#anxiety isn't an excuse and i should know

[g-hua]

Do you know that "friend" who makes you feel bad about the things you do by talking about someone else who also does these things and saying that the reason that other person does these things is on purpose to be selfish or piss off others but never talks to you about the times you do those things?

Especially when they are mental health related things?

Yeah?

Fuck that friend.

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Spencer Reid

genre: fluff, light angst

word count: 6339

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: Dr. Spencer Reid is simply adorable. And you actually think he might be perfect. Until, that is, he isn't.

a muted shade of green masterlist // next chapter

His apartment is a muted shade of green and you always wonder why is it that he painted it so dark. The book covered walls never fail to impress you, making you smile into the ether that was this place with its shelves and shelves of worldly stories. His taste, you think, is more towards the classics and refined tales that carry significance and importance in the world of literature. Dostoyevski, Austen, Orwell, Doyle. Though here and there, in some corners of the living room or thrown haphazardly in the kitchen counter, you see peeks of contemporary names, the ones you’re sure you sold him a long, long time ago. Murakami, Zadie Smith, George. 

You met Spencer when you first moved into D.C., about a year or so ago, and sometimes, you really think that it was just yesterday when you first saw him with his purple scarf walking inside your store.

“Excuse me.” 

You have too many books in your arms to even see who is talking to you, but you apologise nonetheless; it’s the least you can do for your first customer. “I’ll be with you in a moment, apologies for the mess, we literally just opened.” In your defence, you had been so busy unpacking all the new orders and organising things into shelves that you absolutely forgot to put the plaque with your opening hours by the door. You can hear his shoes clicking and clacking around the place, and a wave of anxiety washes through you. If he leaves with a book– luckily two– you will have made your first sell and that just might remind you that of the reason why you decided to do this in the first place.

Carefully putting the pile of Maggie Nelson’s on the counter, you finally turn to face him, tired smile from ear to ear when you see him holding two books already. “You found something you like?” You gently ask, voice calm and fingers fidgeting while you wait for an answer. “Many things, actually. I’m quite glad to see a wide variety of books here, it’s been hard finding something new to read lately.” 

His voice is pointed and it echoes in the empty store. The clock on the walls says it’s 7:58AM and you suck in a breath; it’s definitely too early for someone to be looking for books, but maybe he wants entertainment for his commute, maybe he needs a distraction for the way, or maybe he is odd like that. 

It must be cold outside. The man is wearing a purple scarf  inside what looks like a wool coat, and somehow, he fits in there, in your store. He looks like the kind of person who would be buying books as early as 8 in the morning and you’re not sure if that is adorable or unhinged. 

“Just these, thank you,” The loud thump of the pile of books he deposits by the cashier makes you gasp. “You have a great selection here, I was lucky you open early!” The twinkle in his eyes is what keeps you from telling him that that, in fact, was a big mistake. In the middle of rushing to get the keys from the landlord in time, get the deliveries, get everything sorted and organised, you had completely forgotten to put out the hours for the shop. 

“I am glad you found us here! Do you live nearby?” At this point, you’re just trying to make conversation as you bagged his items, smiling at the titles and happy to see your favourite book in the midst. “I live just across the street, actually,” He said, giving you his card. “You’ll see me a lot, I’m afraid.”

“And what should I call my most loyal customer, then?” One look down at his card and you would know, but you wanted him to tell you himself. 

“Spencer Reid.”

There is not really a sound reason as to why you walk so freely into his apartment. The first time he asked you to do this, he was going on a case and needed someone to water his plants. As it turn out, your store is quite literally across the street from his building and you don’t really mind the mindless task, so you tell him to not worry, you’ll take care of it. It had been a few months since you two met, five or so, and despite taking you some time to truly understand, you got used to the fact that Spencer created a routine for both of you, knocking on your shop’s door every Monday at precisely 8 in the morning. With time, you stopped questioning him even when you had many, many questions– was he even reading all these books? If yes, how?! Every visit, he left with three books or more, and unless he pulled all nighters every night, those were simply sitting on his desk. 

Instead, you start putting a few titles aside whenever you spot them. You start it with ‘A Gentleman From Peru’ by André Aciman, short and sweet. Next week it was ‘A Little Paris Bookshop’ by Nina George. Then ‘Cultish’ by Amanda Montell. And just like this, you two form your own little book club, his visits extending beyond their usual thirty minutes into the better part of the hour to talk about the plot, the characters, the arcs. You know there is quite a lot you don’t know about Spencer, of course there is, but you learn more and more with every little debate you two have. You learn about his morals through the character he likes, and his dreams through the plots he enjoy. You learn about his photographic memory that allows him to quote his favourite sections to you, and you learn that he is a very logical man through his hatred for the inaccuracy of investigative books. You learn and you learn and you learn and you find out that you like learning about Spencer. More than you like learning about anyone else, that is, and now, every time he walks in, you can’t help but get excited, smiling as you only imagine what you would learn that day. 

Sometimes, you did notice the absence of your favourite customer. He would disappear for weeks on end and then act like nothing happened, and you get it; he doesn’t owe you anything, you’re just the lady that sells him books, but you feel like there is something that is starting to bloom when, every time he comes back, he brings you a book. “I thought you’d like it,” Is all he says before leaving with his bag of new reads. For a moment, it’s like an exchange, but Spencer never demands anything of you; never asks for anything more than new books and recommendations. 

It’s quite rewarding finding the books you sold him scattered through the apartment. There are a couple in the kitchen, open split on the counter and you smile fondly at the clumsy way he marks his books. There is no folded page, no book marker, no random picture; just his book, cover facing up, open and splitting the spine in half enough to crease. You shake your head, smiling like he’s done this just to rile you up.

“Oh my god, don’t!”

You don’t mean to shout but it’s too late. His eyes widen in shock and he immediately freezes, mouth stuck in a little ‘o’ shape that makes you blush. “What did I do?” 

The wince in your expression is as visible as the light of day when you speak. Your hands hover in the air, unsure of what to do now, but still trying to do something. “The book, Spencer,” The words come out like a whine, and if you start stomping your feet you might as well look like a child. “The spine. The book. The– oh my god, the noise!”

The way he laughs at you is contagious, and you start laughing with him, face hidden behind your hands in embarrassment. Owning a bookshop doesn’t come for free. Your particularities when it comes to your literary treasures are enough to scare any sane person away. “You know, there are worse sounds than a book’s spine breaking,” He mused, closing the book before walking to your counter. His nimble fingers drum a soft rhythm as he waits for you to go around and charge him for the book. It’s a symphony, almost; so loud in your quiet store that, for a second, your heart is tuning in, thumping as his fingers do, beating to the song he creates. 

“You don’t have to buy it,” It’s a little ridiculous how airy your voice sounds then. Aren’t you a little too old to have a crush? “It’s okay if–“ But he doesn’t even let you finish, rattling off some facts about the writer. Most of the time, actually, he is rattling off some fact about something, and some you know, some you don’t, but you never interrupt him. You like hearing him talk. 

You miss hearing him talk. Whenever Spencer leaves, you miss him. You miss the knock on your shop’s door at 8AM. You miss the shy little chuckles. You miss the purple– the constant, always there purple. A wave of sadness hits you then, looking around the apartment with a longing expression. 

The first time he calls you over, it’s not really an invitation. A week before it happens, he doesn’t show up for your Tuesday unboxing and you have to carry all the new orders inside by yourself. It takes double the time and despite the effort it takes you, it’s the absence of his coy chuckles and snarky commentary that leaves you breathless. When you open the boxes, checking inventory to make sure there had been no issues with your order, you find the book Spencer asked you to get him. It’s one of those special books, so old and unique that you could only get your hands on it because you had contacts in the space. “Huh,” You frown at that– it isn’t like Spencer to forget something. Hell, it isn’t like Spencer to forget anything. Before you can cower away from doing it, you send him a text. You have his number saved in the system, and this feels wrong, it really does. Using his personal information that he gave to you as a client felt wrong. But for a second, it makes you stop biting your nails in anxiety. 

Your book is here. 

It’s Y/N, by the way. 

He doesn’t answer right away and you wallow in your regret for as long as you can. Your shoulders hunch forward as you line up the new arrivals in the shelves. Your frown sits on your forehead all day while you help other passing customers. Your hands brush against the book, all ready and wrapped up and sitting on top of the counter. You hate waiting; you hate waiting for someone or for something to happen as if you’re praying for a miracle. Literature has taught you many lessons in life. It has shown you countless of love stories that could’ve been resolved with a simple conversation. It has told you about people that waited and waited and waited until time passed them away. It has taught you that waiting is simply delaying the inevitable. 

But what literature has not taught you is that, sometimes, waiting truly is all you can do. 

That day, you don’t get a message back. 

You get a call instead. 

“Y/N?” The familiar voice on the other side speaks before you can and your shoulders tense up. Something is wrong. He sounds hoarser than usual, airier, too. 

“Spencer,” You say back, clearing your throat of any remnants or indicators of how nervous you are. “Spencer, are you okay? You sound rough.”

Even his laugh sounds weak and a zap of worry rushes through you. “I’m fine,” He mumbles, and you know he’s saying it out of politeness. “I just got sick. I think I have a cold, it’s nothing much, really.”

The relief that washed over you in crashing waves is almost embarrassing. Even though he is not there to witness it, your face still flushes in a dramatic red. “Oh. I see. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you–“

“It’s not a bother,” The way his voice interrupts you, so strong and concise, makes you chuckle. “You’re not a bother. I uh, I’m glad to hear my book arrived.”

For a moment, you both stay quiet. You, on your end of the line, are nodding like he can see you. Except he can’t. Except he is waiting, probably, for you to say something. Do something. “I can bring it to you. If you want.”

This time, there is no pause. “Yes. I mean, yes, please. I– I don’t have anything new to read and–” Spencer pauses to cough and you start moving immediately. There is no one in the store and you quickly change the sign to ‘closed’, grabbing his book and your bag before locking the door behind you. There is a pharmacy at the end of the block and you keep your cellphone balanced between your shoulder and ear while your hands make sure you have your wallet with you. “Sorry.”

“No problem at all,” You cross the street in such a hurry that you don’t notice the traffic, getting a symphony of horns calling you out as you run to the other side of the street. “Shit…”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You tease, laughing a little and entering the pharmacy with purpose. “So just a cold, right?”

“Y/N, where are you?”

“Out,” There is no need to be vague, but you don’t want to give him a chance to protest. “I should be at yours in fifteen minutes with the book.”

“Just the book?” He asks in such a suspicious tone that you can’t hold back a laugher. 

“What else?” Thank god for automatic cashiers speeding up this entire process. You are in an out in less than five minutes and before he can even answer, you are almost at his door. Admittedly, you are speed walking, almost running, in a futile attempt to get there sooner. “Which apartment do I buzz?”

“Apartment 23.” And that is the end of the call. 

By the time you make it to his floor, panting just as you hike the last step upwards, he is already waiting for you, and you can’t say you’re terribly bothered to have a man like Spencer Reid waiting for you by the door. “Spencer,” You still admonish, a small smile playing on your lips. “You shouldn’t be out and about like this.” 

“Then who would let you in?” The mischief in his expression, much like that of a child making an innocent joke, makes you giggle, nodding in agreement. “Do you want to come inside? I promise everything is clean, I’m not a slob or anything.”

“Yeah, let me come in so I can give you your stuff.” 

“I knew it wasn’t just the book,” The coughing fit that followed has you rushing your hands, pulling things out of your bag in a desperate attempt to get him the medicine you bought. This had always been your curse, the flustering anxiety of wanting to help but being unable to take your time. Shaky hands push the book towards him, with the medication and some old receipts stuck to it. 

“Oh shit, sorry!” You squeak, grabbing the receipts and shoving it back in your bag. One of these days, you’d have to close the store early to clean this thing. “But uh, yeah, I got you some cold medicine and your book. I’m sure you know this with your big brain and all, but you need to take this before bed, cause it makes you drowsy, and this other one in the morning since it has caffeine! And you should be good in no time… hopefully!”

In life, a pause is not always a bad thing. It’s a time to think. A time to appreciate, to enjoy. It’s a time to be. A pause, however, from the man whose brain worked a thousand miles an hour, doesn’t feel like something to be thankful for. “Is… Do you not like that brand? I didn’t want to get the generic thing, I don’t know why, I–“

“Thank you.”

At first, you barely hear it. For someone whose voice is so rough and hoarse, you’re surprised he can still sound so smooth and airy. Your reaction is obvious; he can see the blush in your cheeks and the way you bite back a smile. “Y/N, thank you, I really appreciate it,” He says it again and now you think he just wants to get a rise of you. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” You shrug, faking humbleness while you keen at his praise. “I wanted to.”

“I know.” 

There is a dance that happens after that, one that you find yourself enjoying quite a bit. Spencer is more present than ever, and you’re getting used to having him around. It’s like you two broke the glass wall the kept you at a safe distance, and now is when you two discover each other a bit better. Like how you find out that, when Spencer’s hand lays on the cashier counter, just an inch or less away from yours, you feel the heath that it emanates. Like how your fingers curl and your palms itch at the sight of his shaggy curls falling on top of his beautiful eyes. Like how his laughter is deep when it’s true and dry when it’s forced. Like how he can read 20,000 words per minute, but he chooses to read 183 instead just so he can read you passages out loud.

You are not sure what he has learned about you, or if he even cares to learn something about you, but the thought still makes you smile. “What’s gotten you so smiley so early in the morning?” 

Ah, yes; another thing you’ve learned about Spencer Reid– he is as quiet as mouse when he wants, and as loud as an elephant when he doesn’t. “My god!” You jump, hand immediately going to your heart to try and keep it from beating our of your chest from the shock. “Spence! You scared me!”

“I’m so sorry,” He laughs, raising his hands in the air, shaking the two cups of coffee he is holding. “I come in peace.”

“And with bribery, I like your style.” 

His style doesn’t change, still haven’t. For ages, you think he buys you coffee at the nearby cafe. You don’t really know the name of the place, some cliche Cafe something something, but the one time you’ve been in there the coffee was terrible and the music too loud. It’s hard picturing your shy, smiley book-lover in there, trying to order something without raising his voice. It’s only when you see the go-to paper cups on his counter, on the fourth or fifth time you come around, that you realise Spencer has never gone to that cafe to begin with. 

The cups are still there. You make a point in spotting them every time you come over– next to the microwave, close to the paper towels. The reminder that this man has, in fact, been making you coffee most mornings validates the fluttery feeling you have whenever you think of it. It makes it somewhat logical. “I must be spending too much time with him,” You mumble to yourself, pushing your sleeves up and getting to work. You are there for a reason, and if those wilting plants die on you, you fear that you might just never be invited back. “Why does he even have plants?” 

You don’t know much about Spencer’s job. He hasn’t told you anything about it except that he travels a lot for it, but you can imagine it is something of importance– a man like Spencer was someone of importance, after all. In your mind, you can imagine him walking into an office down by the Financial District, working with big corporations as an advisor. Yes, you can absolutely see him as some sort of advisor or consultant, but something about him working in finances doesn’t sit right with you– he is yet to talk to you about crypto investments and how to better implement a payment system into the store. Shaking your head, you switch it up. Financial services, aren’t quite right, but maybe an editor, working in a publishing house. With the way he devours books and how well-rounded his personal library was, you could see him as a Publishing Director instead, reading manuscript after manuscript. 

The thought of him reading brings a smile to your face. In his living room, there is an armchair that sits next to the large window on the west wall of his apartment– he says he likes how the sunset hits and makes the pages look warm and golden, turning words into a burning fire of knowledge– and you can practically see him there, blanket over his legs, books and books pilled next to it. It’s your own little secret, how every time you come over, you grab a book, any book, and you sit there for thirty minutes, forty, fifty, an hour; until the sun has completely set and you have to get up to turn the lights on. 

Today, when you sit down, when you bring your knees up, when you drape the blanket over you, something feels incredibly right and incredibly wrong. On the pile of books next to you, right at the top, lays a copy of Gulliver’s Travels. If you remember correctly, which you usually do, last time you sat down at that spot you managed to read up to chapter five before the sun was gone. When you grab the book and you see the bookmark you gave Spencer the second time he visited the store, and you frown– usually, he’d pick up from where you left off. “How long has it been since you last came home, Spencer?” You muttered out loud, grabbing the book regardless. Because even when it breaks your heart to know something has been keeping him away from his precious nook, it fuels your heart to know he leaves your book where you can easily pick it up. To know he doesn’t mind you sitting on his armchair, to know he doesn’t mind you reading his books, to know he doesn’t mind you settling, somehow, in his house. 

