You almost gasp, looking at Soobin with offense but he doesn’t budge, urging you with his eyes to quit. He’s supposed to be on your side! 

You couldn’t stand this any longer. You throw the controller, which earns another yell from Beomgyu but you don’t care to process it as you pick up your purse, heading out. 

What a bust.

“Baby—Y/N, what’s up with you?” Soobin’s voice is exasperated, hand on your wrist in an attempt to stop you from reaching out to the door knob. You turn around to face him. Fuck, you couldn’t believe him! He can’t be this oblivious can he? “What’s up with me? What’s up with me?” 

“What’s up with you? You ghosted me for four days straight. No calls, no texts. You ignore all my attempts at communication, practically telling me that you don’t want to talk to me anymore then suddenly, lo and behold, you invite me over to your apartment?”

He gulps, eyes fluttering down to the floor. “I-it’s not—”

You interrupt him. “But, what, as friends? I don't get it. Do you not like me or something?" You aren’t typically the type to cry over getting rejected, but it sure as hell felt like you would break at any moment right now—even if he just hesitates for a few seconds. You feel stupid, for liking him so much.

Soobin looks up at you with wide eyes, shaking his head. "No—no it's not that!"

It’s like a switch, how your heart soars from the floor that it metaphorically dropped to. He didn’t not like you. You don't even think to ask more questions on his reasons for treating you like shit and completely dodging your calls after you finished the project—love is blind they say. "Do you like me?" Your voice is small, eyes glinting with a tinge of hope as you study his movement.

Fortunately, it’s not hard to gauge what he means when he nods. 

It was enough for you to smile, pulling him into your body, your back hitting the wall of the narrow hallway, reaching to pull him in a kiss by his nape. You liked this about Soobin, you didn't have to question anything about him because he seemed too innocent. He immediately reciprocated, lips as soft as you imagined, a strawberry lip balm you hadn’t noticed he put on leaving a sweet taste.

Before it could turn into anything more, Soobin subtly pulls away from you, and you can’t control the way your eyes flutter open in the confusion when you pick up on what he’s muttering. “We can’t…fuck, I can’t do this.”

You raise a brow, and suddenly he’s completely detached from your hold, large empty space between the two of you. “Y/N, I…I can’t do this to him—” Your confusion gets worse as you try to keep up—who was him? Unfortunately, you don’t get questions in as Soobin rambles to no end.

“I like you, I really really do but…he’s my best friend! And—and I just can’t go behind his back like this. You’re his girl and…and I should—I’m gonna go…” 

“Soobin…wait—huh?” You try to gather your thoughts as fast as you can to respond but Soobin slips on his shoes, dismissive of you and is already out the door—you couldn’t even ask where the hell he was going, he just leaves.

“You’re still here?” you turn your head at the voice, seeing Beomgyu with the controller in his hand. “Where’s Soobin?” 

You narrow your eyes at the lanky boy, his hair messy, cheap clip-on piercings on his ear..your brain working wires and…it clicks. Soobin’s best friend? Beomgyu. His girl? You weren’t dating anyone, most people knew you were fucking around with Soobin—so, someone lied to him. Lied to him about you dating Beomgyu… of all people.

You sneer, not believing the conclusion you’re about to get to. You walk towards him in strides and he looks at you with wide eyes, stumbling back a little. Accusatorily, your finger pokes at his chest with your first claim. “Are you fucking insane?” 

He’s quick to swat your hand off him, brows furrowed. “The hell? Are you?” 

You can’t help but scoff. Normally, you’d never jump to conclusions in respect to letting the alleged guilty plead their case, but with Beomgyu? You knew how he was—he’d do anything to make you miserable. This wasn’t too far out of his alley. You thought his fixation on annoying the shit out of you was silly at first and you could’ve cared less to respond back, but now? To hell with that!

You poke at his chest again, his feet going backwards the more you push. “Beomgyu, you know what you did.” you seethe, “You told Soobin that we’re fucking… dating? Dating!” A thud sound is the only thing you hear, the controller he was holding dropping on the floor.

His face pales almost comically, eyes widening as his lips parted like he couldn’t believe you found out. Could he be any more obvious? You push him again with your finger pointed at his shoulder, with a lot more force. “What? Did you think your stupid lie wouldn’t find its way back to me?”

“I—I didn’t do that. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You were already fuming, but with his weak denial, you’re sure smoke was cartoonishly seeping out of your ears.

You scoff, turning your head away from the boy for a second to keep your cool. “Don’t piss me off.” your voice low had Beomgyu pathetically cowering rather quickly—it felt like any minute and he’d cry. You take a deep breath in, dropping your hand to your side. “I’ve done absolutely nothing to you Beomgyu. Nothing, nothing! So what’s your reason, huh? For hating me so much?”

His eyes widened once more. “I don’t!” he sputters. “I don’t hate …you. I don’t hate you.”

You furrow your eyebrows, was he fucking with you again? 

“That doesn’t make sense!” you yell, and he flinches, “Are you even hearing yourself? Why else would you spend so much time making fun of me, annoying the fuck out of me, and–and…” The crease of your forehead flatten out slowly as you realize what was happening.

No way. There’s no way.

You corner him, his back hitting a door, eyes down as he feels yours pierce him. "Do you… like me?” it’s the second time you have asked the question today, yet they couldn’t be any more of a difference in tone.

You feel your stomach churn when he doesn’t say anything—not denying anything, still unable to hold eye contact.

“You’re—you’re such a fucking loser!” you yell, throwing your hands up. His face falters, hurt evident on his face. You just want to rip his hair out, he had no right to feel hurt! He was a manchild, still believing that pulling on a girl's ponytail showed that he liked her. "So what? You planned to tell every guy approaching me that you were my boyfriend? Because you were too much of a pussy to make a move?"

Heat rushed to his cheeks, adamantly shaking his head. “No! No I wouldn’t! Even if I made a move you…you would’ve ignored me and, and I—”

“How long have you liked me?" you interrupt his ramble, saying it softly, barely hearable, though the tone of your voice is one of disgust, humiliating to the boy.

"F-for a while! You would've noticed if you weren't so… dumb." he mumbles the last part, still not being man enough to look you in the eye. You’re intrigued that he could still muster up an insult hurled towards you. Fucking bitch.

Suddenly an ugly feeling erupts in your chest—revenge. Make him feel the humiliation you suppressed every time he played a prank on you, talked down on you…

You look down at the boy’s crotch and he noticeably gets flustered, hands going discreetly over his clothed dick. “What are you l-looking at?!” 

Your lips curl before you close the small distance between the two of you, your breasts purposefully pressed against him as you whisper in his ear. “Bet you jerk off this stupid dick of yours thinking about me, fucking whore.”

“N-no…” he says unconvincingly. 

You could feel his breath on your neck—hot and heavy, which spurs you on, slowly moving his hand out of the way for you, after slight resistance, he pathetically lets you. You promptly grab his dick through the restraints of fabric, and he gasps, a whimper following shortly after when you start to slowly palm him. The moment you feel the bulge growing his pants, you halt your movement, removing your hand from his crotch all together. He lets out a strained whimper, hand blindly looking for yours to put it on his clothed dick again, but you cut it short with another whisper, “Show me.”

“H-huh?” he breathes out, still lost on the brief handjob he got from you. You pull your head away from the side of his, facing him, “Show me how you fuck yourself thinking of me."

Beomgyu’s eyes shoot open, processing what you just asked of him.

