#its really important that what you two had was real

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

in the forest. l Joel Miller

Summary: your decision led to a quarrel

Warnings:  +18, smut, angst, unprotected sex, two infectes, mention of blood, one missing child, mention of alcohol, one accident at home, a quarrel

A/N: i know i said i wouldn't add anything, but i got home from school early and my mood is pretty good so… i don't know what you'll think about this. i mean, apart from a few mutuals i get little feedback. maybe someday. kisses

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

How nice it was... When in the morning you would snuggle into his back while he made coffee, your arms would wrap around his waist or at chest level, the corner of his mouth would lift at that little tenderness. 

Or when your hand would just lightly brush his shoulder or back, or neck, or your fingers would slip into his hair when you passed him, and that was a signal "I'm here with you".

"So it's good?" Tommy asked one day when Joel was helping him renovate the porch in one of the houses.

Joel stirred feeling an unpleasant creaking in his knee. "What are you asking?" he mumbled looking at his brother, who shook his head.

"About you and her." He replied "You seem different somehow."

The man frowned, not really understanding what Tommy was talking about.

"She's good for you, Joel." Tommy went back to nailing as if what he said was obvious. "I can see that."

Joel smiled to himself. He saw and felt it himself. Every day.

But there was a side to your relationship, the one that Joel really liked and to which he sometimes returned in his thoughts when his duties allowed him to. Like when he was nailing the freshly replaced boards in the porch, and in his head the scene from the morning, when you rode him in bed, was replaying.

Damn, you looked so beautiful, so sexy. The first rays of sunlight were coming through the thin curtains in your windows, he could see motes of dust floating lazily in their glow. Up and down, you were moving on him in a steady rhythm, a bit lazy because you both had just opened your eyes. Your hands resting on his chest, your head tilted slightly, your eyes closed and lips parted, from which a pleasant purr escaped. 

Joel couldn't get enough of this view. His hand moved along your neck, all the way to your sternum, between the curves of your breasts. He could clearly feel the strong beating of your heart, you were alive and so real.

Your hand grabbed his and directed it to your lower abdomen.

"Do you feel it? You're so deep, Joel..." you whispered, and he felt it then.

He was inside you, filling you up, and you accepted him, giving him warmth, pleasure and closeness, completely different and more intimate. He started to make small and fast circles on your clit with his thumb and he felt your walls tighten around his cock. You were close, so close. Your movements sped up as if you were trying to catch the fulfillment he was giving you and soon the sweetest moan escaped your throat. 

And when he lifted you enough to slide out of you, your hand quickly stroked his cock so he could cum too. Your lips closed around his red tip so he could finish in your throat and he gladly accepted it.

Lazy sex in the morning. In the evening, on the couch when Ellie was supposed to spend the night with her friends. A quickie in the stable when you came to give him a thermos of coffee. Against the wall, when you came back from some dance party and you couldn't even take all your clothes off. Or in the bathroom, when he took you from behind and you rested your hands on the sink, intoxicated by his body and the heat that filled the room.

Joel was breaking you down into its elements, watching you lose the ability to think rationally for him. It was one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen in his life...

Joel Miller loved you, and it was the best thing that had happened to him in years…

"Mary? Is everything okay?"

The dark-haired woman approached you with a quick step, she was clearly nervous. A strange shiver ran down your spine as she looked at you with eyes full of fear.

"Tell me you saw him!" she said, grabbing your forearm, her fingers painfully digging into your flesh "I beg you! Tell me you saw him?"

"Who? Mary, who are you talking about?" you asked.

"Rory!" the woman groaned, her eyes filling with tears "I've been looking for him for over an hour! Have you seen him?"

You shook your head "I didn't see anyone. I was picking up the laundry, but I didn't see anyone... Mary!"

The woman let go of your hand and grabbed her hair, almost tearing it out in handfuls. "I let him out of my sight for a moment! Just a moment! He's gone!"

You threw Ellie's shirt into the basket and grabbed her hands. "Mary! Calm down. He can't have gone far. You've checked every place."

"Yes!" the woman burst into hysterical sobbing. "I've been everywhere, to every one of his hideouts. He's gone!"

You knew that a five-year-old like Rory couldn't have gone far, but if he was alone in the woods, anything could happen. Your mind was clear. You knew what you had to do.

You grabbed Mary by the shoulders to focus her attention on you. "Find Joel. He should be with Tommy at old Jones'. They were supposed to fix his porch."

"And you? Will you find Rory?"

You nodded. You knew you couldn't wait. When Mary ran towards the main road, you quickly got to her garden and headed towards the fence, which was not far away. Next week they were going to take care of additional reinforcement of this area, so for now no one was there. 

You walked along it for a few minutes and then you noticed it - loose sheet metal at the ground level. Just right for a dog or a fox to get through, or...

You bent the sheet metal further and made it to the other side. Small footprints in the soft ground indicated that Rory was there too. You couldn't wait for Joel and the rest. You set off looking around the forest, stopping every few steps to look for new tracks and you found them. Broken branches, or a visible trace in the ferns. The boy must have gone that way.

A few drops of rain fell on your face. The clouds that had forced you to take off the drying laundry had darkened noticeably. You should find Rory as soon as possible, so you sped up. You couldn't see the fence anymore, the silence of the forest was engulfing you, it was slowly getting darker, and the rain was falling harder and harder.

You thought that Mary must have told Joel and Tommy about what had happened a long time ago. However, you had an advantage over them. You could have reached the boy first. If nothing happened to him...

Your heart was pounding in your chest like crazy, the ringing in your ears was becoming unbearable, but you kept searching. The forest was getting thicker and then...

He was wearing a blue blouse and was sitting curled up under a tree. His pants and hands were all dirty, and huge tears were running down his face.

"Rory..." you groaned, running up to him.

The kid raised his head, he recognized you. Rory raised his little hands, and you quickly took him in your arms. He was so cold.

"Are you okay? Jesus! Your mom is so worried." you said, rubbing his small body.

The boy let out a sniffle. "I wanted to see what was there... And...and... I couldn't get back."

You pushed him away and brushed his dark hair away from his face. "You can't go away by yourself, do you understand? It's not safe here."

He nodded. "Are you mad at me?"

He looked at you with sweet blue eyes, how could you be mad?

"Of course not. Come on, I'll take you home. Mom's worried and..."

This sound froze your blood. You looked up and saw it, the infected was approaching you. Your voices must have lured him, he was probably wandering around aimlessly, but no patrol had come across him yet. You carefully took Rory into your arms. He wrapped his arms and legs around you like a little monkey, trembling all over.

"Hold on tight, buddy." You whispered.

The infected moved quickly towards you. You didn't wait a second longer. You took off running through the ferns and between the trees, thin branches cracking under your shoes, but the screech of the monster was still behind you.

Shit! That's when you remembered. You didn't have a gun. Only a switchblade from Joel, which you always carried with you. It wasn't much. Almost nothing. Rory squeezed you tighter. You had to do something.

You suddenly changed direction of your run, which confused the infected a little, but only for a moment. However, it gave you a little more time. You slid down the small hoard and headed towards the bigger tree.

"Rory, listen to me!" you panted "You have to go up there, do you hear? Go up. I'll help you!"

"I don't want to!" the boy squeezed you tighter "I'm scared!"