A knock on his door, however, breaks you away from your precious moment of rest and relaxation. For a moment, you can’t move, frozen in place light a kid that has been caught doing something wrong. It’s only when they knock again that you move, shuffling to the door to look through the peephole. “Who is it?” You ask, voice weak and shaky. 

“I have a delivery for Spencer Reid.”

How silly you feel in that moment, hand over your heart as you take a deep breath in relief. Unlocking the door, you smile to the USPS guy. “Sorry, he isn’t home right now. I can take it for him.” All you have to do is sign it and close the door, but once you put the package on the counter and your eyes catch sight of a note scribbled on top of the box, all those butterflies inside of you slow down. And find perch. And for a second, make you miss them just like you miss him. 

The first time you think Spencer might have a girlfriend is when he comes into the store with a certain look in his face. He is practically glowing and his eyes don’t leave his phone for a second. “What has you smiling like that?” You two are close enough to ask these kind of things now, making jokes about each other as if you have been friends for ages. “Or uh, who?” Even though you started the conversation, you want to end it now. There is a sour aftertaste in your mouth when you suggest another person to be cause of his happiness, and you know, right there and then, that that is just your jealousy speaking. At this point, you’ve been harbouring a crush on Spencer for the almost two months and there’s only so much a girl can take before exploding. 

“Oh, it’s just a friend.” Somehow, this answer doesn’t settle you as much as you hoped it would. 

The second time is when he brings a woman around. She is blonde, and loud, and colourful, and you eye her carefully. They are matching costumes, and for a second, without even saying, you already feel left out. It’s stupid, being this green over someone so pink. If Spencer was purple, and if you are green, than that woman was pink– she is happy and light and exciting. Next to her, you… well, you are as muted as his green walls. “Y/N!” He calls for you with such a big smile and you just don’t have it in you to pretend to be busy anymore. 

“Hey Spencer,” It comes out quiet and a bit distant, but he doesn’t seem to notice, not with the way he is going back and forth on the ball of his heels. “And hello, ma’am. Welcome, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the owner. Please let me know if you need any help.”

That day, you two barely talk, but that’s okay, because Penelope, as she introduced herself to you after you help her find a specific book on coding, speaks for both of you. She says that it’s lovely to finally meet you, and mentions how much she has heard about you, and you think this is a very cruel thing to do to your poor, squeezing heart. But you push through. You pretend you’re tired, you apologise for the distance, and you lie about a cough. It’s better if they stay away, you say, but Spencer doesn’t buy it. Instead, he buys Penelope her book and leaves with promises of coming back the next day with your usual coffee. 

After that, you don’t see Spencer for two weeks.

It’s a bittersweet feeling when you get the text that he is back. After almost a week and a half without seeing him, you miss Spencer. He created a space for himself in your life and in your store, and when he is gone, it’s just not the same. But just like how he did, you created a space for yourself in his apartment. Suddenly, the muted green walls aren’t claustrophobic or smothering, but comforting. They are safe. Familiar. They are Spencer. And just like you said, you miss Spencer.

“Y/N!” 

You should be happier to hear his voice, but it’s not the same. The fluttering in your stomach is still there, like a slow buzz trying to come alive, but it’s not the same. Not when the note on the box, flashing like neon signs behind your close lids, has been tormenting you and your poor heart ever since you made the mistake of opening the door. “Y/N? Are you here? The door says open…” At one point or another, you have to come out of hiding and face him. Delaying the moment, though, is the best defence plan you’re able to come up with– if you look into Spencer’s eyes, if you see that pretty smile he has every time he comes back from a work trip… you’re fucked. 

“Y/N, I need you to tell me if you’re here!” It’s not the same. 

His voice. It’s not the same.

Usually mellow and undulating, Spencer sounds stiff, like he’s holding something back. Something new. Something… heavy. There is an edge to him right now, so sharp and cutting that it has you stepping out from behind the Science shelf in pure curiosity. And just like people say, curiosity killed the cat. In this case, however, it almost kills you. 

When you turn the corner to find him by the door, the first thing you see is a man. He is tall and handsome and oddly serious. The way his brows are pulled together make you falter, steps slowing down and mouth opening to ask if he needs help.

That’s when you see it. 

More like you catch a quick glimpse of it, the shinning spark of metal to your side, and you do a double take. You have to do a double take. It’s like your brain doesn’t believe what you’re seeing, and you move your head so fast you feel your neck tensing up in that way that makes your eyes water. “WHAT THE FU– OH MY GOD!” There is no way to throw yourself against a wall graciously, arms over your head and fear written all over face. You land in an awkward angle and your shoulder takes the brunt of the shock, making you gasp in pain while your legs give our under you. 

Of all the ways you’ve imagined Spencer, him holding a gun up to your head was never one of them. “Y/N!”

“Oh my god!” You think you might pass out– you’re breathing too fast and your chest is squeezing, squeezing, squeezing to the point of physical pain. There is a ringing in your ears, muffling the entire conversation between Spencer and the other man and even though you try, you can’t look up; you’re frozen in a state of distress. For the first time since you met him, you’re scared of Spencer Reid. “I– I– Oh my god, I c-can’t– I can’t b-breathe, I can’t–“

“Y/N, look at me! Look at me, you’re okay, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” The moment his hand touches your shoulder, you’re shrinking away. 

“Who are you?!” You manage to gasp enough air into your lungs to scream at him. One shake hand moves to the back of your neck, pressing down on the sore nape as you finally move to look at him, crying and all. “Spencer, who are you? Who is he? What is happening? Why do you have a gun in my bookshop, why–“

“Ma’am, I need you to take deep breaths,” The other man quickly holsters his gun and you actually think you might be going insane when flashes you a badge. “I’m SSA Derek Morgan, I work with Spencer. We are with the FBI.”

Federal Bureau of Investigation. Spencer is a fed. And he never told you. 

“The FBI…?” You whisper, eyes going wide and breath hiccuped in your throat. “S-Spencer, you work for the FBI?” Nothing about this makes sense to you. The gun, forgotten in his left hand and now pointing down and away from you, is all you can look at. The gun that looked heavy and cold. The gun that those hands hold– the same hands you’ve wished and, admittedly, dreamed of holding yours instead. The gun, the gun, the gun.

The gun. You’ve never seen a gun before, not this close. In museums, of course, and in movies and shows, but never in real life. You don’t have interest in it either, having voted, without fail, for anti-gun laws and representatives. Anything and everything about this, about seeing him with that deadly weapon, feels wrong, and you really think you might be sick soon.

“Kid, put it away, you’re freaking her out.” 

Then is when you catch sight of the Spencer you know. It’s the clumsy actions, looking almost freaked out himself– his hands fumble with the holster and it takes him a couple of tries to fit the gun properly. That’s when you know for sure– you are going to be sick. “Trash,” You mumble, trying to get up but falling again and again. “Trash, pass me the–“ But there is no time and you throw up right there and then, between the cashier and the nonfiction section. 

“What just happened?” 

“Morgan, get her some water– there, over the counter,” The rapid successions of words make you feel a bit better, a cadence of tone and rhythm that has your hands finally stabilising. “Y/N, you’re in shock. Adrenaline kicked in and left, and you pressured crashed, which is what made you nauseous. You need water, and to come sit by the counter.”

It’s funny, how in any other circumstance, you’d be ashamed and embarrassed to have gotten ill in front of him. As far as you know, Spencer is a germaphobe and this surely counts as germs. But as he grabs your hands, gentler than you’ve ever seen him grab any book in your store, and brings you to your chair behind the counter, you wonder if he forgot or simply doesn’t care. Both options don’t make sense. “Spence, what is going on?” Your voice comes out winey and rough, and there is no way to hold back the pained wince when you feel the sting spreading through your throat. Sip by sip, you try your best to drink the water and soothe yourself, but nothing seems to help. 

Nothing until you hear him next to you, small and quiet and, dare you say, meek. “I’m sorry.”

As much as you’d like to tell him he has nothing to be sorry for, he does. “I see…”

“It was just… it was new, having someone not know I’m FBI,” His thumbs play with each other and you’ve known him long enough to recognise that Spencer is nervous. “And we started getting closer and I just didn’t find an opportunity to tell you.”

“There were plenty,” You clarify, feeling a bit of a bitch for the bite in your voice making him gulp. “But it’s okay. I’m not… I’m not anything of yours, I guess, so it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Don’t say that. You’re my friend.” That hurt.

“Do you point a gun at all your friends or am I just special, Spence?” It is supposed to be a joke, but the memory makes your bottom lip start wobbling again and you feel stupid. You feel so, so incredibly stupid right now that you can’t even begin to explain why. “Sorry, I’m just– I’m not okay.”

“I know, and we’re sorry,” There is such raw honesty in his words and he manages to make you smile a little. Your hand is still shaking, but you stretch it out towards him regardless. It’s a conscious decision to hold onto his wrist, covered by his jacket, than to reach out for his palm, and from the way he looks at you, you know he recognises the effort. “But you need to come with us.”

“Why?” You cry out, a single tear coming out of the corner of your eye. At this point, the shock is going away and you’re more overwhelmed than anything else. You’re scared and confused and overwhelmed and it’s his pulse, beating again and again, that brings you back to Earth. “Why do I need to go with you? What is going on?”

“Y/N, when you were housesitting for me, you received a package, right?”

In the midst of everything, the memory of that day, that box, that note, all fade. Frowning, you shrugged. “The delivery man knocked and said he had a package for you… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I–“

“No, no, no, you didn’t, you didn’t. Please.”

“Ma’am, when you signed for the package, did you use your name?” The man, Morgan, ask, and all you do is nod. Of course you signed with your name. “Kid, we need to take her to the office now.”

“I am not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on!”

Finally, some energy in you. Some strength. Your voice echoes in the empty shop, and the chair tips back when you stand up on stiff legs. Looking at Spencer is hard, when you feel the burning of your rage inside, but you still do; you still meet those pretty brown eyes, you still stare him down until you practically force the answers off of him. “The package… did you see who it was from?” 

“Spencer, are you insinuating you’ve pointed a gun at me because I read a message your girlfriend wrote on the package she sent you?! Because I didn’t mean to– I didn’t! It just… It was there, right at the top and I–“

“She is not my girlfriend,” He immediately cut you off, hands waving in front of him in a visual demonstration of desperate denial. “Not at all! I don’t have a girlfriend! I was–“

“We can deal with this later,” Morgan is quick to interrupt, sighing as he looked at you. “Y/N, we re really sorry to disrupt you like this, but this is for your own protection. Please lock the store and let’s go.”

It takes time for you to gather everything you need. You are not a disorganised person by any means, but suddenly, you can’t remember where you put what. Your bag is thrown under the cashier, and your keys are, for some reason, in the Fiction shelf. Your glasses are in your head the entire time, and Morgan has to point that out to you. The more you look, the more flustered you get, yet somehow, you make it to the car. Morgan is driving and Spencer is on the passenger seat, and the way they keep talking to each other using words that make no sense to you make you want to scream. “Spencer.”

The heaviness of his name, said with such emotion,, lingered in the air. His eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror, and he nods. “Yeah?"

“Spencer,” You whisper again, eyes wide in shock as reality starts to dawn. “Spencer, if she’s not your girlfriend, then who the fuck is Cat Adams?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AAAAAhhhhh I'm trying something new >.< I've been a massive criminal minds fan for a long, long time and Dr. Spencer Reid has my heart <3

Please let me know what you think, this is my first Spencer fic and I'd love if it got to turn into a series!

[inkskinned]

you have to go to work so you can pay for your doctor, who is not taking your insurance right now, and if you say i can't afford the doctor's you are told - get a better job. it is very sad that you are unwell, yes, but maybe you should have thought about that before not having a better job.

(where is the better job? who is giving out these better jobs? you are sick, you are hurting - how the hell are you supposed to be well enough for this better job?)

but you go to the doctor because you had the nerve to be hurt or sick or whatever else. and they tell you that it is because you have anxiety. you try your best. you are a self-advocate. you've done the reading (which sometimes pisses them off worse, honestly). you say it is actually adding to my anxiety, it is effecting my quality of life. so they say that you are fat. they say that all young people have this happen to them, isn't it a medical marvel! they say that you should eat more vegetables. they say that you probably just need to lose a little more weight, and that you are faking it for attention.

(what attention could this doctor possibly give? what validation? that's their fucking job, isn't it?)

there is always a hypochondriac, right. someone always tells you about a hypochondriac. or someone who is unnecessarily aggressive during the worst days of their life. or someone looking "for a quick fix". or some idiot who wasn't educated about how to properly care for themselves who just abandons their treatment. and again, the hypochondriac, the overly-cautious hysteric. these people don't deserve to be treated like humans (right), and since you might be one of these people, you also don't get treated like a human. because those people can really fuck with the system, you now have to pay for it. and besides. you're actually probably faking it.

(more often than not, you find a 2:1 ratio of these stories. for every "hypochondriac", there are 2 people who knew something was wrong, and yet nobody could fucking find it. the story often ends with pointless suffering. the story often ends with and now it's too late, and it's going to kill me.)

you are actually just making excuses. someone else got that procedure or that diagnosis and he's fine, you should be fine too. someone else said they watched a documentary about other inspirational people with your exact same condition, maybe you should be inspirational, too. you're just too morbid. your pain and your experience is probably just not statistically concerning. it is all self-reported anyway, and you're just being a baby.

(once, while sitting down in the middle of making coffee, you had the sudden, horrible thought - i could kill myself to make the pain stop. you had to call your best friend after that. had to pet your dog. had to cry about it in the shower. you won't, but that moment - god, fuck. the pain just goes on and on.)

you know someone who went in for routine surgery and said i still feel everything. they told her to just relax. it took her kicking and screaming before they figured out she wasn't lying - the anesthetic drip hadn't been working. you know someone who went in for severe migraines who was told drink water and lose weight. you know someone who was actively bleeding out and throwing up in the ER and was told you're just having a bad period.

in the ER there are always these little posters saying things like "don't wait! get checked today!" and you think about how often you do wait. how often the days spool out. you once waited a full week before seeing the doctor for what you thought was a sprained wrist. it had actually been broken - they had to rebreak it to set it.

but you go into the doctor. the problem you're having is immediate. the person behind the counter frowns and says we're not taking your insurance. you will be paying for this out-of-pocket.

they send you home with tylenol and a little health packet about weight loss or anxiety or attention deficit. on the front it has your birthday and diagnosis. you think about crying, and the words swim. it might as well say go fuck yourself. it might as well say you're a fucking idiot. it might as well say light your money on fire and lie down in it. and the entire fucking time - the problem persists.

it's okay. it's okay, it's just another thing, you think. it's just another thing i have to learn to live with.

[meliohy]

.

[redr0sewrites]

i love you most - Jason Todd x reader

🥀A/n: based on this, basically this is jason comforting u when ur having an anxiety attack

🥀Word Count: 1k

🥀Cw: anxiety, slight disassociation, angst to fluff, incredibly self indulgent

acknowledging that it was a chemical imbalance was one thing, but using it as an excuse was another. you knew you should have taken your medication, you knew you shouldn't have stayed up so late, and you knew that pushing yourself too far would make you anxious, and yet you did it anyway. blame and guilt wriggles its way deep into your chest, lodging itself like a stone in your stomach and refusing to let go of its chokehold on you.

a small part of your mind, that sounds suspiciously like your lovers voice, whispers that it's not your fault. that your valid and loved. but the louder, raging, violent anxiety drowns out that tiny voice, like a tumultuous storm engulfing a small boat.

the only sound within the darkness of yours and Jason's shared bedroom is your own ragged, heavy breathing. you bite down on your lip hard enough to draw blood, struggling to muffle your noises. it was bad enough that you had let yourself get anxious again, for no real reason at all, but it would be even worse if you woke up Jason. it was so rare that he got to sleep so comfortably besides you, and it wasn't fair to him.

it wasn't fair at all.

and yet, that didn't stop you from selfishly wanting him. attempting to self soothe, you start rocking in place, ignoring the tears welling in your eyes and the lump in your throat. you were barely aware of your nails digging into your scalp, fisting themselves into your hair as your breathing refuses to level out. tears of frustration slide down your cheeks, you hate this, you hate feeling this way. the anger only makes you cry harder, but at this point you can't even bring yourself to care.

your barely aware of rustling besides you, too engulfed in your own self depricating thoughts to notice Jason stirring.