You reach for the doorknob to the side of Beomgyu and push open the door, to your luck, it was a bedroom. You casually go inside, leaving a frozen Beomgyu in the hallway before he finally follows behind. 

“I’m—I’m not going to do that.” 

You plop down on the singular cushion chair in front of the bed, “Sure you are.” 

“You like me so much don’t you? Or was that just a front?”

It’s funny how quick he is to shake his head, denying your claim. “I do like you!”

You cross your leg over the other, signaling your hand to the bed in front of you. “Go on then, prove it to me.” you can’t help but sneer. Though you would never admit it, your excitement was over the roof.

You like this, you like seeing him so small under your gaze, walking over to his bed with his head down—fringe going over his eyes. It was a sight to see, the boy who’s been nothing but a nuisance to you following your every order like a dog under the mercy of his owner.

“I don’t have all day Beomgyu. I have an exam to study for tonight.”

He’s been sitting on the bed, very hesitant to do anything and it was ruining your mood. “Soobin would’ve been faster.” you mutter, and he catches that, immediately standing up to pull his sweats down to his knees, his boner outlined on his boxers. You’re satisfied, his face already red.

You watch intently, every move, as his poor dick is finally pulled out from the restriction of his underwear. You don’t even get a good look until Beomgyu’s laying on his tummy, raising his hips slightly until it falls again—then again, his pace fastening as he feverishly rutted onto the bed, his cute muffled whimpers against the sheets filling the room.

“Oh my god,”  you clasp a hand over your mouth in an attempt to hide your amusement, “You hump your bed?”

“S-shut up…” he barely says it over his cries, teeth biting down on his lips.

You pout mockingly. “What if I don’t wanna?”

He looks at you through his tear-stained lashes, hips still moving against his bed, “G-gonna fuck you—” your expression turns grim waiting for him to finish his sentence, “Like a bitch.” 

The audacity of the trembling grin on his face is enough reason for you to reach for your phone from your purse. “What are you doing?” 

You don’t care to respond, pressing the red button—three, two, one, and record. What? You weren’t going to do anything with it, you just wanted to tease him a little bit, get him to feel a little too much shame to bite back.

He seems to catch on to what you were doing pretty quickly, it’s not like you were discreet about it— holding your phone horizontally in front of your face. “Beomie, don’t you feel disgusting for liking your best friend’s crush?” you narrate loud enough for the recording, and he only whimpers, burying his face into the sheets of the bed.

You're surprised he responds. “I l-liked you first—hnng–” his voice is muffled, barely understood through his moans.

“Oh really? Too bad I only fuck good boys like Soobin and not misbehaving ones like Beomie…” you taunt.

“No, no, no!” he cries out, shaking his head uncontrollably, tears staining his cheeks, “Am gonna be a good boy, gonna be a good boy I—” he chokes momentarily on his incoherent sob, hiccuping as hips don’t relent, moving on their own, “I promise, I promise.”

 You stand up from the chair, slowly nearing his feverish figure. 

You’re grateful you decided to get closer, everything was in a lot more detail, his restrained moans magnified to your ears. “Is the little pup crying?” you mock again, making sure to push your phone’s camera in front of his teary face. Which gets the waterfall to run down even faster, he was so so humiliated. 

You grab his hair with one hand and he cries out when you forcefully pull his head back—at least to get a better view. “Pup is drooling so much, aw…” 

He was—light trickles of saliva were seeping from the corner of his lips down to under his cheek. “God, you get like this when thinking of my pussy? Guess I’d have to give it to you huh…"

You almost laugh when he moves his head on his own, nodding profusely like a dumb bitch. “Pathetic.” You let go of his sweaty hair almost in disgust, his head falling onto the mattress with a final exasperated whine, his hips slowing—finally crashing down. 

You tilt your head curiously, before rolling your eyes and taking it upon yourself to turn over his limp body, getting his fucked-out face on camera, and another treat—his dick. White semen was spurting out the poor swollen cock of his, staining his shirt. It was a cute sight, almost too cute you decided that you might actually look over this video back at your dorm.

You gently raise his shirt up to his chest, which was rising then falling, trying to catch his breath. You almost coo at the reveal of his pink nubs, pouting. “Aw, look. Beomie’s nipples are sensitive.” You rub one nipple with your fingertip, getting the boy to flutter his wet lashes open, letting out a sigh of pleasure, his body getting worked up once more. 

It’s a shame you have to turn off your phone, tossing it to the side of the bed, but it was restraining you, the loss of capturing Beomgyu’s moans for a longer period doesn’t linger.

“You like this?” you say, pinching his nipples and he gasps, mouth hanging open, throwing his arms over his forehead as he nods. “Yeah? Wanna see your face.” He shakes his head, and you twist. A shriek comes from him this time, hand still covering half his face.

You click your tongue, disapproval of his noncompliance, and shove your thumb in his watering mouth. Pressing down on his tongue, you meant for it to be a punishment, but like a pervert, he starts sucking on it. You’d never say this to anyone aloud, you’d never admit how you felt your panties uncomfortably sticking to your pussy at the sight of him drooling over your thumb, sucking so earnestly. 

Fortunately, the thumb gets his arms off his face, as his hand reach down. Your eyes trail, and widen seeing that he was jerking off. 

“You're such a whore. Acting all high and mighty but you get off from sucking a thumb?” you mutter lowly, hand still playing with his bud. He shakes his head dumbly, his words muffled and slurred as he tries to rebut. You don’t let him, pressing down his throat, making him gag, tears gathering up in his eyes again.

You pull your thumb out which is now wet with his spit. Your upper lip quirks up at the warmth. “Ugh, disgusting.” you whine, wiping your thumb on the boy's face. It was his spit anyway.

He squirms, still rapidly going up and down on his length as his glossy eyes fixed on yours. His lips tremble before he stutters out, “Am I—am I doing good for y-you?"

Beomgyu was adorable when he chased after your approval, so you couldn’t help but throw him a bone to feed off of. You part his hair, the ones sticking to forehead because of sweat, giving him a small nod. “Doing so good Beomie,” you purr.

That sets him off, his pace quickening. “C-cumming, cumming—” he blabbers, mind hazed as strained moans pour out his mouth, his dick slapping his tummy, coating it with his cum.

You take a quick second to rake your eyes over the boy's state until you conclude the end— the fun is over. Awe. You couldn’t even get yourself off. You reach for your phone, before getting up to the chair you left your purse on. “Clean yourself up. You don't want Soobin finding you like this.” you comment absentmindedly— turning to look at him again is a mistake.

Beomgyu was jerking off his softened dick, for whatever reason. Your eyes widen, panic seeping in your tone. “Beomgyu, what the hell? Stop it! You’re overstimulating yourself!”

He shakes his head, "Want you to call me Beomie." You peer at him, the boy frantically going up and down on his shaft until finally getting his dick hard again, tip swollen red. Poor boy.

His hand rakes up to flick at his nipples, holding eye contact, and you furrow your eyebrows. What was he doing exactly?

It doesn’t take long for you to find out. “W-want you to fuck me, wanna make you feel good.” he slurs, barely breathing through his moans, mouth hung open dumbly.

You could refuse and berate him, you could make fun of him…but truth be told, your pussy sucked into nothingness at the sight of Beomgyu looking like such a mess. “Want me to fuck you?” you ask. Beomgyu is shameless enough to nod profusely. You now know you had to work on your self control because in no time, your panties drop down to the floor, as you waste no time to walk over to Beomgyu and climb on top of him swiftly. Whatever, you could excuse this by saying you were just giving him what he wanted.