"But you have to! I'll come for you, I promise!" With difficulty you tore him away from you and lifted him up to a higher branch "Hide there and stay quiet."

He nodded even though new tears were streaming down his cheeks.

"Be very, very quiet." you repeated, then reached for the knife.

How on earth were you still alive? Rain was falling on your face, your muscles were burning, you were gasping for air, and your hand was still holding the hilt of the knife, now deeply embedded in the monster's head. You were paralyzed for a few minutes by what had happened and how much it had cost you. You slowly got up from the ground and pulled the knife out of the dead body. 

"Rory..." you whispered, your voice sounding strangely alien to you, "Rory..."

You were already turning to go to the place where you had hidden the boy when, to your despair, you saw another one. "Fuck, no..."

He was running faster and faster, and you had no strength left. You would defend yourself, you would fight. As much as your body would allow you. Your fingers tightened around the hilt.

But before you could make any move, a loud gunshot shook the silence in the forest. The infected fell to the ground, hit straight in the head. You turned around.

"Joel..."

He ran towards you. You could see the mixture of fear and anger in his dark eyes, wet hair falling over his face. He grabbed you tightly by the shoulders, and after a moment his hand rested on your cheek as he looked at you searchingly.

"I found him. I found Rory!" you repeated, concerned.

"Are you okay?" Joel asked, shocked by the sight of you.

"I found Rory!" you repeated, completely ignoring his question.

It was only when he shook you and growled loudly "Are you hurt?!" that you shook your head quickly.

"I'm fine. Fine." you finally managed to choke out.

You could see that Joel was furious. His shoulders and jaw were tense. However, you couldn't stay here long, especially since you had already encountered two monsters. You led him to the place where the boy was and Joel helped him down. 

Rory immediately reached out to you so you took him.

"You were so brave." You said letting him snuggle up to you again "C'mon, mommy's waiting for you."

You returned to Jackson in silence. Tommy and a few other men were hanging around the gate trying to split into groups that could go look for the boy. You spotted Mary among them. She ran up to you and took the boy from you.

"He's okay. He got really scared." You said stroking his back.

“God! I will never repay you for this! Never!” Mary sobbed and hugged her son. “Thank you!”

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

Joel slammed the door behind him and looked at you furiously. His jaw was clenched and his hands were on his hips, you could feel his emotions boiling.

"What was I supposed to do?" you asked "Mary came to me. She was shaken and scared."

Joel approached you. "You should have waited for us."

"You didn't see her!"

He hissed and shook his head in disbelief. You didn't understand him. You didn't know what he felt when Mary said you went after Rory alone, or when he saw you in the woods over the remains of one infected and another running towards you, and then when he realized you didn't have a weapon.

"You didn't bring a gun." he growled. "Are you crazy? You could have died! You and that kid!"

"I didn't think we'd meet infected there..." you muttered quietly. "I had your knife."

Joel rolled his eyes and waved his arms in helplessness. "Great. I'm relieved."

"You're unfair... I did what I thought was right."

He looked at you with fury. "That was fucking stupid! If I hadn't shown up there..."

Now you couldn't take it anymore. Joel shouldn't have judged you, he would have done the same in your place. You were grateful that he helped you, but you didn't deserve to be treated like that.

"Now you're overreacting!" you snapped, raising a warning finger. "I've dealt with worse situations before we met."

"So maybe you don't fucking need me then!" he roared and before you could say anything he turned around.

The door slammed and the house fell into silence. Tears welled up in your eyes and you felt as if something very heavy had fallen on your shoulders. You spun around for a moment, not knowing what to do. Finally you decided to wash off everything you had brought from the forest and calm your nerves under hot water.

The house was dark. He didn't know what time it was, but it must have been late. Tommy chased him out of the Tipsy Bison and told him to go home. He didn't want to go back there, or maybe he was afraid? What if you weren't there? 

He drank so much that he struggled out onto the porch and opened the door. Silence. Silence in the house always scared him. And now he was even more scared.

Tommy listened to his confessions, he was a good brother. He understood Joel, but he also knew why you made such a decision. He tried to explain it to Joel, but his brother was still furious.

It was only when Peter, Rory's father and Mary's husband, appeared that something in Joel broke. The man with tears in his eyes approached them, wanting to shake Joel's hand.

"Jesus, you don't even know how grateful I am." he said in a trembling voice. "I came back from patrol, and Mary was panicking. She said you went looking for Rory."

Your name slipped from Tommy's lips. "She found him."

Peter nodded. "I'll thank her in person tomorrow. Mary said she'd bake an apple pie. Thank you, Joel. Thank you so much.”

He patted him on the back and left the bar to join his family. Joel rubbed his hand over his face, sighing quietly. He shouldn't have reacted like that. You did what you thought was right, you always did. He knew he was mad because he loved you and cared about your safety, but he shouldn't have attacked you.

And now, in the dark living room, he took off his jacket and threw it on the couch. He listened for some signals and sounds that maybe you were home after all. That he hadn't fucked up everything. But he didn't hear anything.

So he slowly moved up, step by step. And only when his shoe missed the step and he lost his balance, did he realize how drunk he was. Involuntarily, Joel tried to grab the railing, but it was too late. With a loud bang, he fell onto the stairs, and then slid down them. In an instant, light illuminated the darkness, he heard quick footsteps.

"Jesus! Joel!"

You crouched down next to him as he lay on the floor trying to recover. The world in front of his eyes was spinning. You grabbed his arm to help him up, but he hissed in pain.

"Did you break something?" you asked worriedly.

He shook his head "It's nothing. You're here..."

"Of course I am. Where would I be?" you said, trying to get him up again.

Joel winced, something was wrong. But he wasn't thinking about that now. "But what I said..."

"You need more to get rid of me, Miller." you replied, anxiously looking at him "Joel, did you hurt something?"

"No, I'm fine..."

But when you grabbed his arm he cursed loudly in pain.

"Shit! I think it’s your shoulder."

And you were right.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again

[vampiricstoryteller]

Are You Even Real?

Two smut stories in one night, whew I really do love these two characters and their relationship. I hope y’all enjoy this quick smut filled one shot.

Summary: Richter often wonders, especially when they’re in bed together, if Annette is even real

All mistakes are my own

Read fic on A03 here

Warnings: Explicit smut, swearing

The sun peeking through deep orange curtains, is what wakes Richter from his slumber. The rays have caught the reflection of a crystal charm that hangs from a vanity dresser mirror across the room. Richter knows this because he’s asked about the various charms all over the room on more than one occasion. Annette’s got one for every important person and event in her life, and the one currently blinding him at 6 in the morning is the one he’d gifted her as a birthday present.

Richter supposes it shows how far he’s truly come. Five months ago, being awaken at the crack of dawn by a trinket would have soured his entire day. But this morning, Richter breathes deep and says his thanks for being able to greet a new day. Then he rolls onto his side and wraps his arm around Annette. She’s still sleeping but when the weight of his arm on her waist settles, she wiggles until her back is pressed to his chest.

Richter smiles into her head scarf, the silk cool against his face which had obviously started being cooked by the sun rays. He curls to the shape of her, aligning their hips and tangling his one leg between both of hers.

Her breathing stays even, the dark skin of her chest rising and falling underneath a baby blue tank; one of his favorites that she purposefully wears when he stays over. Richter kisses her shoulder, obsessed with the softness of her skin and the way her body wash scent clings to her.