"baby? you okay?" he murmurs, voice husky from sleep.

no. no no no no no. you weren't supposed to wake him, it was selfish, it was wrong, he was asleep and never got to rest and it wasn't fair-

"hey. hey, it's okay, its okay- fuck-" Jason sits up, immediately moving to place a comforting hand on your shoulder before stopping himself.

"can i touch you?" he whispers, and you nod fervently, collapsing against his chest with a soft sob as he wraps his arms around you. one hand rubs up and down your back while the other cups your face. your nails dig into his sides, pulling him impossibly close, but he doesn't even flinch.

"shh, shh, 's okay, i got you doll, i've got you. its okay." his words help soothe the raging storm in your head, but it isn't enough. guilt is still bubbling inside you, and you cry harder, sobs wrenching from deep within your chest.

"m sorry, 'm so sorry- hic- i can't-"

"shh, i know, it's okay. you don't have to be sorry, it's okay." his voice is calm and steady, like an anchor that weighs you down and keeps you steady. he continues rubbing your back, holding you as you rock back and forth, struggling to breathe. instead of digging into your own skin, Jason subtly makes sure your hands stay firm on his sides or back, where you couldn't do yourself any harm. its not long before you begin to level out, and Jason, as attuned as ever, notices as well.

"i need you to breathe for me, is that okay?" you nod, and he grabs one of your hands, and places it on his chest. "just breathe at the same time as me. it's going to be okay, i promise." you nod numbly, listening to his instructions without a second thought. you shake and threaten to burst into tears as your breathing refuses to regulate, but you swallow hard, refusing to succumb to the anxiety once again.

you hiccup a little as you begin to get more grounded. you've exhausted yourself, and you slump against Jason out of pure and utter fatigue. your breathing matches him almost perfectly, and you can hear his heart beat rhythmically in your ear.

"i'm so sorry for waking you," you whisper, voice cracking slightly as you speak. "i tried to stop it, i really did, im sorry-" Jason cuts you off by wrapping his arms even tighter around you, nestling you into the crook of his neck and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"don't apologize. i want you to wake me up, i promise. i would much rather have you wake me up so i can help you than leave you to suffer in silence..." he trails off, and you sigh.

"m sorry."

"s'ok. i get it. you should go to sleep," he accentuates his words with another kiss on the crown of your head, squeezing you impossibly tighter. "you look exhausted."

Jason lays down on his chest, pulling you with him so that your laying on top of him. you're quick to snuggle in close as sleep sounds very nice at the moment, and with your anxiety mostly gone, exhaustion had appeared in its wake. Jason rubs your back absentmindedly as you begin to drift. your eyes are burning from all the crying, and you soon find yourself much less than conscious.

just as sleep begins to claim you, Jason speaks in a low rumble.

"i love you, doll. i hope you know that."

mustering up all of the strength you have left, you giggle softly. "i love you more," you whisper, inhaling his comforting scent.

"not possible. i love you most."

un proof read and un checked because um. yea. based on a real life scenario except there was no Jason and i made up with this mini fic idea in my head instead of actually coping lmao. i tried to keep the cause of the anxiety very ambiguous to appeal to readers, but overall this was definitely very self indulgent and based on my own personal experiences w anxiety. anyways!!!! hope u enjoyed, MY 2K EVENT REQS ARE DEFINITELY STILM OPEN I NEED MOREEE HEHE

[yandere-avatar]

I'm Not Jealous... Well, Maybe a Little

Summary: How do they act when jealous? [Damn, 3 posts in one day? Wow. Popped this out in like 20 mins.] Characters: Katara, Sokka, Aang, Suki, Azula and Zuko

Katara

She doesn't take jealousy well

She'll pretend she's not jealous and bury these feelings

But they'll end up bubbling inside her and it'll come up in a fit of rage

When your back is turned, she'll attack the person that was flirting with you

You'll be none the wiser to what she did

She'll smile at you and you'll probably be confused

The person won't even see Katara coming or even know what she did

She watches in fury though, while the person hits on you

It definitely irritates her more that you don't realize they're flirting with you

Sokka

He's like his sister, by burying his feelings deep inside

He'll probably know his feelings are bad, but he loves you and it feels so right

He might challenge them to a fight, just out of nowhere

You'll be confused, but the person won't take Sokka seriously

Sokka would make an absolute fool of himself, as long as it meant he had your attention back

He needs your confirmation that you still love him

He'd take your pity over your distaste any day

Aang

He's the most passive about his jealousy

He's very extroverted and will join the conversation, turning the vibe off [at least hopefully]

If they don't, he will get a little angry

He'll control the conversation and the flirter can't do anything about it, because Aang is so likeable

He makes sure the hint is thrown out there, that they need to leave you alone

If they don't? Well, let's just say their house blew down, so now they don't have time to hit on you

You'll feel bad, but Aang will come up with an excuse on why you and the gang need to leave

Suki

Ugh, she gets so huffy

She is very forward though and will enter the conversation

If the person tries to push her out, she will get aggressive

She's very straightforward and will confront them, even if you're there

You think they're just being friendly and the flirter will use that to their advantage

"You're just being paranoid, I was just telling them about the town"

Suki will glare, knowing it's bull, but she quickly realized she was cornered

She awkwardly smiled and turn towards you, "The gang needs our help, we should go now"

You won't think about it much and wave goodbye to the flirter

As you both walk away, Suki will turn around, smirking while waving bye to the person

Azula

Oh, you screwed up bad

When she gets jealous, she gets violent [Though she gets violent a lot]

But, she doesn't know how to healthily express her emotions, or really just express them at all, so she acts out

She hates this feeling because she's used to be confident and adored

She hates when you even waste a second of your time on someone that isn't her

She deserves all your attention, why are you wasting a second on them?

She's mad at them for talking to you, but she's also mad at you for encouraging them

You'll have to calm her down, or she's killing everyone

Her fits of rage cause a lot of casualties

She then blames you for everyone that got hurt

"Well, if you hadn't been flirting with them, this never would of happened"

Zuko

Him and sister have anger in common

He wants to burn them into the ground

Make them suffer for making him watch

He's very annoyed, but doesn't know how to express his jealousy

He won't act out like a child, but he was glare and fire emits from his fist

Anyone can tell he's angry

He'll walk up to you both and glare at the person, before wrapping an arm around you and forcing a smile

"What are you guys talking about?"

You weren't really into the conversation, so you'll say nothing, but Zuko takes it as you not wanting him to know

Did you hate him? Wait, were you talking about him? Why won't you tell him?

God the anxiety eats him alive

He then begins regretting approaching you both. But you just grab him, before pretending to hear your name and pull Zuko along, saying something like "I think I heard Sokka call us. Let's go"

He'll apologize, but you'll laugh, and lightly punch his shoulder, "I didn't want to talk to them. They were so cocky. I'm so glad you saved me. My hero"

You kiss his cheek and he blushes a dark red and you'll continue to walk as he freezes

[decolonize-the-everything]

Source

I'm a parent. I'm disabled and native. And I think while she used her responsibilities and vulnerabilities as an excuse, the real substance of that entire word vomit boils down to this one thing she said:

"I won't help anyone in the wake of it." "I'm not dying."

I bet she's not in a union and hasnt even looked up mutual aid groups in her area, either. "How do we protect ourselves" How does that change really? How does she or anyone else protect themselves from police now?

Is she actually asking for a militia?? But then that's not protecting yourself is it. Even then, again I'm sure she could start getting her family training if she was so concerned.

Especially since liberals are ALWAYS saying "it'd be easier to organize under a Democrat"

Do you think these type of people know what organizing actually entails and demands of them personally?

Liberalism is a mindset of privileged victims who feel guilty about preferring their privilege to equality and I've never met a liberal who changed my mind about that.

It's bullshit and gaslighting to say every year "it's just unrealistic," and blame leftists for not doing more when liberals know full well that they've taken No steps towards progress or preparation and have no intention of helping anyone but themselves in any other system anyway.

When we say liberals are fascists that's why.

They pretend to be progressive til their faces turn blue but they have no actual interest in changing the oppressive systems that exploit the marginalized because liberals benefit from that exploitation (cheap luxury products & food from globally underpaid/enslaved workers for example)

It sounds like "not right now, first we have to get (Democrat that hurts marginalized ppl but is good for most privileged people) in office!"

And there is never a point where they will concede to the needs of anyone else because liberals are having their needs met and that's what matters. If it wasn't then they wouldn't be so eager to ask everyone else to stop voting for their own needs getting met, but they do "be realistic!" they say when the candidate You need isn't who they want. "Think of the country," they'll tell us while refusing to think of anyone who democrats hurt.

Liberalism is an ideology nearing religion that takes precedence over any other duties you may have to your community or society. Upholding liberalism is the single most important thing a liberal can do, even at the expense of allies and human lives both within and outside U.S borders.

Both Republican and Democrat parties function perfectly fine within the same government because they aren't that different. They're different flavors of the same type of government.

Fascism.

"you don't know what you're asking for"

That's crazy because we could say the same thing right back.

And do you really expect us to stop fighting fascism just because its an uncomfortable experience for the people who profit from it?

We know exactly what we are asking for and I know I would do anything for my daughter to have a better future. If that means ruining a white lady's TikTok feed then so be it.

My kid is a chubby autistic brown girl. She isn't going to have the same life as that white lady's kids. Not even close.

And if that lady won't help my kid now by joining a union or googling mutual orgs and won't help my kid in the chaos of a power shift then why the fuck should I care about the anxiety she has about it???

You think I don't have fucking anxiety?? You think white liberal moms that live in nice houses and have food in the cupboards are the only people who feel afraid????

I'm going to be fending for myself either fucking way and that's what liberals don't understand about marginalized leftists.

We're already living the realities you're afraid of. There are already people who can't access their life saving medications! People are dying! We are asking for help and nobody is coming so we are having to save ourselves everyday!!!! Like he said, look around!!!

We know what we're asking.

We're asking you to give a shit and help.

And we know it won't feel great but we're asking y'all to have some fucking solidarity and do it anyway

[khaylin27]

The Tortured Poets Department

pairing: george russell x wolff! reader

series: the tortured poets department

synopsis: y/n wolff falls in love with george russell, her father's other mercedes driver.

warnings: none

author's note: sorry for not posting for a week 😭 school has been stressing me out and my family. im glad im back to put my creative mind to use.

You left your typewriter at my apartment Straight from the tortured poets department I think some things I never say Like, "Who uses typewriters anyway?"

You were cleaning your Monaco apartment one day when you notice the typewriter that George owned. He left his typewriter at your apartment.

Every time George would come to your apartment to spend time with her in secret, he would always bring his typewriter. George would always joke about him looking like a poet coming from the tortured department from Mercedes.

Since Lewis was leaving Mercedes at the end of the season, your father has been pressuring George to perform better than Lewis. You knew how much stress George was going through so to relive the stress he would hang out with you and use his typewriter.

You stop cleaning to take a photo of the typewriter to send to George.

y/n wolff you left your typewriter you tortured poet

george I left it so I have an excuse to see you again 😉

You blush at George's response. There's things that you think of that you would never say to George. Like, "who uses typewriters anyway?" But you knew it was an escape for him.

But you're in self-sabotage mode Throwing spikes down on the road But I've seen this episode and still loved the show Who else decodes you?

It was the Australian Grand Prix, George was in self-sabotage mode because he got into a crash before the race ended. "Georgie, you're okay that's all that matters." You say to George before he starts throwing more spikes down the road.

"It's not okay Y/N. Your dad is probably so pissed that Lewis and I both didn't finish the race." George says as he walks back in forth in the room.

You stop him mid way and give him a hug. "We'll worry about that later." Your hand gently goes up and down his spine. You've seen the way he always stresses out about your dad. So you always relax him by moving your hands up and down his spine. Who else decodes him like you do?

And who's gonna hold you like me? And who's gonna know you, if not me?

"I love the way you hold me like this." George says as he calms down from his anxiety attack. "You know me so well."

"Who's gonna hold you like me? My little brother?" You both laugh about the comment about your brother. "And who's going know you, if not me?" You smile at him before he leaves to finish his race interviews.

I laughed in your face and said "You're not Dylan Thomas, I'm not Patti Smith This ain't the Chelsea Hotel, we're modern idiots" And who's gonna hold you like me? Nobody

f1news THE NEW TOTO AND SUSIE WOLFF: Y/N Wolff was seen with her father's Mercedes driver, George Russell, out at the Monte-Carlo Masters this weekend. Are they the new Toto and Susie Wolff of Gen Z?

user1 THEY DEFINITELY GIVE OLD MONEY

user2 mama y papa 😍 mom and dad

user3 they are toto and susie (gen z version)

****

"George," You look around your apartment to see where George was. You find him in your office writing on his typewriter.

"What is it Darling?" George asks as he takes off his old man glasses.

"Look at what the media is calling us." You pass him your phone and show him the post f1news posted about you two on instagram. You laugh once George finishes reading the caption. "The caption is too funny! They're comparing us to my parents."

"I'm not Toto though," George says. "And you're not Susie either."

You give him a kiss on the cheek, "This isn't Mercedes, we're just modern idiots." George smiles back at you while you hold him.

"Who's going to hold me like you do?" he asks.

"Nobody."

You smoked, then ate seven bars of chocolate We declared Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist I scratch your head, you fall asleep Like a tattooed golden retriever

George lights up a candle and grabs chocolate from the fridge after you two clean the apartment. Charlie Puth was playing in the background while you two were cuddling on the couch eating seven bars of chocolate.

"Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist." George says after eating his chocolate bar.

"I agree. He has so many hits yet he's not even big!" You say putting the leftover chocolate back in the fridge. After you wash the chocolate off your hands, you cuddle with George again.

Charlie Puth was still playing while you scratched George's head. A couple minutes later, George was asleep like a tattooed golden retriever.

But you awaken with dread Pounding nails in your head But I've read this one where you come undone I chose this cyclone with you

A couple hours after you both fall asleep on the couch, George wakes up from a nightmare. You wake up from the movement that George made, you realized he had a nightmare. "George, you're okay." You rub his back to try and calm him down.

After a while, George is ready to open up about his nightmare. “I spend so much of my life being scared, wanting to please everyone around me. I had a nightmare about everything I've built go away in an instance.” George never really got this deep into his feelings, but that night he became undone.  

"I understand what you're saying. I've always felt that way too with spending so much time in the media. I'm scared that whatever I say to them will make a bad impression on my parents. I've always people pleased everyone." You place your hands gently around his neck and say, "I chose this cyclone with you. We'll get through this together."

Sometimes, I wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me But you told Lucy you'd kill yourself if I ever leave And I had said that to Jack about you, so I felt seen

The Mercedes team had some press to do in New York before the Miami Grand Prix. Lewis, George, and your dad were unveiling the new Mercedes car emoji on WhatsApp on the Empire State Building and you decided to tag along.

After the emoji was unveiled, George and your dad were talking to investors while you were talking with Lewis. "How are you and George?" Lewis asked you as you were taking a sip of your drink.

"We're doing okay. We have problems like every couple days. Sometimes, I wonder if he's gonna screw this up with me. He's been through a lot of stress this season." You tell Lewis. "Maybe I'm self sabotaging but I told this to my mom, so I felt seen."

"George talked to me earlier about what he's been going through this season." You both look at George as he's having fun dancing with some investors. "He's glad to have you by his side. he told me he'd kill himself if you ever left."

You were shocked by Lewis' words. Sure George was you boyfriend but you never thought his feelings for you were this strong.

Everyone we know understands why it's meant to be 'Cause we're crazy So tell me, who else is gonna know me?

"You and George are meant to be." Lewis says smiling. "You guys both drive me crazy." Lewis says sarcastically while you laugh. George leaves the dance floor and heads to you.

"You're ready for our date?" George asks while wrapping his arms around your waist. You nod yes and he takes your hand. You both say your goodbyes to everyone and head to the Empire State Building lobby.

"You ready for our pizza date?" George asks.

"You know me so well." You smile before George asks.

"So tell me, who else is gonna know you like me?"