Before sinking down on his dick, you spit a few times on your palm, impatiently palming his shaft, coating it with your saliva, earning you a groan from the boy under you. 

You were right about Beomgyu overstimulating himself a little too much because his eyes roll to the back of his head the moment your flush of skin connects. "Can't talk now can you?" you breathe out, fucking yourself with his dick. 

"Hm, you're so pretty like this, using your mouth to shut up," you pull out your breast quickly out of the neckline of your dress, stuffing Beomgyu’s mouth with your nipple. He immediately starts sucking, even as you’re sure he was completely out, "...And suck my tits like a stupid baby."

You gasp when he bites down on your sensitive nipple, and his hips buck forward, your pace getting faster on his dick. Suddenly, you feel his cock pulsate, and warmth shoots up inside of you. 

Well, shit. “Fuck! You stupid pervert, did you just cum inside me? Fuck, so disgusting…” you groan, slapping his bare chest as you yourself attempt to reach your own orgasm, your pussy contracting around his dick.

Finally it crashes down, your chest heaving trying to catch your own breath. You’re a damn second before berating Beomgyu for cumming inside you but he had his eyes half open, mouth separating from your nipple before he gave you a shaky smile—and then just like that, he was out cold.

2nd a/n: lowkey thinking of a part 2 where mc ends up dating soobin but still fucks around with beomgyu from time to time lol just humiliating the fuck out of him bcs hes desperate for some pussy

[gilverrwrites]

Im back on my supernatural shit, can you please do TFW + Gabe and anyone else you wanna do reacting to finding out the reader had a dirty dream about them?

Author note: Me too Boo, me too. I added lucifer, just cause I wanted too. Hope you enjoy! I also switched things up with gifs for each instead of one image for everyone. Lemme know which one you guys prefer.

Rating: M/18+

Please remember: that it is enough to exist as you are.

Dean

You’ve never seen a bigger shit-eating grin in all your life; he looks like he hit the jackpot.

No matter how much or how little you tell him, he won’t stop making jokes or bragging how bad you want it.

Dean I need you t- “Yeah you do.” Stop it! “Bet you weren’t saying that in your dreams last night.” *Gesturing at something even remotely suggestive* “Hey hey hey, did we do that?”

He promises to stop if you give him the full run down.

And when you do, he’s like Christmas came early.

All wide eyes and dopy smiles, occasional blushing.

He’s got a million and one questions throughout, but the final and most is obviously: “You wanna go at the real thing?”

Sam

Immediate shuts down for like 5 minutes. His brain has to comprehend and then reboot.

He won’t joke or make fun of you, at least not in front of other people.

But as soon as you’re alone, he’s got questions, lots of detail-oriented questions.

He’s not outright asking what your dream was, just teasing you with meticulously detailed fantasies of his own posed as questions.

“Did I make you beg for it? Did you make me beg?” “Were you completely naked, stretched out underneath me? Were my hands around your throat?” “What did I say? Did I tell you I would ruin you? That you deserved it? Did you want me to?”

Castiel

Angels don’t dream. Primarily because they don’t sleep.

So, he’s not really sure what to make of this confession at first.

Queue the signature furrowed brow and head tilt.

“Why?” I don’t know, I didn’t do it on purpose! “That’s true. I suppose this is your mind’s subconscious way of informing you that you are sexually attracted to me."

Boy, he doesn’t beat around bushes.

He would need time to stew on it from there.

It could be hours, days, maybe weeks before he brings it up again.

“I am curious about your dream.” What dr- oh right. “I am flattered. Should you be willing, I would like to discuss this more. For example, which of us…”  

Gabriel

You can sense the raised brows and the satisfied smirk before he even does it.

“Reeeeeally?”

Gabe’s reaction is very similar to Deans, just like a Trickster in a candy store.

Only he’ll wait to get you alone before he starts bombarding you.

If you won’t tell him outright, he’ll keep guessing.

And every new guess is accompanied by a costume and/or scenery change.

“Maybe we filmed the newest instalment of casa erotica?” “No? Maybe you paid Dr Sexy a visit?” “Mile high club?” “No? Kinkier? You into a little BDSM?”

I’ll let you fill in the visual blanks. 😉

Lucifer

His reaction is a lot more subdued. 

That doesn’t make it any less dubious. You can feel the smugness radiating off of him.

He’ll ask earnestly enough to start out.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

When you refuse, he doesn’t push. Doesn’t joke, or tease.

But the smile he keeps giving you.

The way he watches you, totally engrossed but poised, is enough to drive you crazy.

When he finally asks again, later on, in that low, relaxed tone:

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell me all about your dirty little fantasies?”

Temptation really is his game.

[enehana]

Chthonic Gods' Cabins Headcanons

Children of Hades, Persephone, Nyx, Hypnos, Nemesis, Hecate, Thanatos, Eris, Geras, Selene, etc. Any God that lives in the underworld or is a child of God that lives in the underworld.

They refer to themselves as Hellspawn endearingly.

They are so much more loyal to each other than to children of other Gods. They're all united by the underworld.

They have sleepover in the Hades Cabin. Chiron doesn't know, and he wouldn't allow it if he did. The Hecate Cabin masks their presence so others can see, hear, or sense them.

They treat children of Hades like royalty. They're all the pretty princesses of the underworld. They put a pink, fuzzy crown on Nico one time. He didn't particularly enjoy it, but he didn't stop them.

They make homemade candles and hold rituals in cemeteries and abandoned playgrounds.

They always make sure Hazel is welcome at camp. She is a queen. She can't be uncomfortable or unhappy at camp half blood.

They held a grand funeral for Bianca. She has a beautiful burial plot. Fresh flowers every week.

Sometimes they go frolicking through the underworld, holding hands and skipping. Purely for the irony.

They kind of consider Will one of them? They're a bit iffy about him because he's a son of Apollo, the sun god, but they appreciate how happy he makes Nico.

The underworld children that can summon spirits (Mostly Hades children. Children of Hypnos can make dead people appear in dreams. Few children of Nemesis can control vengeful spirits. Few children of Ares can call upon dead soldiers who lost their war. Thanatos children.) will gossip about the spirits they spoke to. They'll also work together to try to summon a lost friend or family member, to give one of them some form of closure.

The Hades cabin leads their little clique. Planning outings and meetings.

The Hypnos cabin regulates their dreams, making sure everyone sleeps relatively okay. They keep their dreams not terrible for the most part.

Children of Selene will use their powers to radiate moonlight, effectively making other children of the underworld slightly more powerful.

Children of Nemesis act as their regulators, their judges. If someone wronged one of them, the entire Nemesis cabin will get revenge for them.

Children of Nyx are their guards. All they have to do is look at someone, and they'll think a million times before they even interact with one of them.

Children of Persephone will grow flowers and fruit for them. They keep their lives bright and meaningful. A symbol of peace, even if only in short periods.

Children of Hecate will enchant anything for them. Magical weapons mean more security. And Tarot readings. A small glimpse into the future will calm them down so much.

Children of Geras will give them wisdom. Old age comes with experience. And experience leads to knowledge. An excellent guide for young, inexperienced demigods.

Children of Eris will remind everyone of what someone has done. Never forgetting someone's blatant wrongdoings. They warn everyone when they hear about something someone has done, trying to keep them out of trouble.