Relaxing into the pillow they share, Richter’s thumb rubs slow circles into the skin at her sternum and he let his mind drift a bit; enjoying the early morning calm.

Every day since he’d met Annette two years ago at Maria’s 18th birthday party, Richter had been completely into her. She was smart, funny, gorgeous and knew what she wanted in life. She brought purpose, serenity and sunshine to his finely structured but empty life; and though they may have only been dating five months, Richter loved her.

He’d been uninterested in much besides work and making sure his little sister was cared for when Annette crashed into his life (thanks Maria) and kept him on his toes every single time they had a conversation.

Some of his favorite memories of the time they spent together before they started dating were the days he would drop Maria and Annette at their 4pm college course on his way to work. Evening classes were teaching his little sister the responsibility of time management and Richter enjoyed teasing her with Annette.

For an entire semester the three of them spent more time in Richter’s car trading music, discussing life and just being all around goofy than they spent anywhere else.

He’d come out of the daily experience with a massive crush, much to Maria’s delight, and a need to spend every single day of the rest of his life with Annette.

She was a goddess to him, her rich brown skin always glimmering like fine sand and her gorgeous thick hair a halo above her perfect face.

From the bottom of his soul, Richter loved Annette.

His thoughts are broken by the change in her breathing, her back stuttering against his chest as she emerges from sleep slowly.

Richter nuzzles her neck, kissing slowly along her shoulder line before biting the round curve gently. Annette’s hands blindly reach for his, interlacing their fingers and squeezing in appreciation when his thumb continues its rhythm on her thigh.

“Good morning.” He murmurs.

“Hi,” Annette smiles, “someone’s up early.”

“Your birthday gift was treating me like an ant.” He quips, chuckling at the confusion that wrinkles her brow as her still sleep brain struggles to make sense of his words.

“I did tell you that hanging it there would be hazardous.” She murmurs, turning her face towards the pillow.

She had told him, but Richter chuckles against her soft skin and bites it gently when her hips push back ever so slightly. Warmth spreads through his chest, his spine tingling when Annette slowly starts grinding back. Her movement gradually growing bolder each time he ticks his own hips up to meet hers on the roll back.

“Richter,” she murmurs, her pearly white teeth digging in her bottom lip and plumping the flesh.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing one of her sweet spots behind her ear. His hand on her thigh begins to knead the flesh, fingers clutching hard enough to leave marks.

“I—I love you too.” Annette whimpers, lifting her hips when he starts to tug at the waistline of her black panties.

Richter dips his hand down, pushing his knuckles past her panty line and brushing his fingers through the damp curls they never tire of finding between their thighs.

His other hand skims and squeezes her breasts through her shirt, pinching at her nipples and tugging them each time the fingers between her thighs swipe down her pussy lips.

Annette sighs and whimpers, hiding her face in an attempt to muffle the steady rise in her voice. Richter nips at her jawline, his voice rough as he whispers into the skin,

“Don’t hide from me, baby, I wanna hear all those pretty sounds you make.”

He taps one finger on her hot clit, rocking his hips up against hers and stroking a second finger through her slick lower lips. Annette arches into him, shoving the skin he’s playing like an instrument into his welcoming talented hands.

She reaches back blindly, her hands shoving at the boxers he’d worn to bed last night. Richter helps her pull them down his thighs, leaving the material bunched just above his knees.

Richter’s cock is long, thick and painfully hard by now so he can’t help the shaky moan that escapes his throat when Annette’s pretty fingers wrap around the shaft. She strokes him twice, her hand holding him lightly so she can twist her wrist on the way down before she runs the sensitive head over her hip and the lace of her panties.

“Annette.” Richter growls.

He dips his fingers down to her soaking opening, circling it as he places his mouth next to her ear and whispers filthily,

“So small, don’t know if I’ll be able to fit, Princess.”

Annette jerks, the moan that leaves her mouth primal and she lifts her leg in invitation. Richter tugs her panties to the side, wanting to watch his cock slide not only in and out of Annette but leave a mess on the black fabric as well.

She shivers when he hooks one arm under the back of her knee and tugs her legs open wide, her small hand guides his cock towards her hole; helping him nestle the head there and Richter bites at her earlobe.

“You gonna breathe deep like I taught you baby?” He asks, chuckling at her immediately nod of response.

Richter squeezes his hips forward, once, twice, three times and then on the fourth lets the flex glide into a full thrust. Sliding all the way in until the head of his cock meets the opening of her cervix.

“R-Richter.” Annette clenches around him, her nails digging into his hip as she scrambles for something to hold onto.

“What do you need Princess?” He asks sweetly, his tongue flicking at the shell of her ear.

“Need….nmph…need you to….fuck! I need you to fuck me.” Annette cries out, the words tripping over her tongue. “Please, fill me up Richter!”

He grins into the curve of her neck, nose brushing her earlobe as he growls and locks his hand into the crook of her bent knee; letting go of the last bit of his control now that he has her permission.

The first couple of thrusts give Richter the chance to set a brutal pace, jerking Annette back onto his cock hard enough that the bed creaks dangerously beneath them.

Richter fucks into Annette hard and deep, her moans and pleas urging him to use her as he saw fit. The head of his cock finds the sensitive sponge like space inside of her on a particularly hard thrust and Annette shrieks.

Her orgasm rippled through her body like water, cum gushing around Richter’s cock and effectively dragging him down with her. He stiffens, erratically slamming deep inside of Annette as thick, hot cum paints her core and inner walls. His vision blurs out, his grip on her tightening as they shudder through aftershocks together.

They stay straining against one each other for a long moment, only relaxing when Annette’s body collapses. The only sounds being their huffs of exhaustion for several minutes until the clock at the end of the hall chimes eight times.

“We should go back to sleep.” Annette murmurs, her body already sagging backwards slumber.

Richter chuckles, agreeing with a kiss to her temple. He starts to shift away from her, but her dark slender hand shoots back and grips at his hip in desperation.

“No, don’t.” She whines quietly. “Stay right here.”

Richter laughs, his face and ears heating up as he settles back into the mattress. Annette pulls her thick comforter back over them, sighing contently as she wiggles to find the most comfortable spot.

She interlaces their fingers, resting their hands against her stomach as she says,

“I love you Richter, you’re the sweetest man I’ve ever known.”

He kisses her cheek when she finally does settle, brushing his lips along her jaw as he whispers,

“I can’t believe you’re real.”

She looks at him over her shoulder, an embarrassed but pleased smile on her lips.

“That’s the best way you’ve said it back yet.”

He watches her drift back to sleep, truly mesmerized by her beautiful face and the fact that she wants anything at all to do with him; let alone share the most intimate parts of her with him.

Richter burrows into her neck, content to shut out the rest of the world forever if it meant he could stay connected to Annette and be the only person to know the face she makes when she comes apart.

The End

As always, thanks for reading! I hope y’all liked it. Like, reblog, tell me what you think! 🤟🏾

[dykedvonte]

I think the most baffling thing about the Tulpar as a vessel to me is the fact that the ship really did only have a one way communication system.

I know it was cheap but even the most basic of vessels regarding major transport would have some way, shape or form for outside communication. Not only that but there was absolutely no form of innate emergency signal to show they may have been offline or in trouble despite clearly having a system to dock credits if they went off course. It's another factor that really shows that bad situations are made to get worse by design. One person who is required to relay all information to the crew and make all the choices without feedback. No way to update or call for help in case of a dire situation. No way to inform of inner personal conflicts and acquire procedures accordingly.