"Nobody." You both smile before he drives to your favorite pizza place.

At dinner, you take my ring off my middle finger And put it on the one people put wedding rings on And that's the closest I've come to my heart exploding

George had emptied your favorite pizza spot in New York (with the help of your dad of course). Your favorite slices of pizza were ready to eat as soon as you arrived at the location. As you guys eat your slices of pizza, George cleans his face before starting to talk .

"Y/N, Darling. You're the love of my life. I love everything about you and that you're always by my side through thick and thin. You helped me overcome certain obstacles in my life. I wouldn't be who I am today without you." George kneels down and takes the ring out to propose to you. "Y/N will you marry me?"

"It feels like my heart is exploding!" Y/N says before cleaning herself up. "Yes! I'll marry you!" George smiles before kissing you. He then puts the engagement ring on your finger.

yourusername and you're not toto wolff, i'm not susie wolff this ain't the mercedes, we're two idiots and who's gonna hold you like me? 💍🍕

tagged georgerussell63

georgerussell63 nobody darling ✨

lewishamilton you guys drive me crazy but congrats 🥂

yourusername we have to keep your last season in mercedes wild before you leave 🤪

mercedesamgf1 is this f-ing play about us?

user1 MERC ADMIN WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? yourusername i bet my dad was the one who told admin to write this. susie_wolff yes, he did mercedesamgf1 YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO TELL HER user1 i love the merc-wolff family 🖤

user2 dang their cars aren't the only thing fast in their life. first oscar getting married now george!!

taylorswift you guys are too cute! congrats!! 🩶

yourusername thank you tay 🥹✨ user3 mother just loves the f1 wags!!

tagged: @omgsuperstarg @splaterparty0-0 @2pagenumb @c-losur3

[cheesemoth]

A WEDDING MADE OF STRAWS

Part 1 | Part 2

Fandom

Criminal Minds

Summary

Your relationship with Spencer, your husband, seems to be deteriorating after seven years together and four years of marriage. You've tried to talk to him about it, to find out if you've done something wrong, but all you get is an avoidance or the poor excuse "I don't have time". Finally, you've had enough.

Genre

Hurt/Open Ending

Pairing

Spencer Reid/Female Reader

Spencer isn't feeling well.

His head hurts, constantly, and lately, his job seems to weigh even more heavily on his shoulders. He knows it's partly due to his worry about schizophrenia, especially since the migraines he thought he had left behind are back.

He tries to distract himself, not to let his thoughts invade his daily life with you and his professional life, but it's a difficult fight. He so wants to talk to you about all this, but the idea of burdening you with his problems makes him wince. You're already worried enough for him, with all the time his job takes; he doesn't want to add to your worries.

So, naturally, Spencer turns to his best friend at work, JJ. She understands him better than anyone, without a word being said, and her presence is like a sanctuary in the face of his torments.

He is aware that this isn't fair to you, but he finds it unbearable to share what eats at him, to pollute your environment with his problems and anxiety.

"You should really talk to her, Spence," JJ says for the umpteenth time, after Spencer shared his discomfort that had intensified earlier, amplified by your disappointed tone after he announced he would spend the night at a friend's.

Spencer immediately shakes his head. "I can't —"

"I think your wife is wise enough to decide for herself," JJ retorts, a tad more sharply.

Spencer lowers his eyes, stung. Of course, he would never question your intelligence or your independence. He is also convinced that you do not grasp the full extent of what a possible diagnosis of schizophrenia could imply for him. What he would be imposing on you, if it were to develop. He bites his lip, sighing heavily as he runs his fingers through his hair.

Seeing the state Spencer is in, with his pronounced dark circles despite the comfort of the guest room bed, and his shoulders tense, JJ softens her tone.

"Just... think about it, okay? She loves you, otherwise you wouldn't be together."

Spencer finds nothing to reply and settles for a non-committal hum. These words don't reassure him as much as they should. That night, he doesn't find sleep easily, just like the previous nights.

...

...

It's been almost a week since Spencer hasn't returned to the apartment, to you. A case hit him particularly hard, and he hasn't been able to suppress these harmful emotions as he usually does.

He doesn't want you to see him like this. It's so pitiable. He wants to text you, even call you just to hear your voice, but he knows he would end up cracking, likely in tears, like a child seeking comfort from his mother.

Spencer is supposed to be strong, to be an exceptional husband for an exceptional wife; and lately, he feels incapable of being either. While keeping his distance is probably not the best solution, until he can get his life back in order and control his feelings, it will have to suffice.

You'll understand — you always do, in the end.

It was a mistake. A terrible mistake, because when he returns to the apartment, which smells of dust and exudes solitude, his heart sinks when his call remains unanswered and the silence persists.

"Honey?" His voice breaks terribly as he enters your bedroom to find the bed made, and your side of the bed devoid of your extra fluffy pillow and your small heavy, soft blanket. "Love, this isn't funny —"

Spencer's words die in his throat as he discovers the small pile of seemingly innocuous papers on the counter, topped with a simple pen. He knows what it is without even having to read, but that doesn't mean he accepts the situation immediately. He frowns, opening and closing his mouth as his trembling fingers touch the first page.

Spencer's eyes burn as an overwhelming emotion weaves through his bones.

"No," he murmurs, finally finding the courage to read the words inked on the page, his lower lip trembling and his breath hitching. "No, it's not supposed to be like this," Spencer articulates, shaking his head.

He fumbles feverishly in his pants pocket, and the only reason he manages to dial your number despite the tears blurring his vision is sheer habit. It's only when the dial tone sounds in his ear that he lets out a curse through clenched teeth and a deep sob shakes his entire body.

He tries again, and again, until...

Until his number is blocked, and that's when Spencer Reid fully realizes how much he's ruined the best thing that ever happened to him. All because he was afraid of his own mind.

...

...

JJ doesn't utter any reproachful words when Spencer shows up with his face marked by tears and his eyes reddened. He doesn't need to hear her thoughts to know she's thinking, "I told you so." And he can't even be mad about it.

"What do I do now?" Spencer asks miserably, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, his shoulders slumped. He doesn't want to divorce; he doesn't want to give up on the love of his life.

JJ doesn't know what to say, and Spencer doesn't even know what answer he's looking for. He has to pursue you, find you and hope he can explain himself, even if he doesn't deserve it, doesn't deserve your forgiveness for the way he's made you feel these past times.

Spencer surely chose the worst time to be selfish. But at this moment, he doesn't have the strength to care. All he wants is to belong to you again.

It takes several days for Spencer to find the courage to see you again. Of course, he knows where you are. He knows you by heart, after all.

...

...

When Spencer finally makes the decision to confront the situation, his heart is heavy but determined. The days apart have been excruciating, each moment filled with regret and longing. 

He's rehearsed what he wants to say a thousand times over, but now, standing at the threshold of possibly the most important conversation of his life, words seem to fail him.

The journey to you is a blur, his mind consumed with thoughts of how to mend what's been broken. He knows apologies are not enough, but they're a start. Spencer understands the magnitude of his mistake, the pain he's caused by shutting you out when he needed you the most. He's ready to open up, to share his fears and his struggles, hoping it's not too late to salvage the love you share.

As he arrives, his heart pounds with a mix of fear and hope. The anticipation of seeing you again, of possibly hearing your voice, fills him with a nervous energy he hasn't felt in a long time. Spencer knows the conversation ahead will be difficult, that there's a lot to work through, but he's committed to doing whatever it takes. He wants to prove that he can be the partner you deserve, that he can face his demons with you by his side.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer steps forward, ready to face whatever comes with honesty and love. He knows the path to reconciliation won't be easy, but he's hopeful. Hopeful that your shared history, the love and the memories you've built together, will be enough to overcome this challenge.

As he knocks on the door, waiting for an answer, Spencer rehearses his opening lines in his mind. "I'm sorry," will be his starting point, followed by the truth about his fears, his condition, and his deep-seated fear of burdening you.

But more than anything, he wants to convey his unwavering love for you, his desire to fight for your relationship, and his hope for a future together, despite the shadows that have crept into his life.

The door opens, and there you are.

[eyesxxyou]

❝ sunshine pt.2 ❞ (hobie brown x male!reader)

｡ﾟ･ ¡ content. hobie x male!reader. reader pretends to hate dislike hobie. gay longing. denial of feelings. a little internalized homophobia. leg humping. handjob thru underwear. lots of kissing. hobie being a lil shut. weeks of avoiding hobie become moot when you and him find yourselves alone in a bathroom together.

wc: 3.6k

You wish you hated Hobie Brown.

It would be so easy, wouldn't it? He kissed you, did unspeakable things to you in that closet. And you let him. You enjoyed even, you relished in the way his mouth felt, his lithe fingers sinking into your flesh. the way he cooed in your ear. It would be easy to write him off completely, hate him for the rest of your life, his smug face, his hooded eyes that gaze into yours and hold secrets only known between you, him, and God.

But you don't hate him. You can't. You hate yourself more than anything. You should have never indulged him, never let him put a single finger on you. Because now, when you lie in bed at night and close your eyes, all you can see is him on his knees, feel your cock sliding down the pocket of his throat while he looks up at you through his lashes with those dark eyes of his. You can't get it up any other way. Women don't do it for you anymore.

The moment the two of you left the closet you told everyone to leave. You picked up Hobie’s clothes and shoved them into his arms before sending him out the door with the rest of them. You never once looked him in the eye.

Your friends asked Hobie what had happened inside the hour you spent together and Hobie, being quite the convincing liar, simply shrugged as if he had no idea what had set you off. “Nothin’. Think ‘e migh’ be claustrophobic.” But he knew. You both would always know, no matter how hard you attempted to scrub it from your mind. He’d keep it a secret if you did. He might start shit from time to time but he wasn’t into outing people. He’d keep the secret for you if you didn't want it.

You know better. You know yourself. If you were alone with him, something like that would happen again and you wouldn't know what to do with yourself.

So you avoided Hobie like the plague after that night. Every invitation to hang out was promptly turned down with an excuse that was only a thinly veiled lie, obvious to no one except for Hobie who knew better than to accept that you were sick 3 weeks in a row.

It was understandable. He had made you question everything you had known about yourself all within a matter of an hour. Why would you want to be around him? You feared him and everything he symbolized to you.

“It’s Hobie, isn't it?” Your friend, Riri, sighed. She had come in person to get you out of the house. There was no pretending to be sick, no feigning exhaustion. She came and she called you out so accurately you feared that Hobie might have told her what had happened in the closet. Your chest squeezed and you lost your breath, terrified that she may know.

You scoffed, anxiety swelling within your chest as you pretend to roll the question off your shoulders. “Hobie? Why would I care about Hobie?”

“Everyone knows you can't stand him. And you haven't been the same since we stuck y’all in the closet. Did he say somethin’ to you?” You looked into her eyes for any semblance of your secret and found nothing. You wished you could tell her, your shame, your pleasure, the absolute heaven you felt being in that closet with Hobie. You’d just embarrass yourself.

“No, that's ridiculous. I find him just as endlessly irritating as I always have.” You reach up, tug at your hair softly, and shift your gaze. You were telling on yourself. Fuck, if you didn't agree now, she’d definitely know that there was something up with you and Hobie. “I’ll go, it’s whatever. Just let me get ready.” Your voice was quick, snappy, you were definitely acting suspicious. But you hoped you conceding to going would distract her enough to forget.

It did. Your friends weren't the most aware bunch.

That's how you ended up here, standing in the midst of a true punk party. There was a mosh pit in the front, people inches away from getting punched in the face, starting an all-out brawl. Most were drunk or high off shitty beer and even shittier drugs.

Hobie was on stage performing. You heard his voice before you saw him, the way it echoed in your ears and left you delirious. Riri dragged you into the crowd, just far away from the mosh pit to not get trampled over, and you saw him. His dark skin glistening in a thin layer of sweat, fingers meticulously strumming at his guitar, lips pressed against the mesh of the microphone as if he were attempting to kiss it like he kissed you.

He wore a plaid skirt, his muscle shirt was just cropped enough to reveal the scant of his abdomen and the hair on his slender naval. You saw him and all you could think about was how you wanted to touch him. You wanted his black-painted lips on your neck, wanted to bury your fingers in the new growth of his hair, wanted your cock in his mouth once again and maybe to put his in yours. 

The thoughts terrified you but what frightened you even more was that when you came to, Hobie was looking at you. Smug, careless, beautiful, like he knew just what you were thinking about and he was thinking the very same thing.

Face hot and embarrassed over being caught, you averted your gaze. You turned on your heels and swiftly left Riri to make your way to the bar. You needed a drink, or five, so that maybe your nausea could be attributed to something worthwhile. But no matter how far from the stage you found yourself, Hobie’s voice was still in your ear, teasing your senses, tempting your body. You felt hot and parched. 

“Give me the strongest you have.” You asked the bartender and pressed your face into your hands.

Hobie played three of his songs before his time was over, the entire time you watched from the corner of your eye. Watched the way he swayed, jumped, wrecked the stage, a force to be reckoned with. You watched him and his bandmates, your friends, walk backstage and felt relief. You wouldn’t have to hear his voice everywhere you went. You hadn’t considered that meant that they would all gravitate over to you to have a chat over where you’ve been for nearly a month now.

They came over with Riri, the unknowing traitor, Hobie standing taller than everyone else in the back. They hugged you one by one, slapped your back, kissed your cheeks, told you they were happy you finally agreed to hang. You would have loved to see them if Hobie hadn’t tossed his arm over your shoulder and pulled you into him. 

He smelled like musk and faint, fragrant cologne, your nose pressed to the side of his chest. You look up from where you sat on your barstool only to find him already smiling broadly down at you. “Well, well, look who decided to grace us with they presence. Miss me, sunshine?” He was so smug, so proud. If only you could kiss that look from his stupid face and leave him breathless for once instead of the other way around.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes at him, shrugging his arm from your shoulders. “Don’t get so full of yourself.” You downed the rest of your drink and requested another one. Hobie came, sat on the stool beside you, and told the barkeep to add all your drinks to his tab.

“Ya been avoidin’ me, sunshine?” Hobie only really seemed interested in talking to you. The others chatted aimlessly amongst themselves. They didn’t seem to notice the way Hobie’s eyes glazed over you, the way his smile seemed a little different when it was directed at you. They also didn’t notice the way he placed his hand on your thigh, rubbing soft circles into your flesh, the way his digits fingered the rips at your jeans.

“Whyever would I be avoiding you, Hobie?” You grabbed his hand to stop his gentle assault on your thigh and he took the opportunity to lace his fingers in with yours.

“I don’ know. Why are you avoidin’ me?” His hand was hot and rough with callouses. If only he’d touch you a little more. Slide his hand up your arm, brush over your neck. You could feel your body growing warmer by the moment. You couldn’t be trusted with him, couldn’t trust yourself for that matter.

You tore your hand from his. “You know exactly why. I hate it when people play dumb.”

“Jus’ add i’ to the long list of all the reasons ya hate me.”

Oh, if only it were so easy to hate. You’d hate him till the day he died. You’d hate him beyond the grave. You’d hate him until the world combusted into flames and everyone burned with it. But it wasn’t so easy. It was actually quite hard to hate someone you longed so carnally for. If you could rid yourself of him for good, you would in a heartbeat.

Hobie ordered himself a nice large glass of beer and leaned in. “Was i’ so bad, what we did? Ya seemed to enjoy i’ in the moment.”

Your eyes grew wide, glancing about to ensure your friends hadn’t heard him.

Hobie scoffed. “Please, too loud in here. They all wrapped up in ‘emselves to pay attention t’us. Look here, sunshine.” He reached out and gently grasped your chin to make you look at him. His touch was like fire all throughout your body. Looking him in the eyes lit something in the pit of your stomach. "Ya look good t'nigh'."

His drink came and he took a sip of the froth at the top while looking at you, his gaze all affectionate and tender. The way one lover would look at another. He didn’t even have to touch you to get you riled up because you both knew him looking at you through his lashes like that was just the way he looked at you when he kissed the tip of your cock.

You needed air. It was suddenly so stuffy where you were, you felt like you were suffocating. The ache of your cock made your jeans tighten. You felt nauseous.

You must have looked crazy standing so abruptly. Your friends attempted to call your name as you pushed your way through them and searched wildly for the nearest exit. The best you could find was a bathroom sign. That would have to work.