[cerisereids]

𝘄𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻’𝘁 𝗯𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀 (𝘄𝗮𝗶𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲)- 𝗮.𝗵. [𝗽𝘁. 𝟰]

masterlist, part one, part two, part three

wc- 5.2k

pairing- aaron hotchner x fem!rossi!reader

summary- down on your luck after a huge betrayal, you return to live at your father's house with your tail between your legs. you're humiliated, thoroughly convinced nothing good could come from returning home. then you meet aaron hotchner.

warnings- swearing, mentions of nudity, we finally find out what happened in new york, one thing about me is my ass loves a simile, make ups all around!!!

a/n- the last part of this series is finally here!! thank you all for the endless support for this series, it means the world to me. enjoy!

The overhead light of your father's kitchen beats down in the middle of the table, the rays acting as a golden barrier between you two. He's just across the table from you, but he may as well be a million miles away. Guilt seeps through your every pore as your father's disappointment radiates through you. It's been a week since he caught you with Aaron, a case taking him away soon after that gloomy morning in the kitchen. You pick at your food, sliding it around your plate with your fork until your father speaks first.

"How long was it going to take?" he mumbles, and your head shoots up. He continues at your furrowed brow, "how long was it going to take to tell me you were sleeping with Aaron?"

The confrontation of your actions shock your nervous system, panic seizing each organ in your body. Your forehead falls into the crook of your neck, your cheeks heating at an ungodly temperature. "I'm so sorry, Papà-"

"Nuh-uh," he cuts you off, waving his fork at you, eyes dark and stormy, "don't 'Papà' me, do you have any idea that your actions have consequences, young lady?"

A pit of guilt sinks deep in your stomach, like you're 16 again and got busted sneaking in after a kegger. Only this time, you're grown, no teenage angst to fall back on as a result of your actions.

"Dad-" you try, but he's not having it.

"Did you tell him what ran you out of New York City? Why not a single publishing company will work with you?" he accuses.

Your heart stops, cheeks heating to an insane degree. Acid gurgles in your stomach as you go over the events that led you back to Virginia, your heart anxiously pounding.

"That's a no," he huffs out in annoyance, and frustration constricts your throat as he stands up to put his plate in the sink.

"Dad, I'm-"

He whips around to face you. "You're what? Sorry? You're my daughter, which means that I'm here to support you no matter what, but not when you lie to me. Not about this," he shakes his head as he makes his way to the stairs.

Soon, you're abandoned in the kitchen, your baggage your only company. You sit there in tense silence, mind flashing back to that detrimental morning one week ago. The way your father stood there, briefcase in hand, staring down Aaron like they're in a Texas Standoff.

The kitchen felt like a war zone that day, and has every day since. Tension rose thick like mud, dirtying you all over, exposing your lies. You remember the way your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach, sitting heavy as a rock as you watched your father figure it out. The way his eyes flitted between you two, his brows furrowed, one raised every so slightly as to say, 'really?'

Aaron's face flashes through your mind, the pale of his cheeks contrasting his dark features, looking like he'd seen a ghost. His hand was still partially inside a bag of Nespresso pods, frozen in place. You were sure you didn't look much better as you shot a panicked look at the raven haired man you'd been...liaising with behind your father's back.

"Don't look at him," your father said, in that stern Italian cadence that meant you were about two seconds away from swimming with the fishes. "Look at me, and tell me the truth. What's going on here?"

He knew, of course he knew, though he's making you tell him yourself. Ever the agent.

"Dad-"

"David," Aaron had cut you off immediately, and you remember the sting of acid that punched your throat, your eyes widening as he took a small step towards your dad. "It's my fault, completely. I initiated this, please don't take your anger out on her. It's on me, and I'm sorry."

You were breathless at the fact that even after all of this, Aaron was still taking care of you. You knew it was inappropriate, but you couldn't have slowed the racing patter of your heart if you tried.

"Don't tell me how to feel about you sleeping with my daughter, Aaron," your father snapped, voice booming off the marble walls. "Aaron, I've always respected you. You're a good man, and an even better agent. But right now? I've never wanted to kill somebody more. Get out of my house."

Your fork clatters against your plate as the memory surges through you, seizing every part of you with otherworldly guilt. You see yourself vaguely in the reflection of your plate, and you don't recognize yourself. The distortion of your reflection in the glass paints a better picture of you than a mirror could right now.

Shame follows the guilt soon after, twisting around your heart like a lasso and pulling until it's so tight, you're bursting out the front door for some air. The cool evening air bites gently at your cheeks, dew already beginning to moisturize the nature around you. When you'd moved back here, you wished to be like the daisies blooming in your father's yard this spring. Born again, renewed.

Angry tears prick hot in your eyes as you stroll, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout. You're in disbelief with yourself, making the same mistakes over and over again. Even in your emotional daze, though, you can't seem to count Aaron as a mistake. You're fully aware of the ways in which you hurt your father, but you can't help but wonder if you had gone about things differently, more honestly, could you still be with him?

The question nearly paralyzes you, shock unzipping down your spine at the thought of being with Aaron, inhibitions stripped away. Your feet make quick work in the direction of his apartment, your subconscious stampeding over the logical voice in your head telling you that visiting him would only be disastrous.

Emotion wins this battle, since you're knocking at his door no more than 10 minutes later. You pick at your nails as you wait for him to open the door and anxiety pools in your gut, tart and bitter. His door finally swings open and he's speechless at the sight of you. His eyes wide and chest heaving up and down, he wordlessly steps aside to let you in.

You cross the threshold and stand awkwardly in the entryway. You wring your hands together, eyes darting everywhere but the man before you. He stands with his hands on his hips, clad in a dark suit, go-bag sat by the front door.

"I'm sorry," you breathe out as you take in your surroundings. "Do you have a minute?"

He nods slightly, and your breath hitches on an inhale.

"Aaron..." you start, but the words get lost in your throat. "What do we do?" You want him to maybe, just maybe, try and salvage what you have.

"I don't think we should continue seeing each other. At all," his voice is small, but firm and low. Your hope fizzles like a sparkler fading into the night.

"What?" you breathe out. You weren't sure what other possibilities were there for you, but you weren't expecting him to shut you down so immediately.

"What?" he asks, tone bordering on sarcastic, "is that not what you came here to do?"

"N-not necessarily!" you choke out, tears immediately springing to your eyes. Your throat constricts with frustration, how easily you fold in front of him is nearly embarrassing.

He looks shocked at your response, and it's like a hammer to a nail in the middle of your heart, splitting it right down the middle. His hands still rest on his hips, but he brings a large palm to his face, running it from his forehead to his chin. When he looks back at you, his own eyes are glossy.

"I-" he starts, unsure of how to finish, "I'm sure you can imagine how difficult it has been for your father and I at work."

Water floods in your ears, white hot anger burning in your core at his words. You truly thought you heard him wrong, that there's no world in which he could be making this about himself.

"How difficult it has been for you?!" you screech, and he flinches at your tone. "My own father won't even look at me!"

He avoids your gaze, brows furrowed and sad eyes trained on the floor. You continue.

"He won't talk to me unless it's to berate me for lying to him, and you think it's hard for you?!" your voice rings louder through the

Your logical mind is once more at war with your fiery emotions. You weren't alone in your deceit, and you know that Aaron has been facing his own consequences, too. That doesn't matter much to you, though, as you stand there in front of him, shaking and in tears. All the while he stands there, still as a statue.