It really is like they are all in some sort of fucked up solitary confinement. They have their own world with strict roles that are meaningless in the end, as long as the cargo makes it, it doesn't matter what happens on that ship to the company. They don't want to hear anything and will come to conclusions on what happened based on how much pay they can withhold from the workers. Even what they do send is short, sterile and corporate to the extent it was likely written and sent out with a command by some random unmanned computer in an office.

There's something to be said about how unfair it is to force absolute power and control onto one person when you as an entity could do so much more to offload it but I've said it many times before so I won't again.

[waywardsalt]

bc its been bouncing around in my head i think another little tiny grievance i had with totk is that i got to the end and just felt a sense of ‘well what the hell was that all for then’

[reasonsforhope]

Kamala Harris just announced that her vice president will be Minnesota governor Tim Walz. Based on the coverage so far I'm really reassured by this decision.

The Washington Post did an obviously great job of making a prepared article for each option, considering how long an article they had up 7 minutes after the announcement.

((Okay technically it's not an official announcement yet it's "according to three people familiar with the pick, who spoke on the condition of anonymity to discuss a decision that is not yet public." But listen. I am 99% sure this is a weather balloon. (Meaning: a deliberate leak to gauge reaction.) Because the sheer weakness or incompetence on the part of the Harris campaign that it would take for three people to all confirm that within a few hours hours of each other and the planned announcement it is massive.))

-via The Washington Post, August 6, 2024

Honestly this decision, from everything I've read and can tell, looks like it's brilliant politics.

Important Context: The vice president(ial candidates)'s job in an election is not to be similar to the president. The vice president's job on the ballot is very, very much specifically to be different from the president. Why? So they can cover each others' weaknesses. Especially regionally.

(Sidenote: I feel a bit ridiculous saying this. But genuinely if you want to get a stronger understanding of how US elections really work. Go watch seasons 6 and 7 of The West Wing. Genuinely, a lot of politicians have said - especially back in its day - that that was the most accurate depiction of an election they'd ever seen. Also specifically features an entire arc about a contested Democratic primary convention, so also very good if you're interested in understanding weird nominating convention shenanigans.)

From the article:

"Harris’s choice for a running mate was among the most closely watched decisions of her fledgling campaign, as she sought to bolster the ticket’s prospects for victory in November and rapidly find someone who could be a governing partner. In picking Walz, she has selected a seasoned politician with executive governing experience and signaled the importance of Midwestern battleground states such as Wisconsin and Michigan.

Walz’s foray into politics came later in life: He spent more than two decades as a public school teacher and football coach, and as a member of the Army National Guard, before running for Congress in his 40s. In 2006, he defeated a Republican to win Minnesota’s 1st Congressional District--a rural, conservative area--and won reelection five times before leaving Congress to run for governor.

Walz was first elected governor in 2018 and handily won reelection in 2022. Though little-known outside his state, Walz emerged publicly as one of the earliest names mentioned as a possible running mate for Harris, and in the ensuing days he made the rounds on television as an outspoken surrogate for the vice president...

“These are weird people on the other side. They want to take books away, they want to be in your exam room. … They are bad on foreign policy, they are bad on the environment, they certainly have no health care plan, and they keep talking about the middle-class,” Walz told MSNBC in July. “As I said, a robber baron real estate guy and a venture capitalist trying to tell us they understand who we are? They don’t know who we are.”

Walz also has faced criticism from Republicans that his policies as governor were too liberal, including legalizing recreational marijuana for adults, protecting abortion rights, expanding LGBTQ protections, implementing tuition-free college for low-income Minnesotans and providing free breakfast and lunch for schoolchildren in the state.

But many of those initiatives are broadly popular. Walz also signed an executive order removing the college-degree requirement for 75 percent of Minnesota’s state jobs, a move that garnered bipartisan support and that several other states have also adopted.

“What a monster. Kids are eating and having full bellies, so they can go learn, and women are making their own health-care decisions,” Walz said sarcastically in a July 28 interview with CNN when questioned whether such policies would be fodder for conservative attacks, later adding: “If that’s where they want to label me, I’m more than happy to take the [liberal] label.”

Walz also spoke at a kickoff event in St. Paul for a Democratic canvassing effort, casting Trump as a “bully.”

“Don’t lift these guys up like they’re some kind of heroes. Everybody in this room knows--I know it as a teacher--a bully has no self-confidence. A bully has no strength. They have nothing,” Walz said at the event, sporting a camouflage hunting hat and T-shirt.

Walz has explained that he felt some Democrats’ practice of calling Trump an existential threat to democracy was giving him too much credit, which prompted his decision to denounce the GOP nominee instead as being “weird.”

“I do believe all those things are a real possibility, but it gives him way too much power," Walz said on CNN’s “State of the Union” regarding the Democrats’ rhetoric. “Listen to the guy. He’s talking about Hannibal Lecter, shocking sharks, and just whatever crazy thing pops into his mind.”

If Walz is elected vice president, under state law, Minnesota Lt. Gov. Peggy Flanagan (D) would assume the governorship for the rest of his term. Minnesota Senate president Bobby Joe Champion, a Democrat, would become lieutenant governor."

-via The Washington Post, August 6, 2024

--

This guy. Sounds like. fucking Moderate swing-state/rural/Midwestern/southern/"heartland"/working class white voter catnip. He sounds like he's also a very smart politician and strong campaigner. And he's apparently genuinely a good guy with a good record, too.

He sounds like he's going to do a really good job of appealing to voters in several of the big deal swing states without being from any of them specifically. Which means it doesn't feel like pandering to one of the states involved (and thereby spurning the others), which is also great.

(Also he was the one who started "weird" @ conservatives and I think we should take that seriously as a very good political instinct/move. Judging in large part by how it has so clearly hit an actual nerve with conservatives like so little else. Also hugely relevant: that post going around about how part of why conservatives are so upset about "weird" is because in the Midwest, "weird" specifically also implies anti-social or harmful behavior.)

Officially feeling more optimistic about Trump not winning in November

[joelsgoldrush]

“lovers once a year” | 9.4k

dbf!joel miller x f!reader

SUMMARY: One always craves what is out of reach. Like the forbidden fruit that lingers just beyond grasp, tempting with its sweetness. Joel became the town’s greatest sinner, and you, his best friend’s daughter, are the tantalizing temptation he knows he should never indulge in. Your very existence marks the path to his ruin. He can't help but follow it. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. joel’s POV. a lot of introspection. mentions of alcohol. miscommunication. no outbreak. dbf!joel. age gap (25 and 56). petnames. religious imagery. car sex. oral sex (f!receiving). fingering. unprotected p in v. riding. missionary. doggy style. orgasm denial. crying. hair pulling. thumb/finger sucking. cum shot. creampie. reader sits on joel’s lap and has hair. moodboard for aesthetic purposes only. A/N: the fact this idea has been sitting on my drafts for over a year is just crazy. i finally found the time to put into words, and i know i’m a little late to the whole dbf!joel trope, but i’m a real sucker for it... hope you like this one! <3

No one could’ve ever said Joel was a great best friend.