The bathroom was grimy and covered in graffiti. Your boots suck to the floor when you walked and you’re sure you could see a leftover powdery substance on the side of the sink. You turned on the water and cupped your hands beneath it to gather some and splash it on your face. 

Nothing between you and Hobie had to change. If he would simply stop provoking you, you could ignore everything else. The way your eyes lingered on his exposed body, the way his lingered on yours, the memory of your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking till he came on your tummy, the way you came in his mouth and he drank it all up.

You pressed your hand against the bulge in your jeans and moaned softly at the pressure. Then there was a knock at the door, startling you out of your momentary pleasure and reminding you that you were indeed in a public restroom.

“Oi, sunshine! Ya alrigh”?” Hobie. He just simply couldn’t let you have a moment of reprieve. Readjusting yourself in your pants so it's not so noticeable, you opened the door only to be met with Hobie leaning against the frame. He looked at you, questioning, before inviting himself right in. “Le’s talk.”

“Talk? You wanna talk?” You slammed the door shut and locked the door behind the two of you out of instinct. “We have nothing to talk about, Hobie. Absolutely nothing.” Your demeanor was cold, your lip curled. It all belied how much you needed him to stop looking at you that way. With heavy eyes and a touch of a smirk on his lips.

Hobie quirked a pierced brow at you. “Who’s playin’ dumb now? Ya tink I ‘aven’t noticed how you’ve been actin’? Yer meaner than usual.” He approached you. Slowly. He looked at you, watched to stand your ground. “God, yer down bad, aren’cha?”

Your face was hot, cock hard in your pants. You said not a word. Let him get close, really close, leaning into you while staring into your eyes.

“It's okay, though. I like ya mean.”

You grabbed him by the shirt, hands tight in the fabric as you turned him around and pushed him against the wall. “You think this is fucking funny, huh?” You shook him a little, pressed his thin body to the door, your eyes aflame with passion and anger. Hobie just looked at you, smiling, with his hands up as if to surrender to you, his eyes heavy with seduction.

You hated that look, so cocky and proud, fucking gorgeous. 

You were rough when you kissed him. You knew you couldn't be trusted with yourself or with him. You knew it would all lead to this. And God if it didn't feel good. His lips were so soft, sweet, a little salty from his sweat. You held his shirt a little tighter, pulled him a little closer and his hands settled on your hips.

You let him slide his tongue into your mouth, let him slide his hands up and down the length of your body, slide beneath your shirt. His thumbs looked into your pants and tucked his knee between your legs to press against the growing bulge in your pants.

Just like that, he took control of you. You melted into him, licked into his mouth as you moaned, rutting yourself against his knee. You were desperate, panting, needy. You showed all your cards just as they were dealt and now you had nothing but an empty hand and a hard cock.

“I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout'cha.” Hobie panted into your mouth, hands pawing at you. Your kiss was sloppy, filled with swapped saliva and sticky tongue. “Missed ya. Looks like ya missed me too.” He chuckled softly as you licked his bottom lip, sighing with pleasure when he pressed his knee harder into you.

You should stop this. You should be stopping yourself. But you simply couldn't control yourself and you didn't know if that said more about you or about him. You were insatiable. You were angry. You were horny out of your mind. 

Hobie let you suck on his lip and tongue, chuckling the whole time. It made you stop, your hands tightening up in his shirt. “Is something funny?” You pushed him against the wall harder, your body pressed against his, your aching cock against his knee. You tried to play tough, your face firming up, but Hobie already witnessed how desperately you've been wanting him this entire time.

Hobie sighed softly, looking at you, smiling broadly. “Nah, nah, ‘m laughin’ ‘cause ya definitely like me, sunshine. Just as much as I like you.” He leaned in, pressed his lips to yours, and kissed you softly. Lips latching, tongue licking, teeth nipping, you didn't resist him as much as you thought you would. You hadn't imagined for it to feel so good the second time around.

“Lemme help ya out, sunshine.” Hobie pressed his knee harder into your crotch and you crumbled, panting into his mouth with your eyes squeezed shut. One of your hands unballed itself from his shirt and found itself settled against the apple of his throat, pressing and squeezing while you humped his leg into oblivion.

The friction was delicious. The pressing and grinding with his tongue down your throat left you a little delirious. You were lightheaded and feared you might faint if he kept holding your waist like he was, moving your hips for you, pressing you harder.

“Keep goin’, pretty boy. Ya got i'.” Hobie crooned into your mouth as your lips fiended for another kiss, a lick, something, anything to satiate the burning in your chest, the fire all over. His fingers sunk into the meat of your thighs with his soft grip that meant to gently coax you towards your climax.

How embarrassing. To cum in your jeans just from humping a leg. But God, if this didn't feel good, if Hobie wasn't doing you so right. You pushed him harder against the wall, squeezed his throat a little tighter as you ground yourself into him.

Your free hand slid down his front and beneath his skirt to feel the bulge of his erection through his underwear. You weighed him in the palm of your hand, clumsy massaging and fondling. You didn't know how to handle him. Attempting to conjure up the way you touched him the last time you two felt each other, you rubbed him, felt the wet patch where precum leaked and soaked into the fabric of his underwear and stroked his tip.

Hobie shuddered, one that rattled through his entire body. He gripped you harder, bruising your hips and thighs and he drove you further into his knee and left you shivering. You squeezed him in your palm and he moaned.

It was pathetic how easy it was to forget how much you wanted to hate him. Your brain was foggy with pleasure and need. Your hands groped at each other with a fiendish desire. Hobie nipped at your bottom lip. “Fuck, jus’ like tha’.”

You were so close. Your lips broke apart from his with a string of saliva connecting the two of you. Your head felt back, exposing the supple flesh of your throat which Hobie greedily attacked with lips and teeth and tongue. “Gonna cum f’me? Hmm, sunshine? Go ‘head ‘n make a mess f’me.”

You whined, your body rocking back and forth with the waves of your orgasm. You hadn't cum in your pants since you were a teen and never before because of another man. You felt as though you should be humiliated but you were so wrapped up in Hobie's sweet scent and the way he moaned into your neck as you pressed your hand into him and felt his cock twitch in your hold.

You rubbed him harder, faster, determined to get him to come undone the way he had your world falling apart. Hobie chuckled against your throat. “Tryna get me t’cum, pretty boy?” His lips peppered kisses to your lovely throat. You nodded, your hand stroking his throat with your thumb. “Give it to me, please.” Oh how the mighty fall.

Hobie faltered a bit when you squeezed his balls in your hand, whining into you like a puppy. “Beg.” He sighed softly against your neck. “Beg fo i'.”

"Please, please. Shit, Hobie, give it to me " Overstimulated, his knee still pressed into the wet spot in your sticky jeans, your hips still rutting into the mess you’ve made of yourself, you jerked him off through his underwear, stroking it rapid, blundering twists of your wrist. Hobie liked how inexperienced you seemed, he found it amusing how hard you tried to please him.

You knew he was just on the edge of an orgasm by the way his moan lowered an octave. He sang for you like he sang on stage, your own private show. His hands gripped you with an impossible strength, tongue lavishing over your throat. He nosed at the curve of your jaw and moaned into your ear as he came in your hand, leaking out into the cotton of his underwear.

You were left panting, stroking at each other in tender touches. You were uncharacteristically affectionate, desperate for it. You needed his hands, his lips, his soft chuckles, his pretty smile. God, you were losing it.

“Fuck-” You pulled away from Hobie, your entire body coiling away from him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” It all came back to you like a tsunami. How did you let this happen? Again no less. What in the world were you thinking? What the hell has he done to you?

“Sunshine, calm down. It's okay.” Hobie reached out for you but you almost fell over trying to get away from him. Your hands gripped the sink for stability and in hopes to ground yourself in reality. “No, no, it’s not okay, Hobie! We need to stop this.”

“Whatever we have goin’ on between us-”

“There's nothing going on between us,” you insisted. “There should be nothing going on between us.” Hobie scoffed at you, crossing his arms over his chest. “Would’ja get ova y’self? We didn' make each other cum by accident. This keeps happenin’ fo’ a reason. We like each other.” He motioned between the two of you, his eyes softening.

“I can't do this, Hobie. I can't give you what you want.” You rushed past him and escaped out of the bathroom door before Hobie had a chance to catch you. It was a mistake to come out. You should have left the moment Hobie touched you. 

It was just your luck to run into Riri on the way out the door. You bumped into her just as you neared the exit. She had whipped around, ready to let you have it until she saw that it was you and worse, when she saw the tears streaming down your face. As if this night couldn't get even more embarrassing.

You said nothing to her. You simply pushed past her and left the bar with her calling after you. Hobie approached behind her, watching you leave with sulken shoulders and smudged makeup.

“Shit.”

[riniworld]

my perfect soldier

yandere!emperor x general!f!reader

warnings// mention of blood+injury, that much it.

reference// you,general, woman/girl, y/n, she/her.

remake of this hcs

a/n// i was having a bad wi-fi and when i wanted to save the draft it didn't save, i had a damn long heart attack, then when i was about to cry it said that it had been saved, man the scare!

born and raised as the heir of the throne,in a luxurious life,some people will dream to live like his life, but he hated it.

Baron hated how he shouldn't act like a child because he's the heir, hated the boring meeting he has to attend with his father, hated how he didn't get attention,but he hated his parents more than anything.

a small light lightened his life,his brother,who came to him after 8 years from suffering alone,as he grew up,baron took his responsibility upon himself,he won't let his brother live like him.

in the night of his eighteenth birthday, instead of hearing clapping and partying for him,what the castle heard was a scream, echo in every corner of it.

in that day the death of the emperor and his wife was confirmed and he stood there without guilt or shame "i did it." was Baron's first words on that night.

he did it,he got rid of his misery, he got his revenge for his shattered childhood, for his brother's tears.

he got rid of his misery and gave the people a new misery.

And who can prosecute him? he is the law after all,he put it and he eras it.

as a young boy it wasn't professional to give him the throne but he insisted and killed everyone that was against it.

as the years passed,baron was expanding his empire taking as much kingdoms as he please, starting with small ones to the large ones.

however,Yale,baron's brother,didn't like all the blood that was sacrifice for his brother's pleasure,hence he left the whole empire at age 18,and has never communicate his brother again.

This got on Taron's,as he named himself, nerves, wich lead him to take out his anger on the civilians,the smallest mistake lead to getting killed.

life started to get boring for him until he heard about you,a powerful general that no one had defeated,not like the kingdom you were in was under too much pressure or popular,but it won't hurt him to take it anyway.

anxiety kicking in as you hurry to the throne room, the king asked for you to come,it's not everyday he want to see you so it's must be something important.

a loud thud was heard as you open the door aggressively.

you bow your head a little as you see the prince standing in the room,he smiled at you softly in return,when you get closer to the king you kneeled down on one knee and bowing your head down in front of him.

"your majesty." you said steadily.

"Excuse me for bringing you from your duties in a hurry,general, however we received information that you should hear." the king explain "I'm sure you've heard about the falling kingdoms by now?"

you stood up "i did,your majesty, apparently the new emperor isn't as peaceful as his father."

after a minute of silent the king spoke again "i don't know what is his purpose by this.." he walked to a close table and took a latter that was on it "but it seems we're next." he handed it to you. "I'm counting on you about this."

you opened your mouth to speak but the prince cut you off.

"pardon me but what! you're saying the emperor wants to take our kingdom and you still want to fight? father no one happen to stop him!." he said irritated but didn't rise his voice.

"what do you suggest then? giving up easily? so everyone can call us cowards?" the king said calmly (dumbledore said calmly)

"It is better than wasting the blood of soldiers in vain."

the king sighed in frustration and motion for you to go.

you bow your head and headed out immediately.

planning to call every battalion commander to discuss the plan for the battle.

the day of the battle came,everyone was anxious even you,you'll fight the emperor how can you not?

but as the general you need to keep a steady expression as you check on every soldier,recuse the frightened ones and reassure the ones that has a slight anxiety.

The promised hour has come, you wear your armor, it wasn't alot but it did just enough.

you arrive at the place at the same time taron's has arrive, you two were at the head of your army.

taron scoff as soon as he sees you "a woman? is that what your king could bring? what a joke."

you got irritated, you've always hated when someone talks about you because you were a woman, You extended your hand to the side and someone gave you a bow, you throw the arrow at taron, it didn't land on him as you knew this was a big move to do first but it did scratch his cheek and killed one behind him,you return the bow and say"i didn't laugh" in a calm manner.

taron put his finger on the scratch and look at his blood, he smiled crazily. This was the signal for the beginning of the war.

Two hours have passed since the start of the battle، and it did not go well in your favor. Many of your soldiers were dying, but that does not mean that you were not advancing as well.

you were against the emperor the whole time and the first thing you learned about him is that he's not a silent type because he was talking the whole damn fight.

in a quick motion his blade was at your neck,you expected your head to chop off, but instead taron was smiling widely as he looked in your eyes "it would be such a waste to kill you now." he said.

then he removed the blade away from you as he announced to his army to withdraw.

you wanted to yell after him to come back,to end things, you couldn't return to the kingdom with such shame, even if you didn't lose you know deep down that you would have if he didn't do that.

when you return to the kingdom the king received you with clapping hand and congratulation, you didn't even left your head up you don't know how to tell him what happened in the field.

you were sitting on a bench at the practice ground, your head between your hand thinking about everything.

you felt someone sitting beside you, you were ready to kick out whoever was there but when you left your head up you shut your mouth close, it was the prince "your royal highness!."

the prince was smiling slightly at you,like always, "why are you here alone?."

"I'm just...resting." you say turning your head away.

"you don't seem like usual, what happened at the battle?."

you pause don't know how to say it, "i-..wouldn't have won if the emperor took it seriously," the prince hummed "he was an inch away from killing me but he just backdown..i don't count this as a won." you continue.

"well,what were you expecting from an emperor?, i respect your power but as much as you've been in the army he must have been practicing more, I'm just happy you're alive." he put his hand on yours.

you looked at him with soft eyes like you were about to cry, in return he looked in your eyes as he spoke "how about you accompany me to the town,hm? like old days."

right,in one point of your serving here you were his personal knight wich made you two so close to each other, even if you treat him as a royal prince he always has treated you as a friend, wich made you,as much as you don't want to admit it,falling for him.

"that would be an honor,your highness."

"great." the prince took your hand and drag you outside.

seeing all the people in the town safe, smiling and laughing was enough to make you smile and forget about the battle.

on the other side,at taron's castle.

"she's incredible." taron was lying on the bed, smiling staring at the roof.

His personal advisor was standing at the door inside "if you say so,your majesty."

taron sighed dreamly "i can't wait for our next battle,y/n, was it?."

"it is,your majesty."

"Gather as much information of her as possible."

"as you wish,your majesty."

the battles continued to happen,Day after day, taron becames quicker to announce the second battle,he start,what you consider it as,flirting in the middle of your fight, saying things such as, "you look gorgeous with blood." , "you make me more insane in your love,dear" , "won't you consider becoming my personal soldier? oh,or maid!." you nearly cut his arm off when he said that, he sometimes cross the lines saying some personal information no one knows.

you got enough with his playing, always announce a battle then backdown when he's close to knocking you off.

it all changed though at that fateful day.

after every fight the prince,keith,would come to you, talking or taking you out with him, the civilians noticed that as much as the servants did, and the rumors spread quickly about you two being in some sort of relationship.

it eventually reached taron's empire.

"what is this fucking thing i hear?! what do you mean there's a rumor about my woman being in a relationship?!" taron was holding his personal adviser by his collar.

"i-i don't know your maje-it what I've heard!." the man says frightened.

taron throws him away making him hit the ground "oh,i know what I'll do, if that shame of a man wants to take my girl away, then I'll just have to make him to never see her again, prepare the army, we'll go get what's mine."

and that's how you end up looking at him standing above while you bleed on the ground.

finally ending this

have a good day/night♡

[obislittleone]

Your Beauty Never Ever Scared Me

Dbf!Joel Miller x College!Reader

A/n: Listen… I don’t have any excuse for ditching my other three active series except for tiktok made me do it… That, and the CLM series by @macfrog has ascended me to a new level of crazy and I just needed an outlet for it somewhere. Another shoutout to @theatrelove3000 who keeps putting up with my dbf joel shenanigans, they are indeed insane.