"I've always prided myself on being respectable. To myself and others. The way your father looked at me that day..." he shakes his head and takes a few steps in the opposite direction, regaining some composure. "I never want to feel that guilt again. I'm sure you don't either."

You nod slowly, your brain finally wrapping itself around his decision. Before you can respond, though, his phone pings with a new message. He sighs before running five fingers through his lightly gelled hair.

"I think we should talk more about this later," he says, reaching for his go-bag and meeting you by the door.

"No," you turn to him, heaving chests now inches apart, "there's nothing more to talk about. You said we need to call things off, and clearly whatever you say, goes. Have a good case Aaron," you pierce him with one last scrutinizing gaze before slamming his door.

It begins to rain lightly on your walk home, picking up in speed the further you go. Mother Nature is falling right in line with your mood, you see. You wish you could take your time, mosey in your misery. The rain does unfavorable things for your hair, though, and you'd rather not suffer the frizzy consequences.

A familiar figure waits on your porch as you arrive home, brows furrowing as you trudge up the pathway to the house. Your heart stops once you realize who it is, blood rushing through your head and pounding in your ears.

"Kate?" you nearly whisper, paralyzed with disbelief.

Her long blonde hair whips around her shoulder as she turns to face you.

"There you are! I was waiting for you!" she chirps, fake niceties rolling off her tongue with the same ease they did in New York. Good thing nothing's changed.

"Why are you here?" is all you can get out, uncaring of your nasally monotone.

She scoffs, as if it's ridiculous of you to even ask. "Well...let's go inside and talk about it! I don't want to sit in the rain! It seems it hasn't done you any favors." She scrunches her nose in a fake giggle that almost causes steam to rise from your ears. Rage bubbles up inside you as you pass her by, not looking at her as you unlock the front door.

You're not entirely sure why you're letting her in, maybe it's the itch of curiosity you haven't been able to scratch since leaving the city. Why she did what she did. Some people say closure isn’t real. You're not one of them.

"Okay," you huff out in annoyance, "what is it? Why are you here?" you lean against the entryway table, a hand on your hip.

"Geez! We haven't seen each other in almost a year. I thought there'd be at least a little courtesy!" her nonchalance bites at your heart like a mosquito, frustration and hurt swelling inside you. "I just wanted to check in on you. Is that so wrong?"

You scoff, unsure if she's putting on an act or is genuinely this vapid. You shake your head in disbelief, how were you friends with this awful woman for years?

"You never bothered to check in when I was being shamed out of every single publishing office in New York. You seemed just fine then," you cross your arms over your chest, raising a brow at her.

"I think you're being overdramatic," she responds, and your jaw drops open at her gall.

"Oh, you think?" you sneer nastily. She picked the wrong day for this. "That's really rich coming from someone who couldn't get a single piece published until you stole my manuscript!" the accusation hangs heavy in the air, explosive like a bomb.

"You know," you barrel through any bullshit response she would have had for you, "I've had a lot of time to think since I've arrived home, and something I've come to realize is that the people we surrounded ourselves with..." you shake your head, laughing in frustrated disbelief, "all they care about is status. Money. Who has the 'next best idea'. So what are you going to do once this high wears off? When you don't have a story of mine to refigure as your own?"

You struck a nerve, her stunned silence tells you so.

"Well..." she sputters out, "forgive me for never being able to live up to the Great David Rossi's daughter! Nobody ever paid any mind to me, I had to do something!"

There it is. Your answer. Somehow, it’s not as satisfying as you anticipated. You’re still out for blood with this woman.

"So you framed me for plagiarism and ruined my career because of my father? Awesome solution to your problem there, Kate!" your sarcasm rings clear as a bell through the foyer. "You never considered putting in the work to become a better writer? Nobody paid any mind to you because you didn't have it."

You surprise yourself with your bark and bite, and you thought it'd be much more satisfying to see the tears well up in Kate's eyes. All you feel though, is more guilt, piling itself on top of the endless amount that's accumulated in the past few weeks. The doorbell pierces through the tension, and you whip yourself around to face the door and groan. You swing it open to reveal a wet, sorrowful Aaron, standing on your porch steps in the rain.

You didn't need to ask how long he's been standing there, the pained look in his eye tells you he'd heard most of what you said. You feel like you're digging your own grave in real time, like Ebenezer Scrooge watching his grim future from the tomb.

"Aaron..." you trail off, eyes scanning his face for any sign that he doesn't think you're an awful person, but you come up empty.

"Now who's this?" Kate chirps up from behind you, quickly regaining her attitude with this new arrival.

You whip your head behind you and pierce her with a deathly gaze. "Don't even think about it," you grit through clenched teeth, and her brow raises in curiosity.

"What do you want?" you ask, trying to sound unbothered as you face Aaron once again, "I thought you had a case."

"We do, we don't take off for another 15. I wanted to give you this," he holds out a gold chain with an angel pendant hanging from it. "I wanted to give it to you before I left." The clear reason why hangs between the two of you, and you shakily bring your hands to take the gold necklace from his fingers.

It was your grandmother's, and your mind races back to the night you'd shown it to him. Cuddled on the couch, a blanket draped over your sweaty, naked frames. He'd placed a finger on the pendant sticking to your chest, and you'd taken it off to show him. You hadn't even realized you left it there, another boulder of shame nestling itself on the large pile tearing apart your stomach.

"Thanks," you breathe, eyes snapping up to meet his. His lips roll into a closed lip smile, and he nods stiffly. You sit in the tension, nearly swimming in it as you stare into his dark, sorrowful eyes. Your spine straightens at the snicker that echos from behind you, the reality of the situation crashing down on you like a meteor.

"So this is why you haven't come back to New York..." she mutters slyly, pushing you to the side with her shoulder so she can get a better look at him.

Bile rises in your throat at the way her wicked eyes scan up and down his frame. You swallow the lump forming there and flit your eyes back to Aaron. He's still looking at you, which melts your heart and also makes you want to punch him at the same time.

You tear your eyes away from him, a herculean feat as your gaze drags back over to the nuisance now standing next to you. "Kate," you breathe out, "you have no idea what you're talking about." Your eyes shoot her a pleading look, but she has you right where she wants you.

"No, no, no, so let me get this straight,” she holds a hand up in your face, “we all thought you were having some sort of mental break when you up and left New York, quitting on your ‘dream’ of being a writer," she has a scheming smile on her face, and you're still waiting for the other shoe to drop, "I thought you would have lasted a week in Virginia, tops. But almost three months? Hell, I'd stay too if I had someone like this-"

"Stop! Stop, stop, stop!" you nearly screech, holding both palms out, trying to keep both people in front of you at arm's length. "Everyone here needs to leave, I mean it."

Aaron spins on his heel without hesitation, and you wonder how long he'd been standing there, and if he'd be late for his plane. You let the thought pass, unable to dedicate another ounce of worry to this man who's just now discovering he doesn't know you at all. Kate, on the other hand, takes her sweet time sauntering over the threshold onto the porch.

"Fine," she holds her hands up in surrender, clearly satisfied she got the last punch, "what I really wanted to tell you is that the book tour is going great," she rests a faux-sympathetic hand on your forearm and it's like you're being branded, "I thought you'd wanna know your book is a hit. Thanks for the script, I owe ya!”