For one, he was terrible at remembering important dates. His mind just didn’t catch hold of details like that—never had, really. He wasn’t the sentimental type, either. At best, he’d manage a pat on the back or a firm handshake, maybe even a call on Christmas if he remembered. Emotional displays weren’t in his nature, far too used to keeping things at arm’s length.

Luckily for him, Stephen never seemed to care much about these things. They’d been friends for over forty years—which is, well, a hell of a long time, especially considering each had gone off to carve out his own life. They’d trudged through both primary and secondary school side by side, and Joel felt Stephen’s absence like a hollow ache the day his friend left for university in another state.

Technology eventually offered them more ways to connect, but it didn’t make keeping up any simpler. The years had tested them, and somehow, they’d held on to the quiet strength of their friendship—a bond they’d forged across decades and distance, held steady like the roots of an old tree.

Stephen was the laid-back type, always down for anything as long as a cold beer was part of the deal. It was rare for him to lose his temper, having a way of letting nuisances slide. Joel could bend every rule, yet Stephen’s patience never wavered. He was unflappable, hardly bothered by Joel’s mood swings, which was what made them a match made in heaven. Nothing could throw him off.

Though Joel doubts Stephen would stay so calm if he knew what he’d done to his daughter. As mentioned, Joel’s not exactly what you’d call a good friend—particularly considering he’s slept with his best friend’s daughter. Just once, to be fair. One ephemeral, impulsive encounter. Right here, in this very house, exactly three hundred and sixty-five days ago.

His gaze drifts across the room, settling on you at a smaller table a few meters away, surrounded by your younger cousins, ages five to fifteen. He watches as you scroll absent-mindedly on your phone, your brow furrowed in concentration, only tearing your eyes away from the screen when one of the kids hurls a handful of salty peanuts at you.

You press your palms flat against the tablecloth, eyes narrowing as you scowl playfully at the child, a mischievous glint in your expression. “You’ve got ten seconds to run,” you utter in a tone meant to sound ominous, tickling his sides until he erupts in laughter, his giggles filling the dining room with raw joy.

Joel’s been here for over two hours, but he can’t recall a single detail about the night’s events. All he knows is you—he’s studied your every movement, following the shape of your silhouette through the crowd. He’s accepted a few drinks, engaged in shallow conversation with your relatives, trying his best to play the part of a man with nothing to hide. But despite his efforts, despite every attempt to appear unaffected, he feels a slow burn kindling in the pit of his stomach, an ache that curls through him in a deliciously destructive way.

It’s when you look up, locking eyes with him, that he nearly mutilates the chicken breast on his plate, the knife skittering over porcelain with a screech. He quickly mutters an apology, excusing his clumsiness and blaming it on one too many drinks. Meanwhile, you don’t quit glaring at him, a hint of a challenge dancing in your stare.

This shouldn’t feel the way it does, this hazardous, risky game you’re playing. At one time, he might’ve thought this was something only seen in movies, something imagined and unreal. But here you are, and here he is, and the indisputable hunger in your eyes is as real as anything he’s ever known.

Suddenly, his memories drift back to a year ago, to your grandmother’s 84th birthday—the night it all began.

Stephen had left Austin when he was eighteen to pursue a college degree. That’s how he’d ended up in New York, and from that point on, he never came back. It’d been amazing to see him as an equal when they were teenagers, but as they grew older, the only things they shared were the white hairs scattered all over their beards and the memories of much better days.

Whenever they got in touch—which didn’t happen often—your dad would talk about you. You were just a name without a face, an empty canvas. Close to graduating, with only a few subjects and finals left. Psychology was your major—weren’t you smart? Joel remembers typing back with a string of exclamation marks to show his contentment. His best friend’s daughter was a success; how could he not be happy?

One random day, Joel’s phone buzzed late in the afternoon, flashing with Stephen’s name. It was rare for them to talk outside the usual birthdays and holidays, so seeing his name on the screen sent a small jolt through him. A dozen scenarios raced through his mind as he picked up, each one edging between concern and curiosity.

Just like that, Stephen dropped the news without any preamble. “I’m moving back to Austin,” His voice came in clear, and there was something unusual about it, brisk but almost nostalgic. Joel gripped the phone a little tighter, processing the words. “In fact, I’m filling up the gas tank as we speak. There’s someone at home who wants to see you.”

That someone had been your grandmother. With a twinkle in her eye, she’d insisted on inviting Joel to her 84th birthday. “It’s the perfect chance for you two to reconnect,” she’d declared, her tone laced with warmth and hope. She adored Joel, practically worshipping the ground he walked on, often reminiscing about the vibrant young man he had once been.

Who could deny anything to an elderly person, especially one as cherished as her? He was strong, physically imposing, but not strong enough to resist her wishes.

The reunion was going as well as it could, given the circumstances. After all, it was a strange kind of delight, seeing his best friend for the first time in decades. Joel thought they’d do what friends do—sit back, drink, smoke, and trade stories about the good old days. 

Then you walked into the room, absolutely gorgeous and with a smile that was all teeth, and you reached out to shake Joel’s hand as you introduced yourself. The contrast hit him instantly—your skin was satin-like against his, smooth where his was rough and calloused from years of handling concrete and steel. A subtle heat bloomed where your fingers touched, the chill of the rings on your hand sending a shiver through him, as if his senses had sharpened in that brief instant.

You pulled away, taking a step back, your eyes flicking between him and your dad. Joel’s arm fell back to his side, his hand forming a tight fist, the bite of his nails embedded into his palm to keep him grounded. But he couldn’t stop himself from scrutinizing you—every detail of your face, the curve of your smile, the effortless way you carried yourself. Your beauty was at fault, not him. You were completely out of reach, yet close enough to marvel at. He was no more than a man, bound to notice the charm of a pretty girl like you.

That you happened to be the daughter of his best friend—that was just a cruel stroke of fate. 

“Oh, sweetie. I’m glad you got to meet Joel at last!” Stephen’s voice cut through his thoughts, an arm draping across Joel’s shoulders, pulling him into an affectionate embrace. “He’s that friend from school I’ve been telling you about.”

Stephen looked so at ease, so utterly pleased, that Joel could only swallow back the lump in his throat. What kind of sick joke was this? What could he have possibly done to deserve this twist of the knife?

With a soft laugh, you folded your hands behind your back, tilting your head to the right. “My father wouldn’t shut up about you,” you said, light and melodic, drawing him in like a lure. Joel found himself adrift in the sweet cadence of your voice, entranced by the delicate chain glinting at your throat, resting just above the neckline of your shirt, the v-cut hinting at a world of temptation.

He blinked owlishly, fighting the images clawing behind his eyelids. “Well, he’s a good man, your father,” Joel managed, his smile strained. Not because it wasn’t true, but because there was a blaring alarm in his head, warning him to get a fucking grip. He knew himself well enough to read the signs, the underlying meaning beneath these nerves, the quickened pulse, the quiet, undeniable urge to reach out and feel you.

He was gone already. He fancied you, and his mind raced with thoughts he knew he had no right to entertain. He imagined what you’d taste like, the way you might sound if he were between your legs, encouraging you to gasp his name. Yet, he was aware that these fantasies were as treacherous as they were forbidden, even more with you standing right in front of him. And your father, just inches away.