Warnings: girl this whole concept should be a warning but anyways… age gap, some fluff, light smut, uncomfortable situations with readers father… probably some editing mistakes bc ya girl is tired ok its 2am

Please be kind to this chapter, I actually like it, despite the horrors.

Decided on the song ‘Mary On A Cross‘ by Ghost for this one bc it fits ig.

MASTERLIST

Age gap is approximately 15 years or so, reader is over 21 and joel is about 37

"I think I'd probably only slow'ya down," you chuckled, looking to Sarah who seemed to read the displeasure off your face from your dad's offer. "I'm studyin' to be an archeologist, dad. I don't know nothin' about framin' and all that house buildin'..."

Maybe it had been your dad's idea, but he wasn't the one who planted it into his own head. Joel subtly turned to you and cooly uttered a response.

"You could work on interior stuff with me."

It had been almost three days.

You looked out the window to the front of your house repeatedly to try and remember it clearly. The drive home, the kiss, and how abruptly it ended with a promise to see each other around. You thought about it so often you almost wondered if it happened the way you perceived it, if any details had been skewed in your mind simply because you wanted to keep it there, fresh, untouched. Maybe he thought of it differently... but maybe he didn't.

"Did you bring home the stuff I asked ya?" Your dad came into the kitchen with a smile, embracing you with a side hug and turning to help you unpack the groceries.

"Course' I did, Pa," you handed him the bag with the six-pack of bud and the other one full of snacks.

It was the first Rangers game night, and as per tradition, that meant the company of the next-door neighbors. It had been a while since you'd been around to enjoy it, but now that you were back, there were quite a few more reasons why you were on edge to now participate. It would look weird if you came up with an excuse not to be there, and you knew that. You also knrw that you'd gotten into a rather complicated entanglement with your father's closest friend, and weren't sure what the outcome really was.

Had that driveway light not spooked you both apart, and had that little black stray cat not made an appearance, how far would it have gone? Things were pretty heated, but even still. Would he have said something? Maybe along the lines of 'I've known you since you were sixteen, and this isn't appropriate at all.'

You didn't have time to think about it, you were set to work on helping your dad cook dinner for the soon-arriving neighbors. Dinner and a baseball game, once a relaxing and enjoyable time to bond with your dad, now turned into an anxiety fest where you were convinced you'd have to walk on pins and needles around every topic.

"So," your dad piped up from his silence at the stove, stirring the pot of chili he'd been prepping. "Joel told me he gave you a ride 'few nights back."

You knew it was harmless, and that he wasn't asking for any reason, other than that he was probably curious. You hadn't seen Joel in a while, not since two Christmases ago. Your dad had driven up to Dallas to spend both Thanksgiving and Christmas with you last year, and you didn't come home for summer break given an internship opportunity. You must have seemed different to the man in some way. All grown up.

"Yeah, gave me a ride n' saved me at the bar," you chuckled, trying to seem playful and unsuspicious about the encounter.

He seemed to be confused, his brows furrowed and a funny look on his face.

"Whad'ya mean he saved ya?" he of course was continuing to speak all the while dumping his favorite spices into the pot of chili, looking across here and now to keep engaged.

"Just scared off some weirdo who couldn't take no for an answer," you let a sweet and genuine smile fall across your features, but didn't let it get out of hand. Your relationship with your father was airtight, and he could read you pretty damn well. You weren't going to give anything away, not with what was potentially on the line.

"Glad he was there," he replied with a chuckle, sending you a soft glance. "Never thought you'd have grown up so fast, now I gotta carry a shotgun whenever we go places. Fend off the wild beasts."

His jokes were only so funny now, because in this situation, you knew he wouldn't hesitate to shoot Joel if he found out what had happened. All in the nature of protecting you, but it made you sad to think of the situation that way. Joel wasn't just another weirdo following you around at a bar.

"It's only because I'm so pretty," you did your best to respond lightheartedly, making a quip that would soothe the silence. "And I believe that's yours and Mama's fault, givin' me the genes and what not."

You'd finished chopping a nice garden salad by the time the doorbell rang. You ran upstairs to change your shirt to the Jersey your dad bought you for your birthday, claiming it was good luck for the team. Truth be told, you didn't wanna be downstairs when Joel and Sarah got here.

Sarah was here, too. Her, you could easily handle. You were almost hoping that she would be in a rather talkative mood, that way the attention could be swayed to her inconspicuously. You doubted Joel would even try to talk to you, anyway.

"Lovebug, come on down, Millers are here!" Your dad shouted up, even though he saw you run upstairs right when the doorbell rang to change your shirt.

"I'm comin', hold on," you replied sassily while heading for the staircase.

You got to the bottom and had to take a breath before turning the corner into the entryway. Joel stood there with a sweet smile to you, and you tried your best to hold back the one you wore. It was too bright, too happy to see him. All despite your nerves.

You were quickly embraced by Sarah, whom you paid immediate attention to.

"My lordy, girl," you held up your hand by your shoulder to show the height difference, "last time I saw you, you must've been this tall."

"Dad tells me I'm growing like a weed," she tossed a finger over her shoulder to where he was standing, and you gave him a small glance and a smile.

"Us daughters do have a tendency to grow up," you laughed, slinging an arm around Sarah and pulling her along to the kitchen as your dad and Joel did the same behind you.

Why had you been so anxious? Joel is happy to see you. He makes causal conversation with your dad, but he catches your eye every chance he gets. His expression doesn't change, except for the tug of his lips in a smile that's barely there. Joel doesn't smile too often, except apparently when you and Sarah are around.

It doesn't take long for everyone to get situated with their food at the table, playful banter between Joel and your father filling the air as you made less rambunctious chatter with Sarah.

She's doing pretty well since last you saw her. She was always a bright girl, but as she grew it became more apparent that she would probably excel further than anyone in her graduating class. You were sitting across from a future valedictorian, you were sure.

You'd tried to ask her about her out of school interests before your dad interrupted with a question.

"How about you, lovebug?" He watched your eyes flick over to him with a turn of your head. He added context, given you hadn't been listening to them earlier. "Are you gonna look for a summer job?"

You really should, if you're being honest. There's not much work in your aspiring profession located here, but you weren't as lucrative as you used to be, given your educational expenses.

"I've thought about it," you tilted your head back and forth, and your dad seemed to need more from your answer. "I need to earn some cash before I get back to Dallas, but I'm not really sure where to apply."

Sarah seemed to know where this was going before you did. She'd been around the last time your dad was begging Joel to find some help for the contracting team they worked with. But surely your dad doesn't expect you to build houses, does he? Your dream job is to dig holes in the ground, not fill them in and put homes on top.

"We got some spaces to fill, you should come work with us 'few months. The pay's good and you don't have to stay on long, probably just till the end of July."

You gave him a look, and he instantly knew you weren't interested, but you figured you'd try and justify your reasoning. It was an argument either way.

"I think I'd probably only slow'ya down," you chuckled, looking to Sarah who seemed to read the displeasure off your face from your dad's offer. "I'm studyin' to be an archeologist, dad. I don't know nothin' about framin' and all that house buildin'..."

Maybe it had been your dad's idea, but he wasn't the one who planted it into his own head. Joel subtly turned to you and cooly uttered a response.

"You could work on interior stuff with me."

Did he just-?

"S'not much more fun than what your dad's been doin,' but at least it's out of the sun, and easier to learn."

You were almost dumbfounded. Your dad offering you a job that potentially could give you heat stroke with your lack of experience seemed like the worst idea in the world... but working on interior projects? With Joel of all people? Well, that didn't sound so bad.

You didn't want your dad to catch on, of course. Being so protestant of his suggestion, but then falling right into it as soon as Joel was the one to offer would be a dead giveaway to some sort of favoritism to his best buddy. It simply wouldn't look right.

"What kinda interior stuff?"

He smirked. The motherfucker was smirking. He knew you'd changed your mind, but couldn't exactly just come out with it. He understood, but it was still slightly amusing to him.

"Flooring, cabinets, countertops... 's things like that," he explained, knowing you really didn't care what all it entailed. He was still happy to play along. "S'not as fun as archeology, but it pays alright."

You nodded, acting as though you were turning the thoughts over in your head.

"Well, if you're sure I won't mess it up, I'd be happy to try it out," was your final response. You figured it left some leeway in case your father became suspicious, but gave a good enough answer to end the conversation on.

"That's my girl," your dad clapped a hand on your shoulder in excitement. Truth be told he would very much enjoy your presence on a work site. "I'll go ahead and call Eddie in the morning, let 'im know I found someone to replace Charlie for interiors."

It was said more to Joel, you figured, because you didn't really know who either of those people were. He'd nodded to your dad, taking a sip of his beer and then looking back to you. You smiled sweetly, nobody catching it but the one it was meant for.

"Game's gonna start soon," Joel spoke aloud, drawing everyone's eye to the clock over the stove.

Sarah cleared her throat before jumping in on the conversation.

"About that," she looked to her dad with the same puppy dog eyes she used to use against you. He was just as poor at saying no to her when she pulled those bad boys out. "Sammy texted me to ask if it's okay to stay over at her place tonight?"

Joel sighed. He knew that no matter the attempts he made for her to like baseball, it wasn't her thing. It was summer vacation, and he had no reason to say no, so he didn't.

"Is she coming to pick you up?" He began, fishing his keys out of his pocket to drive her if need be. The girl lived five minutes away, he'd be back only a few minutes after the game started, but he didn't really want to leave.

"I can ask her," she pulled her phone back out of her jeans, opened her screen, and checked her messages.

"No need, I can take you," your voice rang out, standing from the table and taking your bowl to the sink. It was a genuine offer, but it was also to get out of the house and process what just happened with the job situation.

Joel was the first one to stand up with you.

"You don't have to-"

"It's fine," you cut him off, leaving no room for discussion. It was lucky he liked you, otherwise, Joel Miller might have put up quite the argument for such a small dilemma. As was his way, of course. He huffed, but accepted he had been overruled.

"Thanks, then." It was mumbled, but there was gratitude in it.

"We gotta hop over to ours real quick and grab my stuff," Sarah told you, waiting for you to return from the kitchen before beginning to head out through the front door. You'd grabbed your keys off where they hung on the wall before going behind her.

"I'll be back soon," you called over your shoulder into the house, and got a chirped 'alright' reply from your dad.

You walked out passed your driveway, seeing the light flicker on as you both went passed the censor on the ground.

"Y'know, I didn't think you'd have caved so fast on that job thing." She had piped up once you were almost to her porch. You found it only slightly funny that she chose the exact topic which had been swirling in your mind since it happened.

"Not sure I really wanna do it, but your dad made it sound better than every time my dad's talked about it, guess he just convinced me," you chuckled, playing it off in a way that she absolutely was about to use against you.

"That's another thing," she turned to you as she backed into the house through the door, only turning once she was inside. "Since when are you friends with my dad?"

She said it in a joking tone, but having known a few things she didn't about interactions that occurred between you and her father, you felt constricted to answer seriously. Probably with a lie if need be.

"I've always gotten along with your dad," you gave her a confused look, accompanied after by a playful smile.

She grabbed her backpack and opened it, checking to make sure she'd taken all the school stuff out before starting to shove things in, her charger, headphones, etc.

"Yeah but... you're just all young and cool and stuff," she shrugged, turning around to walk towards the staircase. "My dad is all old and boring and only talks about baseball."

"Thirty-seven isn't old, babe. My dad is two years from fifty, and I don't even think he's old, yet. Boring? Maybe..." you reasoned, hearing her laugh before she sprinted up the stairs, giving you time to think of some answers before she asked any more questions. Had she really caught onto you that fast? You didn't think you'd acted noticeably. If Sarah was able to see it, then maybe your dad did, too. You needed to be more careful, in that case.

Sarah returned a few minutes later, her backpack now stuffed and her pillow under her arm. You nodded out the door and headed back to your driveway to open the door for her, seeing as though her hands were full.

-

The drive after Sarah had been dropped off felt so much longer. Maybe it was just your thoughts, or maybe you consciously drove slower to avoid getting home too quickly. Your dad was waiting, but above that, Joel was there, too. Probably sitting back on the leather couch, relaxing with his feet kicked out on the floor. He usually leaned onto the armrest with his elbow, and held his face against the hand it supported. You'd noticed it years ago. He only ever spoke up when your dad did, usually in reply to him.

He was content simply watching the game in the presence of a friend. It was endearing.

When you pulled into the driveway, you had come up with an excuse to not remain downstairs for the duration of the game. It was too risky, and you weren't apparently as good with self-control as you'd thought you were.

You went inside and hung up your keys on the hook, immediately passing the living room on the way to the stairs.

"Hey, lovebug, you missed the top of the first," your dad called. He knew you liked baseball, so if you were to lie and say you didn't want to watch, he'd know something was up.

"Y'know, pa, I think I'm just gonna watch it upstairs, I forgot I still got some stuff to unpack," you peaked your head into the room to respond, and saw that Joel, just as you had pictured, was sitting in his most usual position on the couch, feet out on the floor, arm up with a hand holding the side of his face.

"Can't you do it later?" Your dad pleaded, but you knew, seeing as how your father occupied the recliner, you would have no where else to sit but on the floor or next to Joel. You didn't trust yourself with that.

"I could, but I might fall asleep if I wait too long."

He sighed, throwing an arm in your direction and shooing you away. He wasn't annoyed, but he'd admit he missed watching these games with you. It had been like a tradition, but if Sarah wasn't here either, he wasn't gonna make you stick around.

"Sure you don't wanna stick around? We could use your lucky jersey down here," Joel piped up, lifting his face from his hand and giving you a pair of soft eyes. That was exactly the reason you would not be staying. He didn't even realize how much he affected you, but you'd make sure he did at some point. Maybe you could just tease him a little.

"You're right, it would be a shame to take the lucky jersey with me."

You walked behind your dad's chair, out of his sight, and tauntingly stripped the jersey over your head, revealing the tight black tank top beneath it, just like that night at the bar. Joel's jaw clenched and his eyes turned darker, even under the bright light of the flatscreen in the living room. You never took your eyes away from his as you slung him the jersey.

"Hey pa, can I get you anything from the kitchen before I go upstairs?" You leaned over the back of his recliner, looking at him upside down. He chuckled and shook his head, trying to move your hair from obstructing his vision.

"We're all good, lovebug," he spoke in addition to his physical response, his laughter dying down as you stood back up. "Come on down if you change your mind."

"I'll probably be down later," you spewed a half-lie. You weren't sure if you would be or not, especially if Joel was still lurking in the living room.

You gave those brown eyes one last look before heading straight upstairs.

You grabbed your remote and flicked on the TV. It was already on the right channel, so you tossed the remote aside onto your bed and flopped back into it. You didn’t actually have anything left to unpack, but they would never have known.

Your phone buzzed beside you, and you lifted the screen to your face to see a text from an unsaved number:

Missin you down here…

You’d never put Joel in your contacts, because in highschool, your friends thought it was weird to even text or call him regularly, but you had his number for years, always just as a backup. You’d known it by heart, now, and nearly had it memorized back then, too, for the times you needed his help.

I’d come back if there was an open seat.

A bit sassy of a response, maybe, but you were hoping he’d understand the hidden meaning behind it… Although, Joel didn’t usually pick up on those things very easily.

Open seat right next to me

Yeah, that’s why I’m up here…

You huffed, realizing it wouldn’t be that easy. The three little dots indicating his next response was on the way slightly nerved you. Maybe he took the last text you sent the wrong way. You didn’t mean it to sound badly.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Means that I can’t keep my hands to myself.

You quickly rectified the situation, although you might have gone too far. He was taking far too long to answer, now. The little dots that before nerved you would now be your saving grace if it meant he would just fucking respond, already. You dropped the phone on your chest, raising up and down in a scattered rhythm while you wiped your hands over your face. Your phone vibrated over your shirt and you immediately opened it.

I can’t either. Stay up there.

You breathed out a sigh of relief. He was thinking the same things you were, and likely was under more stress for it, given he sat right across from your dad, responding to his comments about the game here and there. Your dad had no idea what was happening right under his nose.

Wasn’t thinking about leavin.

This little back and forth went on, the majority of the game, in fact. It was more-so about the plays then on, because you didn’t have anyone to talk to up here.

Joel thought it a bit funny, your dad would say something oddly specific about one of the players, and then you’d text him right after saying the exact same thing. You’d been a product of watching baseball with your old man for just about ever.