She blows a fake kiss just as you slam the door, hot tears welling up in your eyes as you rest against it. How did things go so wrong? You came back to your father's house to find yourself, to shed yourself of the burden of being in New York. All you've found, though, is that running away from your worries has made them exponentially bigger. It seems obvious looking back on it, like a slap in the face. You know you can't make things right until you confront what's wrong. You race to your room, grab a suitcase, and open your laptop. You type in 'one way flights to New York City' and purchase the first ticket you find.

Aaron Hotchner is having a bad week. The understatement of the year, truly. David hasn't looked at him all week, barely talking to him unless it has to do with the case. Even then, it's still sparse. His team grace him with pitying smiles that only make the pit in his stomach grow bigger, acid singeing his organs.

He stares down at crime scene photos for what felt like the millionth time that day, desperate to crack the M.O. of their current offender. He frustratedly gives the photo a small shove, sliding it away from his prying eyes. It's no use, not when his mind is entirely preoccupied.

He can't remember the last time he's acted so recklessly, sleeping with his coworker's daughter. Not just any coworker, but David Rossi's daughter. Guilt twists in his stomach, like he's being eaten alive from the inside out. He's been dragging his feet throughout the entirety of this case, he feels it. It's why he's been marooned to the conference room of the local police station, sent to look over photos and witness statements.

Every piece of him, though, is with her. There's been a pull in his chest since the day they last spoke, a painful yearning that's taking over every part of him. He feels like he's going crazy, the moment he called things off replaying on a loop in his brain. The soft downward pull of her eyebrows, the pained gloss coating her eyes. He knew, logically, that he made the right decision. So why does it feel so wrong?

He then thinks back to the woman who was at the house when he visited earlier this week. He knew so little of her life in New York, and the way she spoke to her was unlike anything he'd seen or heard from her before. It concerned him at first, but once that door swung open, and he saw the way the unnamed woman scanned him, clearly trying to get under her skin, he felt that maybe she was justified in the harsh words she threw at the mystery woman. He needs to speak to her again, that much is for certain.

The case wraps up later that evening, and Aaron takes advantage of the empty seat opposite Dave on the jet. He slides into the leather chair dubiously, Dave's dark brow raising at the sight of him. He quickly looks back to his crossword. Aaron lets out a defeated sigh, and this gets his attention. Dave closes his puzzle and crosses his arms.

"You initiated?" he asks, and all Aaron can do is nod sheepishly.

"David, I'm sorry for lying to you, but I'm not sorry for my feelings," he begins.

"Which are...?" Dave encourages, and he prepares to say something he never thought would be possible.

"I'm in love with your daughter. Keeping our relationship a secret from you was awful, and I am so, so sorry I betrayed your trust. I love her, though. I want to be with her," adrenaline rushes through Aaron as he breathes out the last sentence. To his surprise, the tiniest smile tugs at Dave's lips.

"Don't screw it up," he points an intimidating finger at him, and Aaron huffs out a small laugh.

"You got it," he smiles, thankful to have taken the first step in earning Dave's forgiveness.

Aaron's the first one off the plane when they touch down in Quantico, opting out of team drinks at the bar and going straight to his apartment. He's in desperate need of a shower, and then he's heading straight to see her. He slows, though, when he sees an envelope taped to his door. He knows it's from her before he opens it, the scratchy Aaron on the center of the envelope giving her away immediately.

Aaron,

I feel like I owe you an explanation for the shit show you had to witness, and the full truth of what happened in New York. I had completed a manuscript just after graduating from NYU. It was my best work yet, and my ex-best friend, the woman you saw at my father's house, completely abused my trust. She had found her way on my computer one day, forwarded herself a copy, deleted any trace of it from my laptop, and gave it to the biggest publishing company in the whole city. She claimed it was hers originally, that she found it on my computer in my attempt to 'steal' her work. I tried to fight back, but she accused me of plagiarism, effectively ending my writing career. I've spent the last couple months nursing my broken heart, and I'm sorry you were caught in my mess. I'm back in the city, and I wish you well, truly.

XOXO

Aaron feels as if the air has been stolen from his lungs as he shoves the front door open. He loosens the tie around his neck and has never been more thankful for Jessica having Jack than he is right now. He fumbles with his phone, trying to find the next flight to New York. He knows it's irresponsible, rash, but she's completely turned his life upside down. What's a little more fuel to the fire?

The sun rises on your seventh day in the Manhattan Hotel in Times Square, and the liveliness of the city that would once annoy you, is now a welcomed chaos. You have no idea how long you're going to stay in room 203, whether you'll return back to Virginia or find another place here, but you've found that returning to New York has only done you good.

You're confronting the beast that's loomed over you for months, and it has not only unlocked an array of emotions- many of them Aaron related- but also unleashed your creativity. You've written three chapters so far, a semi-autobiographical tale of reclaiming your power in times of hardship. You're not sure how you're going to work around the plagiarism accusations, how you'll gain any publisher's trust again, but you figure that's an issue for a later date.

Your phone buzzes on the desk of the hotel, and you reach to flip it over. Your heart drops when you see your father's face in your caller ID. He knew you were in New York, but there hasn't been an attempt at communication until now. A trembling finger presses 'accept' and you bring the phone to your ear.

"Hello?" you answer shakily, "Dad?"

"I'm sorry I was such a jerk, Principesa," his familiar warmth floods you with relief.

"Oh Papà," you nearly exclaim, emotion flooding over you as tears spring to your eyes, "I should be the one apologizing, I'm so, so sorry for keeping my relationship with Aaron from you. It was wrong, and I never should have done it. I'm sorry," your voice wells up at the last sentence, and you hear your father coo.

"Hey, don't cry. It's okay, I had some extreme convincing from a certain grouch at work," he jokes, but you hear his voice start to shake, too.

The mention of Aaron is like a gut punch, and you can't help yourself, "How is he? Aaron?"

"He was grouchier than normal for a while, but he came to me and we talked. Things are better," he states.

"I'm so glad to hear it," you respond, though you feel there's something he's not telling you.

"Listen, I wanted to tell you something. Aaron mentioned that he dropped by to see you and there was a woman there, and that it didn't look good. I'm assuming Kate?" He asks. Your eyes fall closed, your lashes kissing your cheeks as you recall the moments of her berating you in your father's home.

"Yeah, yeah it was Kate," you whisper out.

"Good to know, because the Ring camera caught some very interesting information on her way out of the door. Something about how your book is a hit?" he mentions slyly, and you're picking up on his tone.

You'd filled him in soon after you returned home, unable to keep secrets from him for very long. He'd told you if there was anything you had to prove that she was truly the one who plagiarized, he'd help you in an instant. It seems the instance has arrived.

"You're kidding," you gasp, covering your mouth with an open palm.

"Not one bit. Sent it in to Good Morning America this morning. She's scheduled to be on tomorrow, y'know?" you can hear the smile in his voice, and it's contagious.

"Papà, oh my God!" you exclaim, the anxiety that's plagued you for months dissipating in a blur.

"Keep working hard over there, and don't be afraid to come back to me, alright?" he asks.

"Alright," you respond, and hang up. You ponder what it would be like to go back to Virginia, to write there. You don't think you'd mind it, whether Aaron is there or not. He'd be a nice bonus, for certain, but you enjoyed fostering a new relationship with your dad, cherished the real friendships you made in his coworkers. You could see a life there.

There's a knock on the door a moment later, and your brows furrow. Nobody knows you're here besides your father and Aaron, and the idea of the latter being behind that door shakes you to your very core. Your stomach drops when you realize that's exactly who's standing on the other side of the threshold.