From the kitchen, someone called out to Stephen, and with a weary sigh, he unhooked himself from Joel’s shoulder. “Coming!” he shouted back, already angling himself toward the door. He glanced back at the two of you, half-smiling while rubbing his temples. “I forgot how exhausting it is to host a family birthday party. I’ll be right back. You two go ahead and chat without me.”

Fuck, no, Joel thought to himself. Don’t leave me here. Where the hell are you going?

Joel resorted to remaining silent, choosing instead to take a long sip of his beer to avoid the occasion of sin. He refused to look in your direction, fixing his gaze on anything that didn’t involve your bare legs—the same legs he’d just been eyeing in those damn denim shorts, which exquisitely hugged your thighs. But, then again, he shouldn’t even be noticing that.

As he peered down at the carpet, he couldn’t ignore the movement of your shoes as you stepped closer. He observed your fingers playing idly with the frayed edges of your shorts, your body inching nearer, and he braced himself in anticipation of whatever you might say next. When his eyes landed on yours, he was met with an aura of expectancy, a cocky smirk pulling at your lips.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh, Mr. Miller,” you murmured, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed with effort. Letting your hand linger beside your face, you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, glancing at him through your lashes. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Joel felt the flush rise to his cheeks, and there was no mistaking it—you were doing this on purpose. Were you trying to push him off balance, to see how far he’d bend before snapping? Was this just a game for you, a bit of mischief to spice up a family gathering? The idea irritated him, but he couldn’t entirely ignore the thrill woven into the discomfort. A quarter of his mind itched to play along, but the rest of him screamed to find the nearest exit.

“Y’can just call me Joel. No needa be so formal,” he mumbled, lifting the beer bottle to his lips once again, the bitterness spreading across his tongue.

“But I like Mr. Miller better.”

His mind conjured all those images of fire and damnation, of being dragged to some dark, smoldering pit. Rotting in hell, he could already see himself within the flames. Tugging at the collar of his flannel, now too tight and hot, he gave a rough, clearing cough. “M’gonna—go find your dad.”

He was glad you didn’t try to approach him in public again. For a few hours, he felt something close to tranquillity—not fully, though, as he could still hear echoes of your voice in the silences. Every so often, out of the corner of his eye, he’d catch you orbiting near him, lurking in his peripheral vision, even though you sat at a different table.

Later in the night, he wandered upstairs in search of the bathroom, instead stumbling upon your father’s childhood bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and he took the liberty to enter it, a familiar scent filling the room. He ran his fingers over the walls, still papered with posters he recognized well. It was as if time had paused there—everything remained as it had the last time he’d been in this very room. The framed portraits, the worn bedspread, and Stephen’s desk, scattered with foreign bills under a layer of glass, each one a memento from the different countries he had visited.

It was only a matter of time before you found him, a light knock on the open door drawing his attention. Joel turned on his heels, catching sight of you, acknowledging your presence with a slight bow of his head. You ambled toward him, curiosity alight in your steps, twisting the chain of your necklace, a restless gesture that betrayed the energy simmering beneath your calm exterior.

He scratched the back of his head, offering a half-hearted smile. “This isn’t the bathroom, right?” he joked, attempting a casual tone. The joke was a weak one, admittedly, but you laughed anyway, a nonchalant sound that showed the gleam of your teeth.

“No, I don’t think it is,” you replied, sliding onto the edge of the desk with an effortless ease. “What brought you here?”

“Birthday parties can be a bit overwhelmin', dontcha think?” 

“Totally.”

And then you went back to watching him, your eyes tracing his features with an almost stubborn intensity. 

“You gonna stop doin' that?” he asked, the words coming out sharper than he meant, though they didn't make you flinch.

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Lookin' at me all doe-eyed.” His voice didn’t waver, but he advanced in your direction. His knees nearly brushed against yours, the weathered denim grazing your bare skin, and only then did a flicker of uncertainty soften your confident stance. “Whatever it is you’re after, it’s not gonna happen. So quit tryin’.”

You drew in a slow breath, pushing yourself to your feet. “You sure about that?” Before he had the time to react, you were standing inches from him, your chest pressing against his, just close enough for him to feel the soft weight of your breasts. “Should I pretend, then, that I haven’t noticed you’ve been half-hard all night?”

Joel's jaw tightened, his teeth gritting almost painfully. His fists flexed by his sides, his entire body feeling heavier, muscles pulled taut by some invisible thread. "Watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” You hooked a finger inside his belt loop, tugging him that much closer. Your breath, fresh and minty, mingled with the faint scent of your perfume, and he inhaled both, heady on the mix. “You’re gonna teach me a lesson?”

There was only so much patience a man like him could summon, and you were a thorn in his flesh, determined and unyielding. He leaned in, voice gruff as he uttered three words that made your brows knit together. “Close the door.” You stayed frozen, lips parting in surprise. “Did y’hear me? M’not into exhibitionism. Close. The. Door.”

You did as he asked, obliging, stepping back to close the door before returning to your place. Without warning, he turned you around, pressing your palms flat against the cool glass of the desk, a sharp chill that made you yelp. His hand settled firmly on your back, guiding you down until your chest was flush against the surface as well. In one swift motion, your shorts were gone, followed by your soaked panties, a damp spot where your arousal had begun to seep through.

He slipped his fingers inside you first, his hand covering your mouth to stifle the needy whimpers escaping your lips. The roughness of his beard grazed your cheek as he hovered over you, his breath hot in your ear as he spoke. “Bein’ too fuckin’ loud, doll.” Matching the rhythm of the slow drag of his fingers, his hips pressed forward, grinding against the curve of your ass, each movement making his mouth go dry. “Y’want this cock that bad?” He nipped at your throat, and you, against his sweaty palm, mumbled what could have only been a muffled Yes. “Then I need y’to keep real quiet for me, alright?”

His jeans and boxers hung around his knees, his cock leaking and throbbing at the tip. Joel realized what true desperation felt like, dangerously close to busting his load at any given moment before even getting the chance to be fully inside you. On top of the desk, your body trembled, and you reached back, pulling your top higher up to bare more of yourself to him. He unclasped your bra with one hand, while his other guided him to your entrance, his lips pressing reverently against your spine as he pushed inside, savoring the heat of your walls wrapping around him for the first time. It certainly didn’t feel like anything he’d ever experienced in his fifty-six years of life.

It had been short, and harsh, and fast. Borderline animalistic, what experts would label as a quick fuck. The moment he breached your entrance, you begged for more, fucking yourself back onto him until his thighs met your skin. You acted as if possessed by a greater entity, diabolic, though Joel didn’t mind it. He relished it, welcomed it. But he couldn’t let you take the reins. He asserted his dominance, snapping his hips forward with a force that drew moans from the depths of your lungs. He was the one in control, driving himself deeper and deeper within you. Suffice it to say you seemed to love it, if the sounds he elicited from you were anything to go by.

It was what you wanted, what you needed. One way or another, he’d caught onto what those lingering glances throughout the party had signified. Every glance you’d thrown his way had been leading to this—a silent promise that whatever was happening had been destined to be the night’s climax.

You bit down on his palm as you reached your peak, tightening around him, and perhaps it was the thrill of it all, the knowledge that he’d need far more time to become well acquainted with your body, that had him chasing after you. Holding back until you came had been a feat, pulling out seconds prior to his release, stroking his length once before painting your skin with his seed. A low, primal groan escaped him as he slid his length between your cheeks, prolonging his high, each heated pulse marking you in a way that felt undeniably his.