“I’m thinking about gettin’ some tickets over the summer for a game or two. They’re always cheaper in them group packages, you n’ Sarah should come along,” your dad was barely paying any attention to the words he spoke, but they came flowing out anyway, clear and cool. “Could be fun.”

Joel knew that there was only so much group interaction he could handle with you, and you with him. It stands to why you’re upstairs, an he’s down here, fist wrapped tightly around your lucky jersey. All out of your father’s sight, of course.

“It could be. Don’t think Sarah’s much for baseball anymore, though.”

He’d hoped that your dad would drop it. Halfway through his third beer, he hoped the man was a little more than tipsy, and maybe didn’t even mean the words he was saying.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t still tag along,” your dad was definitely still sober enough to keep it up, although the way he spoke became slower. Maybe he was getting sleepy.

“I’ll think about it.”

His response was followed by a hum, then a lull of silence that endured the rest of the game. He sat all the while and thought about his predicament a bit more.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was insane… like you’d leeched yourself to the inner workings of his mind and he wouldn’t be able to pull you off without hurting himself, too. You were just upstairs, and had been texting him. You were within his vicinity, and yet… so unreachable.

He’d wished for you to be down here, or for him to be up there with you. Obviously, that wouldn’t go too well with the man sitting next to him, but he’d be asleep soon. If he could just touch you again, just kiss you one more time, maybe his cravings would be satisfied and he could go about his days… but what would happen if he kept feeling the addictive urge to do more? What if he was never satiated enough to quit you?

The game was called, and you’d texted him a small ‘victory’ at seeing the Rangers had won.

It was wrong, and the presence of his friend beside him was a constant reminder that you were his kid, and he would have a final say. Even though you were an adult, he understood this was completely taboo, and you should be off with guys your own age... but he’s made up his mind about the thoughts spinning in his head.

He didn’t respond, though. Your dad stood up out of his chair, his arms stretching outwards with a loud yawn as he took a few steps forwards, clapping his hand down on Joel’s shoulder.

“I hate to kick you out…” your father joked, a low and tired chuckle under his words.

“It’s alright, I got some stuff to sort out anyway.”

They started making their way towards the door when light but fast footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs.

Joel turned quickly, a smile on his lips and in his eyes when he saw you trying to catch your breath after sprinting down here.

“Leavin’ already?”

They both laughed heartily. As if Joel hadn’t been here almost three hours, most of which you spent upstairs. Your heart was beating far too fast for your liking, but there didn’t seem to be a way to stop it. Now that you were present again, in the room with him, you didn’t know what else to do.

“Your dad’s half asleep as it is, if I stay any longer I’ll send ‘im into hibernation,” Joel’s response made you giggle softly, although you withheld most of the laughter, because in all honestly, it wasn’t that funny, and you needed to learn to control yourself.

“He’ll be over next week, we’ll talk about gettin’ you into that job.”

You nodded, turning back to Joel as your dad opened the front door. What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t hug him, could you? That’s too much… maybe just wave, or maybe-

He held his hand out… for you to shake it. A hand-shake. Yeah, sure, fine.

You shook it, but he pulled you in half way, tapping your back once and then letting go.

He just bro hugged you. This man just-

He turned and did the same to your dad, giving you one last glimpse as he stepped out the door. Your dad closed it behind him and you were almost clean out of words to say. That had to have been the strangest interaction you’ve had.

“I’m beat, love-bug. I’m gonna head to bed,” he slung an arm around your neck and kissed the top of your head before turning and going down the hall to the stairs. “Don’t be up too late.”

“I won’t, just got a few things to do.”

You waited approximately ten more seconds before running to the garage door, going as quickly and as quietly as you could through to your front yard. Joel was still on his porch when you got out there, but was about to go inside.

You ran out to the sidewalk in font of his house and called out to him, all the while still barefoot.

“Hey Miller,” you crossed your arms, watching him turn around and lean in one direction. “Did you just bro-hug me? Or did I imagine that?”

He stepped closer to the edge of the porch, leaning against one of the wooden beams closest to him.

You slowly walked up to him, tilting your head to side as you observed his stance. he looked rather good. Hair tousled, body adorning a black t-shirt and some dark jeans. He was a sight, even in the dark light of the neighborhood.

“I reckon I oughta’ try again?”

"Seems like the fair thing to do."

“You’re takin’ your sweet time, baby,” he irked, grabbing gently under your elbow and pulling you up onto to porch once you were close enough.

You smiled to him, and wrapped your arms round his neck, over his broad shoulders. He pulled you close, tucking a head into your shoulder. The anxiousness you felt before fell apart, the rapid beating of your heart slowed, because you were comfortable. You felt immense peace in his arms like you’ve never felt before.

He backed away too soon, but still kept you relatively close to him.

“Was that better?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

There was a moment of silence, of contemplation, but it wasn’t stiff, and it wasn’t awkward. It was just there, a nice and pleasant quiet, and you standing still with Joel Miller on his porch.

“You wanna come inside a while?”

Sarah wasn’t home, and wouldn’t be till morning. Your dad was probably passed out in bed by now, leaving the opportunity completely open. You had nothing to lose, no risk to be had.

“Yeah, I think I will.”

He didn’t let you go, he just walked you both backwards until he was able to reach the door, reaching with one hand to open it before stepping slightly to the side to allow you entrance first.

“Ever the gentlemen,” you smiled, walking inside before he followed you in.

“Gotta make up for all that nonsense earlier,” he closed the door, taking your hand and walking to the kitchen. He pulled out a stool at his counter and let your hand fall to your side as he made his way to the fridge.

He pulled out two beers and uncapped them with the tool hanging on the side of his fridge. You think you remember your dad buying it for his birthday one year. You can remember sitting in this exact seat many times before, actually. Never alone, though. Never just you and Joel, and nobody else near.

He slid you one beer an you smiled at him in thanks, taking a sip.

“Last time you had one of these, I didn’t know if you liked it or not,” he gestured to his own bottle, drinking some and setting it down on the counter.

“I don’t know, I think it’s growing on me.”

He looked straight to you, leaning both hands on the edge of the counter. You leaned forward, mimicking his more stern face of features before he said anything else.

“I didn’t wanna say so with your dad around, but you look awful pretty tonight,” he spoke the compliment smoothly, but he had to drop his head after he said it. Seemed that giving you compliments alone in the night was something of a struggle for him, since he was blushing still even when he looked back to you.

“I seem to be feelin’ a lot prettier as of late whenever I’m around you. Think you’re just good for my self esteem,” you paused, leaning back onto the stool to take a drink of your beer. “That, or it's just nice to be complimented by a handsome guy like yourself.”

He didn’t seem to believe you. His scoff was loud and heard immediately after your compliment returned to him.

“You think I’m handsome?”

He’d always thought he was average. Maybe even slightly below. As he got older, that notion grew until he felt that maybe he was beyond trying for a woman on behalf of his looks. Perhaps there were women from time to time that would agree to a date, but there were none since Sarah’s mom who actually stuck around, not until you… but you were different as far as relationships go, because technically, you shouldn’t even be considering one with him.

“Absolutely, I do. Why wouldn’t I?” You were curious, because he was clearly attractive. Maybe you’d spent too much time around the more traditionally preferred young men in dallas, but something about Joel intrigued you that never did with anyone else. Maybe it was the forbidden aspect of what you two were doing, but before that, it was something else. He was rough and rugged, and good looking in a mature way that the boys your age couldn’t mimic if they tried. Those dark brown eyes with little crows feet at the edges every time he smiled were a dead give away to his age, but it was so appealing somehow.

“Don’t know. Guess I’m just old,” he spoke, trying to hide the insecurities that phrasing brought about. He was too old for you, he shouldn’t be sitting here with you you alone and calling you pretty, and yet…

“Maybe that’s a good thing. Too many boys my age are still very immature these days.” And it was very much true. Too young, too immature, and too stupid to see what’s in front of them and really appreciate it. Older men have a tendency to take care of the things they have, because they know that with time they can lose them.

“That so?”

“Mhm.”

“They don’t even realize what their missin’ out on, do they?”

You shook your head in reply. Nope. Not a single one of the younger guys you’ve dated has treated you with the care you know he could. He’s always treated you with care, before… why would that change now?

“They probably figure there’s a million girls linin’ up after me that they can take a shot at,” you raised your eyebrows and drank some more. Maybe it was just a thought of some past experiences, but this beer was tasting better and better to you.

“I pity them,” he said nonchalantly, without really thinking about it.

“Who, the girls? I mean, I kinda feel bad, but other times, I think we all know what we’re getting ourselves into n’ we just try to ignore the red flags.”

It was meant as a joke, but he was being genuinely serious.

“No, the guys. I pity ‘em.”

“Oh, do you?”

“I do,” he nodded, thinking of the right words to say. “They lost you, didn’t they? Biggest mistake of their lives and they didn’t even know. Pity ‘em just for that.”

You didn’t know what to say. You figured the wide smile you wore was doing a fine enough job, but he wasn’t looking like he had anything else to voice yet.

“You think I’m somethin’ special, Joel Miller?”

He set his bottle down on the counter and walked around it to stand right in front of your barstool. He took both your hands and pulled them to his chest, just holding them there and looking to you with the sweetest expression you’ve ever seen from him. He’s so different than what you remember in your earlier years. He used to be so stoic and serious. Sometimes even a little grumpy. Guess time changes things.

“I wouldn’t be gettin’ myself into sum’ this crazy if I thought anything else,” he mumbled it almost, but he definitely meant it. His words rang true in every aspect of the implications they made. This was crazy, it was very unlikely in the first place, but even still, it was happening. Neither of you backed down, neither of you said no.

“If it helps, I happen to think you’re pretty damn special, too.”

He didn’t respond, just leaned closer towards you, nudging his nose against yours, before letting your lips meet in a kiss. it washed rushed and hazy like the last time. It wasn’t forceful or fast or anything of that sort. It was gentle, and it was meaningful. All the years he’d known you, but never like this. You knew this attraction was new, but it was still real. You wondered how many women pined after him over the years, only for you to now gage his attention when clearly no one else did. The man’s been single since Sarah’s mom left, and otherwise, you didn’t know him to be much of a ‘dating around’ kinda guy. Standing here with him, now, you felt such excitement in knowing he’d pursue you, the off limits woman, over anyone else. It was a true victory, or at least you thought so, sitting on a stool in his kitchen while he kissed you softly, his thumbs going over the backs of your hands that still lingered in his.

When the kiss broke, you inhaled deeply, the scent of him so close to you, surrounding you. He was like a warm blanket you just pulled out of the dryer. He was comforting, and soft, and his skin was currently hot to the touch. You could only hope that you had something to do with that.

“Baby,” he breathed, hands letting go of yours and finding a new home at your waist. You left your hands on his chest, feeling his heart rate fluctuating. “Gotta know something before this goes any further…”

You hummed in response, still trying to even your breath intake. He backed away a few inches to be able to look you in the eyes correctly. He’d spent enough time with you in the past to know if you were telling the truth, and he was going to use it just this once to his advantage.

“What we’re doin’, you sure you’re okay with it?” He knew better than to jump into this without clarification. “Don’t want you feelin’ pressured if you’re not.”

“I want this,” you spoke softly, just loud enough that he could hear. “Promise.”

You had thought you’d been the instigator to this, if memory serves you correctly. Even still, you know now that whatever happens, he won’t take it somewhere you don’t want it to go. This show of good faith was something you could put trust in him over. He’s a good one, you always knew that.

And again his lips were on yours, differently this time. It was a bit more hasty and fervent like the first time, but there was still something different from then that you couldn’t quite decipher.

You absent-mindedly opened your legs and he instantly came between them, letting your bodies become flush with one another. His hands ran up and down your sides, every once and a while dipping to your hips and somewhere below on your thighs.

There was a heat between them that you didn’t realize was there until he came so close to touching it. He never actually did, though, and you were both endeared by and upset about it. He was the one making that heat spread, he can’t just leave it there… but he’s testing his limits, and you think it’s respectful that he is.

He doesn’t want to cross any lines… as if this entire entanglement has not already done that. This situation in every sense of the definition, has crossed the line. Him hugging you that tightly on his porch, him inviting you in after dark when it’s only you and him alone, having a beer with some very personal conversation, and now making out with you in his kitchen. They all crossed the line of what should happen between a man and his best friend’s daughter.

“Tell me to stop,” he mumbled against your mouth, almost as if reading your mind. His hand on your thigh drifted between your legs, just barely caressing the heated pool sitting there, waiting for him. It was still very reserved, and you had to buck against his hand for more friction, but at least it was something.

The taste of him somehow made it worse, the feeling growing inside you without an end in sight. The arousal was evident, but you weren’t sure he would be able to do anything about it, yet. You could tell it was weighing on his mind, what was okay for him to do, and what wasn’t. You would beg him if you had to, you just needed more.

He had an idea, one that could allow both of you to explore this dynamic easier, and one that could potentially keep him from overstepping like he was afraid to.

He removed his hands only for a minute, bringing yours up and over his shoulders before he settled his back down below your ass.

“Hold on,” he told you, lifting you from the seat and walking until he got to the living room. From there, he let the space guide him until the back of his knees hit the edge of the couch. He sat almost abruptly, and when you relaxed your weight onto him, you felt the stirring between his legs as well. You moaned into his mouth at the mere size and feeling of it, beginning to slowly grind down onto him. He encouraged your movements, and used his hands to guide your hips as you went, back and forth, getting into a rhythm.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised, tearing himself away for a moment to expel his breath from his lungs at the new feeling. Your head fell against his, and suddenly it was the movement of your lower half taking you over.

He let his hands move over your body a bit more freely, now, but still careful not to make any harsh movements, or grab in places he felt he shouldn’t linger too long. He knew you wanted this, but something inside him questioned how comfortable you really felt… that was until you started doing the same, roaming his body with your delicate touch, making him feel like the most important man in the world. You could have sworn you marked the exact moment he snapped, rolling his hips upwards into yours shamelessly. It was so deliciously addicting, the feeling of his body pleasing yours, and vice versa. His rough and sturdy hands, though still gentle, ravished any part of you available to him.

The air between you was hot and thick, and you could swear that by breathing it in, you were drawing even more arousal into your body.

The motions kept going until there was a quickening of pace brought on by you both simultaneously. You couldn’t mark a distinction of when it increased, you just knew that the speed you were going wasn’t where you started. All you could think of was that your spend was fast approaching, and you wondered if his was, too.

“Gettin’ close,” you murmured, barely able to get the words out for the moans that slipped passed your lips. “M’gonna…”

He heard you, and understood. Truth be told, he’d started getting hard since that moment on the porch, so this was just nothing but sweet relief to him. He kept on, trying to meet you at your finish.

“Let go , baby.”

You had no qualms about being told twice when it came to him. You gave it up easily, the muscles in your body contracting when you felt the wash of utter ease through every inch of you. He tensed beneath you, but relaxed with a groan of relief right after, and you could feel his length twitch in his jeans.

You just dry-humped Joel Miller on his couch. Like a horny teenager. What the fuck.

The dawn of realization was cut short by his hand softly coercing the back of your neck, bring your lips back for him to claim as he did earlier. Soft, and gentle, no rush, no heat. Just that feeling between you both that started this mess.… and it was indeed a mess.

“You wanna stay over?”

-

Tags (open):

@justanothersadperson93 @moonchild-warrior @hopplessilse @brittmd115 @michilandcof @untamedheart81 @just-someone-broken @joelalorian @xybil @yvonneeeee

If i tagged you wrong, or you want to be taken off at any time, just lmk!!

[pteren]

MARCH '24 COOPERATIVE SELF CARE CHALLENGE

whew, that was close! results are in:

say it with me, everyone:

i pledge to do something physical every day this month!!

set a daily physical goal for yourself that fits your health and your body right now. it should be SMALL and EASY. something your brain will be hard-pressed to find an excuse not to do. here are some examples:

stretch or do yoga for a few minutes every morning when you wake up

spend at least ten minutes outside every day

go for a short walk every day

do a mini exercise routine every day (like this one which requires no equipment)

practice a skill or hobby that uses multiple parts of your body

work on a physical project such as gardening or home improvement

you can also set larger goals for this month, if you want! that could mean joining a sport or signing up for martial arts classes or learning a new active skill or hiking at a national park

-----

personally, im committing to stretch every morning. i want to improve my balance and flexibility so i can get better at rope dart (and just scampering around in g eneral). im also going to try to go outside every day though!

i will reblog this post every morning when i stretch and probably again later whenever i touch grass. if you would like to be tagged for reminders at one or both of these times, please let me know!