"Aaron..." you breathe out, nearly speechless.

"Hi," he says back, breathing heavily.

You're not used to seeing him dressed so casually, a Georgetown University t-shirt hanging from his shoulders, jeans snug on his hips. His hair is mussed like he's just gotten off back-to-back flights.

"Your father said I'd find you here," he says, and you wordlessly move to let him in.

"What are you doing here, Aaron?" you ask once the door is shut.

"I'm miserable without you," he confesses, and your eyebrows shoot into your forehead, "I've barely made it through the past couple weeks, the whole time I was just waiting for you. I know it was my idea to call things off, and I don't think I've ever been so stupid."

"So why did you do it?" you question, not so ready to forgive him right away.

"The guilt- your father- it was all too much, I thought the only way past it was out," he admits, and you can understand that. You're not one to judge another for running away. "I'm sorry," he breathes, "I should have fought for you. This wasn't just a hook-up to me, was it for you?" he's breathing heavily, and you waste no time in your response.

"No, it wasn't," you breathe, and he steps closer to you slowly.

"Tell me no," he gives you an out as his hands reach up to cup your cheeks, and you respond by bringing his lips down to yours.

Kissing him again is like the first sip of water after being stranded in the desert, refreshing, renewing, all encompassing. His lips part against yours as he presses himself further into you, causing you to sigh into the kiss.

You reluctantly break away from him before you can no longer control yourself. You're both breathing heavily, your palms flat against his shoulders as you say, "Let's go back to Virginia," a cheeky smile spreading across his face.

"What?" he sputters out, a disbelieving chuckle escaping his lips.

"We're going to take this slow, we're going to do it right. I like you, but I also really like the life I began to create while I was staying with my dad. I can write from Virginia," you nudge his shoulder with yours, moving to pack up your belongings.

"If you don't mind, I'm going to nap while you do this," he lays back on the couch, kicking his shoes off, "after we return home, I'm not getting on another plane for 5 years."

You chuckle as you watch his eyes close, snuggling into the couch. You like the way that word sounded when it came out of his lips, home. You could get used to that.

[wildemaven]

life and loss | joel miller

pairing: dave york x f!reader / joel miller x f!reader word count: 1k content warnings: 18+ blog; death, grief/loss, major character death (no description of said death), AU and crossover universes, kind of fluffy, navigating loss, reader is non descriptive/blank slate. notes: this randomly came to me yesterday on my walk. It was meant to be just a moodboard and a small blurb to go along with it… and then this happened. Oops! Tried to pack a lot into a small thing so hopefully it makes sense.

Momentos of him, your late husband, have remained tucked away for the last year following his unexpected death. As you settle into your new widowed life and new home over a thousand miles away from the life you created with Dave, all the beautiful memories reside in cardboard boxes out of sight. 

Word travels quickly through the small neighborhood about your arrival and marital status— or lack thereof. Welcoming introductions turn into unannounced check-ins and flowers. Uncomfortable small talk on your front porch is sprinkled throughout the following weeks, a hand on your shoulder accentuates their let us know if you need anything. Sympathetic casseroles finally dwindle allowing you to finally ease into this new season of your life. 

The hammock left by the previous owners becomes your sanctuary most evenings. Searching for the brightest star in the night’s sky, then asking Dave how he’s doing before reading aloud to him the words from your latest book. 

It's days later when you’ve read the final word that a small voice from over the fence manifests as a quirky teenage girl sitting at a table you’ve set up on your back patio. She has a million and one questions about the book and is filled with theories about what happens beyond its ending. The side gate is never regularly latched closed now, eagerly awaiting Ellie’s return. She navigates most of your late night conversations that follow, including personal stories and the history of her life. My grump of an old man is in construction. He’s single by the way— not by choice, but life happens. 

His voice is calloused the first time he makes his presence known to you. Goddamn it, Ellie! I told you to leave her alone! They exchange brittle words back and forth through the shared barrier, before you insist he join the two of you. The crunch of his boots on the ground stall when he towers over where you’re still seated. His hand engulfing yours, warm and gentle as he tries to determine where his gaze should fall— you, the ground, the smirking teenager sitting across from you. Joel. Joel Miller. Uh, Ellie n’ I live next door. Not sure how long she’s been botherin’ you, but I’ll be sure it doesn’t happen again.

It’s weeks later when you run into Joel at the mailboxes. The clanking of keys and squeaky hinges fill the space between you before you’re both retreating back to your respective pathways. Your hands fidget and twist the bills and letters from your parents when you bravely initiate a conversation before he’s able to reach his front door. She’s the first person since moving here who wanted to talk to me about something other than the death of my husband. I don’t think I’ve laughed as much as I have with her in a long time. She’s welcome over here anytime. 

He reeks of nervousness as he stands on your doorstep the following evening. The ambered hue of his eyes absorb the warmth from the front porch light, adding a brightness to them that they seem to be commonly lacking. His words waver a bit as he begins to speak, starting and stopping, scrubbing his hand down his face before he attempts to start again. You offer him nothing but patience, sensing the mournful energy radiating off him— similar to the one you’ve been carrying. My wife and older daughter— they were both in an accident on their way to Sarah’s soccer game. I was pickin’ up Ellie from her counseling group for adopted kids. We were headin’ to the soccer field when I got the call. Some days are harder than others. And everyone wants to help, however that may be— lots of food as I’m sure you know. It doesn’t ever really get easier, but you learn to live with grief. Anyways, if you ever need anything or just want to talk— you know where I live.  

He accepts your impulsive invitation to join you for dinner, offering him the open seat across from you in the same spot as your timid first meeting. The crickets orchestrate the evening ambience as you share stories you’d tucked away, too painful to revisit until now. You find you laugh just as much, if not more, with Joel. Even among the tears shed, the conversation is filled with a hope and optimism that you longed for. 

You still feel his wholesome embrace long after you’ve called it a night to seek out much needed sleep. But much like the nights that ensued after Dave’s death, loneliness and the weight of your grief rear its head. 

The black ink glides over the surface of the paper. Line after line formulated a year’s worth of unsaid words that had been bottled up and blockaded by the rigid walls you’d built around them. Joel was right about the therapeutic effect of getting rid of the burdensome thoughts that come with loss, finding it’s hard to stop now that you’ve started. 

You convey the love that you still carry for Dave, something you’ll never willfully ignore or regret. It feels wrong but you touch on the hatred you feel towards his death; you hate him for leaving you, hate that you miss him, hate that some nights you forget the small details that you cherished about him. You tell him about Joel and the kindness he’s afforded you in a short time of knowing him and that there’s life beyond losing the love of your life. To look for the light even when shrouded by darkness. 

Pictures and trinkets find their way out of the cardboard confines Joel helped pull out from the guest room closet. The bare walls now filled with familiar faces and shelves adorn with colorful memories that you tried so hard to keep hidden. 

Joel and Ellie being a constant presence in your life allows you to see that life can surprise you when you least expect it and there’s room for new love. 

[appleblueberry-pie]

They usually show Gojo as the dominant one in the relationship, someone who is only with you for a while, but what if it were the other way around, if the reader took that role and Satoru couldn't get over what they did to him? ? (I think I need to stop imagining scenarios with this guy 😔)

Sorry, I Guess. Lol.