As he regained his composure, he watched you swirl your thumb along your lower back, collecting a trace of his release, and bringing it to your lips to have a taste of him. You softly laughed when he cursed under his breath, turning your face lazily to the side. “Damn minx y’are,” he rasped, closing the gap between your mouths, his claiming yours in an urgent kiss. Your mewls faded beneath the insistent press of his mouth as he sought to suppress the strange pull in his guts, reluctant to confront the unfamiliar sensations churning within him.

Things wrapped up quickly after that. You both returned to your places, resuming the roles you’d stepped out of briefly: Joel had been in the bathroom; you had been on the phone with a friend. When he reappeared downstairs minutes after you, no one thought twice about his slightly damp hair.

For the remainder of the party, the two of you exchanged no further words. The time for him to leave came, and he offered only a nod of his head across the packed living room. It was a farewell only Joel would give, a subtle acknowledgment that left you wondering about its meaning. There were no explanations, no parting words.

The next time he saw your father, the mere thought of seeing you again terrified him. If it’d happened once, then the temptation would still remain undiminished, strong enough to awaken the lust and the longing veiled in silence. But you weren’t there anymore—back in New York, focused on finishing your semester at college. The surprise must have been evident on Joel’s face, a bewilderment that prompted Stephen to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Remember I told you she hasn’t graduated yet?”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember now,” he said, wishing to convince both your father and himself.

You were out of the picture, no longer around. Yet, the two of you now shared a secret. You still do, to this day. He’s no stranger to the notion that some things never seem to change. After all, he’s a creature of habit—same breakfast every morning, same brand of bread he’s been buying for years. Like all his other preferences, he’s come to realize he likes his women a certain way. And though he hates to admit it, you fit the bill perfectly.

Betty, Stephen’s mother, was turning eighty-five tonight. A seat with Joel’s name was saved at the big table; they wanted him there, his best friend and his best friend’s mother. How nice it was to actually feel wanted. He liked that feeling. Still, he’d had to bite his tongue when your father mentioned you’d be there, too. You had graduated at long last, with your birthday having been just a couple of weeks ago.

“Can’t believe she’s twenty-five already,” Stephen muttered with a chuckle, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Sitting beside him, Joel gripped the arm of his chair, sinking his nails into it. “Me neither, man.”

His choices had led him to this moment. The clinking of glasses rings in his ears, blending with laughter and the rich aroma of food that fills the air. None of it manages to distract him. He can't help but track you down, eyes scanning the room, relentless in their pursuit of yours. The need to see you goes beyond any shred of restraint he might have faked to have. Joel can’t muster the decorum to feign indifference—God, not when you’re near, when the pull toward you feels like gravity itself. He’s keenly, almost painfully aware, that he’s not even pretending to be indifferent, his interest etched plainly in the way his gaze persists, refusing to pull away.

It’s his first time seeing you in a year. A lot can change in that span of time. He can’t help but be amazed, because you look just the same as you did back then. Only your hair’s a touch shorter. He wonders if it’s even noticeable, or if he’s just spent so long memorizing your features that he’s losing his sanity. He bets it’s the latter.

A light pressure on his shoulder makes Joel jump, breaking down his reverie. He turns quickly, eyes widening. "Betty," he exhales, patting his chest with a smile, eyebrows lifted. "Jeez. Y’scared me."

“Y’alright, Joely? Y’look a bit pale.” The older woman reaches up, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead with a gentle familiarity. Through her lens, he’s still young. “Doesn’t seem like you’ve got a fever, though.”

"That’s ‘cause I’m not sick." Joel takes her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "How’s everythin’ goin’ so far? Got all these people together just t’celebrate ya’."

"It’s a wonderful night, sweetheart. So happy y’found the time t’be here," she replies, pinching his cheek in that affectionate way that earns her a quiet laugh from him. Her eyes then catch sight of a familiar figure. "Oh, look who's here. If it isn’t my beautiful granddaughter."

He stops smiling. In fact, he thinks he even stops breathing for a second as you intrude yourself into the scene, settling yourself beside your grandmother, flashing him a knowing grin. “I was getting kind of bored with the little ones.” 

“Y’know Joel, right, dear?”

“Yes.” A pause, a beat you draw out between breaths. “Yes, I do.”

Betty leans his way, her warm hand still on him. “Have y’heard the latest news? This young lady just graduated.”

“Stephen told me,” he answers, looking up at you with a reserved nod. “Congrats, kid.”

“Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

There’s that damn name again. Were he alone with you, he’d laugh in your face, but he can’t. Under the scrutiny of family and friends, he knows he’s cornered. Joel’s starting to believe you think you’re untouchable, that there are no consequences to your actions. You might look the same, maybe a little older, but that teasing, provocative spark in your eye hasn’t changed a bit.

“Always so polite, my child,” Betty says, cupping your cheek with a light pinch, a grandmotherly gesture perfected over the years which she seems to repeat often. “Any boyfriends back in New York?”

This would, without a doubt, be the perfect moment for him to excuse himself and stand up—a conversation he’d rather not be privy to. But with you positioned right in front of him, escape isn’t an option. “Still single, grandma,” you respond unfazed, as if you know exactly what you’re doing. “No one to worry about. Better like this, anyway.”

“But what’s the problem? There aren’t any boys y’like?”

He doesn’t even know what makes him say it—some impulse, some hidden tension surfacing—but he jumps in, his voice carrying a slight, sardonic edge. “Boys are more foolish than ever these days, Betty. Surely y’wouldn’t want her to settle for the first idiot who crosses her path.”

Betty clutches his arm, shaking her head in feigned shock. “Oh, not at all! It’s all about waitin’ for the right person. There’s no rush, for either of you. You’re still on your own, Joely?”

Time to drink again. He drains the last drops of alcohol remaining in his glass, feeling your eyes on him, intense and searing, and then he clears his throat, swallowing down the words he’d rather say. “Affirmative.”

“Well,” she sighs contentedly, patting each of your hands as though binding you both with some invisible thread. “Just means y’two have to wait a bit longer, right? Time has its way.” She chuckles, eyes soft with memory, turning to you. “Darlin’, this man here was quite the heartbreaker in his day. He and your dad would find all kinds of trouble with the ladies!”

“How so?” You cross your arms, playfully tilting your chin up. “Joel Miller, the charmer of the town?”

“Guess I’ve been known t’make a fool of myself,” he shoots back, silently cursing the moment he missed his chance to slip away. “Stephen got more fans than I did, though.”

“I did what?” Joel feels an elbow nudging his back, and there’s his friend, grinning in his usual easy way.

Joel's luck in life had been more bruised than blessed, a string of hardships that seemed amplified compared to what most people experienced. Being drawn in by you—in which category did that fall? Good luck or bad? He couldn't decide. Every glance and delicate smile you aimed his way stirred something reckless within him. Was it pure thrill, or a warning?

He laughs every time Stephen cracks a joke, but he’s barely listening, his mind half-tethered to the present. It’s like he’s watching himself from afar, observing his reactions as if he were an outsider. He isn’t stoned or drunk, just acutely mindful of your presence. He catches himself peeking up at you from where he sits, jaw tight, his brow creased. You meet his gaze with a slight squint, a polite look that hides something far more dangerous.