-----

be completely free to reblog any version of this post. i want it to be a monstrous, snarled, sprawling tree of self-love and encouragement by the end of the month. challenge your mutuals to join!

if you miss a day, that's okay! this isn't some all or nothing tiktok trial. the goal is to build healthy habits to improve your physical and mental health.

and in case somebody didn't get the memo: THIS IS A MENTAL HEALTH SKILL. mental wellness and physical activity are INEXTRICABLY linked. being inactive is a MAJOR contributor to depression. if your life sucks, getting out of bed and going outside isn't going to make you feel good- but it IS going to make you feel LESS BAD.

-----

if you voted for something else: sorry! you're still encouraged to challenge yourself however you want to this month- its your life- and you're welcome to still hang around this post and brag about your daily accomplishments! or you can always start your own chain- its free :o

and hey, if not ill be back next month with another poll ^^

-----

@gloriousvermin @touch-starved-lurker @manicpixxiedreambitch @gooseisrandom @demifiendcruithne @anne-is-okay @literalsilliestguy @rain-droplet @etherealspacejelly @dont-look-me-in-the-eye @fade-steppin @joyliit @dog-with-anxiety @clem-mp3 @catholickedd @versilperihelion @the-typing-dragon @demigirlboss2girlrotboogaloo @mayhem-moth @cutecuttlefish @anecdotally @dasnya @notreallymax @nugget-gender @pikayay213 @speckledsolanaceae

[hermetiqa]

What's your message for today?

Daily Message: 12.08.24

Reminder: it doesn't matter if you saw this reading a day or a week or a month or a year after posting this. My readings are timeless. You'll see this when you're meant to see this and receive your message.

Close your eyes and take a deep breath before picking a pile. If you feel drawn to more than one pile, it's alright, you may take the piles that you're drawn to. What's important is to take it how it resonates and leave what doesn't.

PAID READINGS | TIP JAR | FEEDBACK

HOW TO HELP HERMETIQA | MASTERLIST

NOTE: Please feel free to give me a feedback on my asks about the reading! I would highly appreciate it. Also, my apologies for not doing any daily message readings for days. I focused on the mini readings first!

Pile 1

Hello, Pile 1! This is such a good reading and honestly, you don't have to hear much. I can see that you've been having some conflicts with yourself. You're in a state of me vs. me lately and that's a good thing, but not in a way that you lower your self-esteem and put yourself down. You should be in a state of me vs. me when it comes to your growth. Outgrow yourself and be the better version of yourself as much as you can. Be content with what you have because I feel like when it comes to your achievements in life, nothing seems to be enough. Take a pause and appreciate them. This is the perfect time to be grateful of what you have become and what you have achieved. Be grateful of the people around you. Allow things to end and welcome new beginnings in your life.

Pile 2

Hi, Pile 2! How have you been? I'm seeing that you're not doing well lately but you're still doing your best. Has anyone told you that they appreciate you? Well, if not, let me say this: I appreciate you. You've been working hard a lot lately but no one seems to be recognizing your efforts that you put into the real world. Everyone seems to be asking you to do more and more, without acknowledging the fact that you've always been doing more. This is taking a toll on you emotionally and mentally now, so it's time to take a step back and breathe. Connect with your emotions. Meditate. Take nature walks or at least have some picnic in a place where you'll feel connected with nature. I'm getting some anxiety here and you're scared that you might fail. You're scared to disappoint people around you and you might be pleasing people all your life. You could have a masculine energy, but a calm one. You always understand people. You understand why they do what they do and it came to the point that you're making excuses for them to yourself. This isn't healthy anymore. It's time to set your boundaries and make them clear. Stop pleasing them because they don't have any relevance in your life anyway. In the end, you only have yourself and at this point, you're losing yourself because of them. Leave the environment where you and your efforts not appreciated and acknowledged. You don't deserve that.

Pile 3

Hello, Pile 3! I see that you've been trying to heal well lately and you truly want to heal. You're hopeful that you'll heal soon and I believe that you will. But you need to be reminded that healing takes time. It doesn't happen overnight. It's alright to feel stuck right now and not know what to do. Sometimes, we really don't know what to do and that's okay. You simply need to take some time to figure things out. Allow yourself to accept help and let other people help you. If they offer a shoulder to cry on, let them, don't just turn them down simply because you don't want to be seen vulnerable by other people. Allow yourself to cry and feel your emotions. Let yourself be vulnerable, whether in front of others or not. This is your reminder that showing vulnerability to other people is what bravery really is. Let yourself feel all the emotions that are deemed to be negative. Whether that's disappointment, sadness, upset, anger, etc. Listen to your emotions and feel them, because that's your inner self telling you that something's simply not right and someone crossed your boundaries and hurt you.

[d4minnie]

Heyyy I loved both Ur stalker and husband yandere gojo fics and wanted to ask a foreign reader instead 🥹like one that just moved to Japan and barely knows Japanese .The rest is up to U 🥹💜💜💜thank youu.

Pairing: Stalker!Gojo Satoru x afabForeigner!Reader

Warnings: Non con, Violence & Stalking

wc:1,328

MINORS DNI

I made it seem like reader was temporarily in Japan I realised after I was done that you mentioned reader moved to Japan. I'm sorry if this isn't what you wanted

please continue sending me requests!!😊

How did it come to this? How did a simple sightseeing trip lead me here? The original plan was straightforward: meet a few potential clients in Japan. You were there for a meeting in three days, and with two weeks to spare, a little sightseeing seemed harmless. You knew you wouldn’t have another chance like this soon. Or so you thought.

Since you didn’t speak Japanese, you had a tour guide with you. Feeling a bit jet-lagged, you decided to save the major sightseeing for tomorrow and just explore the streets and try some street food today. After all, what’s the harm?

"ありがとうございました,"

“She said thank you very much,” the guide clarified, and you nodded in understanding. As you both continued walking through the vibrant streets of Tokyo, you spotted a stall selling ice cream adorned with gold flakes. Intrigued, you exclaimed, "Let’s go there!" and rushed toward the stall without paying much attention to where you were going.

Suddenly, you collided with something solid—turns out, it was a person.

“Ow!” you yelped, looking up to see a man staring down at you. For a moment, you were so stunned by his appearance that the words you intended to say evaporated from your mind. The man was strikingly beautiful, with piercing blue eyes, pale, milk-like skin, and white hair that framed his face perfectly. He wore what looked like a bandana or blindfold, pushed up to his forehead.

You were jolted back to reality when you heard him say, “謝らないの? .” (Aren’t you going to apologise?)

“Umm, IIII CANT SPEEAAK JAPANEEEESEEE,” you stammered. Recognition flashed across his face, and he grumbled something unintelligible before turning to leave. But he glanced back once more, his eyes lingering on the curves and dips of your body. You instinctively raised your hands to cover yourself, muttering, “Ugh! What a perv!”

The man chuckled before disappearing into the crowd, leaving you feeling flustered and embarrassed.

“You shouldn’t just disappear like that!”

you turned to see your tour guide, who was visibly out of breath and fuming.

“Oh, sorry,” you mumbled, feeling even more embarrassed. You both continued on, but the rest of the day felt off, like a nagging gut feeling warning that something bad might happen. Anxiety had you on edge, and you felt like you might vomit any minute. Your tour guide noticed your distress and offered several times to cut the day short or let you rest, but now he was clearly determined to take you back to the hotel.

“Yeah, you WILL be going back now,” he said firmly.

“But I’m fineeee,” you protested weakly.

“Mhm, sure. Maybe come up with a few excuses for why you don’t look like you’re about to pass out,” he chuckled. You were about to retort when you caught a glimpse of familiar white hair out of the corner of your eye. You froze and spun around, scanning the area, but it was gone. Maybe I really should head back.

“Alright, I’ll go. Thanks for today,” you said.

“Just doing my job,” the guide replied with a nod. After he left, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that someone might be following you.

Once you were back at the hotel and tucked into bed, you were about to drift off, you heard a loud clang from outside your window. You tried to ignore it, but then came another clang, followed by a cling. Annoyed, you got up to investigate. Peering out the window, you saw nothing but darkness. Am I hallucinating?

Just as you were about to leave the window, you heard the sound again. That’s it! You thought. Ignoring the curious stares from the hotel manager downstairs, you stepped outside in your snug, revealing tight-fitting pyjamas. The night air was cool, but the street was eerily quiet. You scanned the area but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe I’m just losing it.

Just as you were about to head back inside, a hand suddenly covered your mouth, and panic surged through you. You squirmed desperately, trying to understand what was happening. What the hell? You clawed at the hand over your mouth and the arm wrapped around your waist, but your muffled screams were barely audible.

The stranger who had grabbed you started walking towards a van. It wasn’t one of those menacing, beat-up vehicles you’d warn kids about—it was sleek and expensive, but right now, you couldn’t care less about the vehicle’s appearance. You needed to escape from this person’s grip.

As they continued dragging you toward the van, you bit down hard on the hand covering your mouth, drawing blood. "Ngh~" the person let out a moan. Wait, WHAT? did they just actually moaned when you bit them?

The man continued dragging you toward a van. He threw open the door and tossed you inside, you turned and your entire body froze in shock. It was him—the handsome stranger from earlier. Why was he doing this? Did bumping into him really anger him this much?

The man laughed as he saw the recognition on your face, then slammed the van door shut. The ride felt interminable, stretching on for hours, until the vehicle came to a sudden halt. When he opened the door again, you tried to escape, but he simply grabbed you by the hair.

You screamed and clawed at his hand, but he dragged you across the rough pavement toward a house. His arm was streaked with scratches and smeared with blood, yet he continued to laugh maniacally. He hauled you inside, shutting the door behind him, and then dragged you upstairs. Your screams and cries dwindled to small pleas and whimpers.

He flung you into a room, which you quickly realised was a bedroom. Huddling in the corner, you begged, "Let me go, please!"

"叫ぶのをやめないと、どうなるかわからないよ？" (Stop screaming or else), he replied coldly.

"I don’t understand what the hell you’re saying!" you shouted, but the man ignored you. Instead, he grabbed you by the hair again and tossed you onto the bed.

You tried crawling away on all fours, but the man simply pulled you back by the hips and kneeled behind you forcing your back into an arch. You let out a strangled noise when your panties were then bunched up in his fists and ripped off. "自分が偉いと思ってるの？" (You think you're big and bad?) You tilted your head in confusion whimpering, which was suddenly cut short by his hand covering your mouth. Your head was then tilted back and you felt his bulging arousal against your ass.

"やっぱり���。クソみたいにだらだらしてるな。"(Just as I thought. Fucking dripping.)He let out a dark chuckle and pressed a finger into you, curling against your walls. Your nails were digging into the bed sheets painfully as his long finger violated your insides. He removed his hands from your mouth and instead grabbed a fistful of your hair. Tilting your head back further he laughed in your face again before asking mockingly, "安っぽいビッチみたいに扱われるのが好きなの？ねえ？"(Do you like being treated like some cheap slut? Hm?) You were so confused by what the man was saying, but when he started slowly patting your face—hitting harder with each pat—you instinctively shook your head. He shoved his cock deeply inside of your cunt, groaning heatedly in your ear.

"あ、くそ…"(A- ah shit) he moaned your pussy clamped down on him instantly and tight that he almost struggled to retract. Still he managed before roughly slamming into you again, jolting your entire body against him. He snaps his hips roughly into yours, causing the slick noise of skin on skin contact to erupt throughout the room. He grunted as he fucked you with ruthless abandon, not caring as you released noises a mix between sobs and moans.

His movements grew more forceful causing your entire body to bounce and shake with each rough thrust."気に入ったのか？このクソビッチ。あ、ああ、どこ見てるかわからないじゃないか。"(You like that huh? You lil slut A- ah~ shoulda watched where you were going)

He bit onto the back of your shoulder as he leaned into you pining you even closer to the bed. It took one angled and well-calculated thrust before your orgasm ripped through you. It wasn’t long before the warm knot in your stomach snapped and his hips stuttered against yours while the feeling of warm liquid poured into your insides. "Please let me go. I’m sorry.” you whimpered with your head low.

"だめ"(No)

[thoughtfulchaos773]

Syd and Carmy- Communication 3

Part one Part two

First off. This scene was written by Chris Storer and directed by Joana Calo, our favorite duo (the creators of the table scene). Calo and Storer: do me a favor if the ship isn't real, don't even add shit like that in a scene...you know what I'm talking about. Don't have it where Carmy is taking her in and appreciating what the fuck he's seeing. And Carmy, the loser- notices Sydney as soon as she tries to sneak in. He doesn't even finish saying the word 'exactly' to Marcus before his eyes take her in.

But wait, this conversation is about legacy and how something starts somewhere, and they take these parts and take them somewhere- over and over again. I love that he points out these people would find each other.

Like a family tree.

Carmy and Sydney combine families to create a wholeness- something that's good.

Sydney starting a new legacy! My Shipper Heart: In some meta, Sydney often connected symbolism of life, fertility, rebirth, and nurturing. Chris Storer, these two are made for fanfiction, not a dish- a heart-shaped dish that Carmy just happens to give her- and this beautiful tree above her head- a symbolism for the tree he wants to build starts with the girl who ate his signature dish where he took the rebellion against abuse, rejection and sent a string of fate to start a legacy. What are you doing to me? Carmy literally presents his heart to Sydney.

Okay back to the scene:

He takes in Sydney and tells her "good morning," as if inviting her in. She comes from a meeting with Shapiro that should feel like good news, but she seems burdened. Since she first met with Shapiro, she enters, seeming distant but polite.

He says "no, no" as if to say, "Don't be ridiculous. You never interrupt." He's the one who invited her into the office.

He takes a moment to pause after saying "no," whispers "no," and looks at her...

Also, to note, he's coming from Al-Anon this morning. He has a clearer perspective than the last 7 episodes of that season. 'You look nice'—so simple but as the season's theme. Paying attention, Carmy sees her every day or close to it, and it's Carmy noticing something is different. Could it also be Carmy prompting her to say where she's been? There's room for that conversation.

But Sydney passes it quickly with a quick "Oh, thanks." A little surprised and also not having time for it right now. She focuses on their conversation- which could be a foreshadowing of what Carmy will do in the end.

I pointed this out before- Wednesday reference- 3x04- another episode Storer wrote.

Flashback

Carmy and Sydney are having the same day of the week they are trying to get through? The same day used to track time?

Excuse me-Writer/Director Chris--

But I'll move on...

You know what else I noticed about this scene- Carmy was staring at her the whole time as she took off her bow and said I'm just trying to get through Wednesday. He takes a second when she asks him his answer for legacy.

This is probably the most self-aware Carmy has been- does he realize he's passing panic and anxiety on to Sydney? Probably not yet at this point.

But also how Sydney is always the one to stop his anxiety and panic-driven ways, but for her to set a boundary where she's not his babysitter, eventually, he has to do the work to stop himself from panicking. But it's another sign of a legacy starting with them.

He looks at her a bit more than Marcus. He says with everything and everybody- he has to be square with Claire and Chef David. He needs to let go of the bad things from his past and the abuse he has held on to for so long.

The camera remains on Sydney as she considers his answer to legacy. She nods with understanding, unspoken communication we talked about- Carmy knows what he has to do. He wants to rid himself of the bad but needs help (therapy), so he's not taking it out on Sydney or any of his staff. How will he care for himself, love, and be there for Sydney? One of their relationship's central conflicts is Carmy showing up, the right way for Sydney to start their legacy and filter out the bad things he's carried onto The Bear.

I think that part of the conversation was considering Sydney, filtering out the bad to make it good.

It's still possible for Sydney to start and keep her legacy at The Bear. At the end of season 3, the panic attack is her realizing she doesn't want to leave.

Sidebar: Marcus. Marcus. His legacy-because being an awesome emergency contact is a bittersweet answer- shows some guilt about not picking up the call about his mom...

Grief. Grief is always the theme that sticks with the show. Despite its lingering presence, let's hope for more good days to outweigh the bad. Let's hope the Bear ends with a good legacy.