Satoru couldn't just ignore this feeling in his chest. It wasn't strong, but he really couldn't control it even if he wanted to. It was like a piece of metal was stuck in his chest and no matter how much he shifted or rubbed at that spot, the feeling wouldn't go away. And he only felt it when he was around you. That annoying feeling.

You always drove him around. Said that it would be a hassle waiting for him, when you knew he had a thing for always being late. And you always found him, even if his location was off on his phone. A mysterious one, you were. That's what he's supposed to do.

You drove with that left hand on the steering wheel and the other hand on the stick, a little smirk on your face. Almost half of the time that you two were together, he never had your full attention. There was always those few moments where you had to take(a very loud and exciting looking) phone call or just texting your little friends or whoever was making you smile like that.

You never had minded him. It was like he didn't matter that much.

You paid for his food too. He never liked it. He always had the money to pay for both of your plates, but you never ever settled for letting him pay for everything. You said you hated feeling like you owed someone. He told you a million times you don't owe him a dime but you always persisted. The most he ever got out of you was letting you two split the bill.

He hated you. Your personality. How he couldn't ever just have you. You weren't emotionally available. What was the point of dating you if he wasn't gonna have your damn time? It was a waste of his own, dammit, and he hated every second of it. But the more he tried to detach from you.....the more he realized he couldn't.

He really really liked you. He enjoyed your suave personality and effortless movements and charismatic energy that you poured into the conversations you had with him. He was the one that usually radiates energy in the friend group, but when he's around you, you seem to be able to dim him down and steal the spotlight. He can't ever take it back either. You're just that good.

He can't have you and he realizes that. He also realized that when you ghost him on all apps. When he tries to get back in touch but you block him for blowing up your line. He tries to get back in touch when he realizes you never told him anything about your personal life and it was extremely hard to find out where you worked or anything. And it was really hard to find where you lived when he realized you didn't even live in the city you took him all around.

You're probably a player, but he didn't care. He loves how you ignore him. Honestly, he wants you to do more damage, he wants to keep you around just to repeat what you two had again. He wants to see your face when you realize he's an actual weirdo stalker that's most likely obsessed with you.

You two never fucked and you made it clear with your body language that you never wanted him like that in the first place and he was just your decoration for a few weeks. But he didn't want to be like those temporary tattoos. He didn't wanna be henna either. He wanted to be painfully embedded in your skin for so long, that even though he might fade years later, that pigmentation on that one part in your skin will always stick around to tell the tale.

He just wants to be yours.

[uglypastels]

Hey can you do a coffee shop AU ab Gambit where the reader works at the shop Remy frequents? But one day there’s an attack and her mutation manifests?? Love your writing!

stick with me as I try to figure out how to write his accent lol. it's just a quick and fun lil thang but i hope you like it. [also, is this my first ever coffee shop au?? it might be. don't quote me on that tho]

warnings: slight cursing. supervillain attack.

~ X-Men Requests Open ~ Masterlist ~

‘Will that be the usual, Remy?’ You already pulled out the paper cup to write his name and order on it, looking up expectantly for him to confirm your suspicion.

‘You know it, chere.’ 

‘One cafe au lait, coming up.’ You chirped with a smile, noting it down on the side of the cup. Like the well-oiled machine the two of you have become over the past weeks, he didn’t need to hear the price and just slid a five-dollar bill across the counter and pushed another exact bill through the slit of the little tip jar next to the register.

‘Well, you know,’ and just like any other time, you couldn’t help but comment on his generosity, ‘you really don’t have to do all that. It’s just coffee.’ As much as you appreciated his gesture, a twinge of guilt struck you as he practically paid double for what already was an overpriced beverage.

‘It ain't for the coffee,’ he smirked, which, with a flash of heat, immediately radiated onto your cheeks. It all happened like clockwork, and so you reminded yourself that that’s just who he was.  You were sure he did it with anyone, so you mustn’t let it get to you. To not get too hung up over a customer who made it a habit throughout his day to flirt with his barista.

‘Here ya go,’ you presented him with the drink. 

‘I donno how you do it, belle,’ Remy said after his first sip, a satisfied expression spreading over his face. ‘Perfect. Evry time.’

‘Why, thank you.’ You reciprocated his smile, but really, it was no big deal. You were just doing your job—something that was only easier considering your talents. Practically being a human heat conductor made preparing a perfect cup o’ joe fairly simple. Still, when a charming Cajun walked into your establishment and showered you in compliments on a nearly daily basis, the effect might have been a bit stronger than a one-off comment from a stranger. No matter how hard you tried, it was impossible to deny his allure. 

For a Tuesday morning, the café was surprisingly clear of customers besides a couple of taken tables at the windows, where some early birds had begun their day by reading the paper or getting a headstart on their work. And so, with no line rushing him off behind him, Remy sipped his coffee right by your side. 

‘Say, don’t you have somewhere else to be, Rem?’ you teased as you wiped the counter.

‘With a beautiful lady righ in front of me, there ain't nowhere I rather be.’

‘Oh, shush, you.’ You tried to ignore it, but the steam coming off from the once wet handtowel you used to clean was saying differently. Both of you were about to open your mouths, the snarky banter already dripping from both your lips, but that all faltered as the ground beneath you shook. The soft ambience brought on by the instrumental music playing in the background over the speakers was overrun by the aggressive shaking of all the products and measuring jugs falling to the ground. But soon, even that was silenced by the screams that followed. A stampede of morning commuters was running through the street, eyes wide and pale with fear. 

‘What the–’ you muttered out, carefully making your way to the window. Perhaps not the smartest move, but the curiosity had gotten the better of you. And it sure had; as right as you had reached your lookout point, all your senses were thrown off guard by an explosion. The world around you turned upside down— or was that just you as you were thrown off your feet and across the room following a million pieces of shattered glass? 

You were ready to fall into the puddle of shards, but instead, you were met with the hold of two strong arms, and once you dared to open your eyes, you saw a pair of glowing red ones. 

‘You alright?’ Remy put you down on the ground. 

Still, in shock, all you could respond with was a nod. You watched as Remy made his way across the glass-covered floor, calling out to the fear-stricken people in the café. 

‘Is gonna be all right, everyone.��� He helped a lady get back up on her feet and make her way to the back of the room. ‘Stay inside. Get z’away from the street.’ And even though you wanted to listen to his command, you found yourself walking back towards him. 

‘What are you doing, cher?’ With his hand on your shoulder, he held you back from taking another step. 

‘I wanna help.’ It was clear enough to you that he was about to fight whatever it was that was scaring all those people outside, and there was no way in hell you’d let him go out there on his own. 

‘Do you even know what you’re up against?’ 

‘Do you?’ you hit back, and that response clearly pleased him. The worry on his lips turned up into a smirk. So, the barista had a spark to her. It didn’t surprise him, necessarily. If anything, the excitement from seeing this side of you sparked a rush through his whole body. 

Side by side, you ran out into the street, avoiding the last few incomers who were trying their best to escape whatever it was you were about to greet. And what that was, you soon found out. All you had to do was look up into the sky.

‘Le Bon Dieu.’ Remy cursed under his breath.

‘Damn.’ You gasped at the sight of what you could only describe to be a giant robot floating above the tall buildings. Eyes glowing with a fire that burst in jetstreams of destruction.

Perhaps you were way in over your head, getting into a fight with a steel giant, fighting with a nearly complete stranger, and yet, when you looked up at him, and your eyes met, you had a feeling that you’d be just fine.

the end.

thank you for reading 💗

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