Boys are more foolish than ever these days. He’s sure of that much. They’re young, untested. But what about him? He’s no model of virtue, either. He’s made his share of mistakes, left good women behind—women who were willing to love him in spite of his flaws. They’d seen through the layers he wore like armor, and yet, in the end, he couldn’t hold on to any of them. He carried the ghosts of every past life, fragments of who he’d been and what he’d left behind, and he knew those shadows weren’t for everyone.

A thought pierces through him, sharp and sobering: what would Sarah think? His lovely daughter, grown and settled into her own life, would likely be mortified to know her father’s infatuation with a twenty-something. The weight of that realization sinks into his chest, and that seems to be his last straw.

He can’t possibly take it anymore. Rising from his chair, he mutters something to Stephen about needing fresh air and makes his way to the backyard door, exhaling deeply and gripping his car keys. The cool night air hits him, stepping outside, a temporary relief as he heads toward his truck.

Just as he’s about to open the door, he hears your voice. You call his name, your tone soft but distinct. He doesn’t turn, only lets out a long, weary sigh. “What?”

“Where are you going?” You stop a few steps behind him, watching the way his shoulders visibly tense. “Are you mad at me?”

“What?” He faces you, almost snapping his neck in his rush to look at you. “Why would I be—I’m not mad at ya’.”

“Then what’s wrong? Why are you leaving so early?” 

He scrubs a hand over his nape, fingers pressing into the tension gathered there. “Would y’like me t’break it down for ya’, how messed up this is?” His gaze drops to the ground, unable to meet yours. “I’m riskin’ the only real friendship I’ve had here for… for somethin’ that I can’t even wrap my head ‘round. This isn’t okay, no matter which way I look at it.”

In that moment, it’s as if reality pulls you under. The mask of subtle, practiced arrogance falls apart, scattering in fragments around you. He watches, waiting for you to gather them up, to hide behind that composed veneer again. But you don’t move. You leave the pieces where they lie. Instead, you confront his gaze, unguarded, and ask, “Do you regret what happened between us?”

Another question. You seem to be full of them. They just keep coming, one after the other, as if you already had them prepared. I don’t, he thinks to himself, but would it do you any good if you knew it? “Don’ start with those mental games.”

“Then come back inside.”

“I know myself well enough to know what’s gonna happen if I do that, darlin’.”

Neither of you breaks the silence that’s settled between you, thick as the night air. You slip your hands into the pockets of your jacket, shoulders slightly hunched, head hanging. Once again, like all those times before, he’s struck by how young you are compared to him. The difference stretches between you like a chasm, bridged only by these stolen moments. The weight of his years presses down on him, the choices he’s made—the mistakes and the half-hearted attempts to mend them. He’s got decades on you, three of them to be precise.

Joel never thought of himself as an ever-lasting free spirit, the kind of man who clings to youth or pretends to be something he’s not. Right now, with you here, he feels reckless, like a boy again. Stupid, impulsive, like the foolish young men he used to shake his head at—the very ones he’d warned your grandmother about.

“You left without even saying goodbye last time,” you mumble, low but clear, as you scuff the toe of your shoe against the grass. “And now you’re doing it again.”

He inhales sharply, clenching his keys, feeling the edges of the brass biting into his palm. For a moment, he thinks the sharpness will give him something to hold onto, but he knows the sting is nothing more than a weak anchor. “You’re a smart girl. Don’ need me to spell this out.”

“I know exactly what you mean, trust me. I get it.”

“Then why do you keep pushing?” His pent-up exasperation slips through despite himself, and he can see the hurt flicker across your face, the way your forehead barely puckers as his words hit harder than intended.

Even as you look away, a trace of that hurt fading, you stand firm. You shake your head after a beat, seemingly trying to brush off your doubts and confusion. Joel can’t decipher if you’re feigning innocence—if you are, he thinks, you could be one hell of an actress. “I don’t know. I guess I want to see how far this can go.”

You take a small step forward, testing the waters. Your feet move cautiously, not aiming to scare him off. Each step draws you nearer until there’s only a whisper of space between you, close enough for him to catch your scent, and he has to force himself to peer down to meet your eyes. They hold a quiet intensity: pleading, wide and earnest, already trained on him. Gleaming like two lone stars cutting through a moonless, empty sky. 

It baffles him, the question forming unbidden in his mind. He goes even further, can’t help but wonder: why him? What is it that you see in him? What makes you keep coming back for more? You’ve already had a taste, a story you could tuck away, a secret to be shared with your friends someday around a campfire. So why, he would like to know, are you still here, seeking something from a man like him?

“I like you,” you blurt out, fingers drifting to skim over the worn fabric of his flannel, almost hesitantly. That tentative gesture sparks something raw in him, a low rumble of desire that feels like it’s been lying dormant for too long. Heat pulses through him, hot blood racing through his veins, awakening every nerve, each beat of his heart more insistent than the last one. “I think you like me, too.”

“You’re insufferable,” he bites out through gritted teeth, his jaw clenching so hard it nearly hurts. He closes his eyes, half hoping you’ll disappear, that he’ll find some reason, any reason, to call this off. Though when he opens them, you’re still there, waiting, unshaken. “I wish I knew how to stop this. How to walk away.”

“That’s not what you want.”

“We don’ always get what we want, kid. You’ll figure that out soon enough.” He means it as a warning, but even he hears the way his voice falters, his defenses crumbling in the face of your unflinching state.

You let out a slow sigh, your arms falling to your sides, eyes roaming over his features as if you’re memorizing every line. Your focus dips to his mouth. “Maybe,” you murmur, and he feels the warmth of your breath against his skin. “But some things are worth fighting for. And sometimes, those who don’t give up… get the best in the end.”

With a gentleness that stuns him, you lean in, bringing your lips to his in a featherlight kiss. You pull away, and he helplessly notices the way your lips part, how your breath hitches, and for a split second, the guilt becomes palpable, the significance of wanting a woman he knows he shouldn’t. You stand there, chest rising and falling, skin tingling, a faint trail of goosebumps visible where your neckline meets your chest. 

Apart from the glint in your eyes, he catches the persistent, quiet ache of want. He isn’t sure if it’s just physical attraction, if it runs deeper, or if that’s all it is for him, either. He doesn’t need to know. The simplicity of it all is a short-lived relief. It’s an easy escape, though, this bare minimum of understanding—you want him, he wants you. Let it be enough for one more moment, for tonight, just another memory he’ll have to lock away. Yet he’s aware, deep down, of his own pattern: promises broken just as easily as they’re made. He’s only fooling himself. The part of him that knows this isn’t something he’ll let go of so easily sits there, silently taunting him, daring him to make another compromise he won’t keep.

From where you remain frozen, he’s certain you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he weighs every possible outcome. “It’s gonna happen, isn’t it?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and before you can react, his arm slides around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and turning you toward the car door. The cool metal pressing against your back startles a gasp out of you, but the suddenness only heightens everything—the heat of his body, the toughness of his hold. 

He doesn’t waste time with words, having always been a man of action. His hand cradles your face, inspecting your features to later crush his mouth against yours. Your tongue finds his without hesitation, seeking him out, hungry and unrestrained. He savors your eagerness, the way your hands roam over him, clutching at his shirt, tugging him closer by the belt until your lower halves are pressed tightly. The taste of beer and mint clings to your lips, and a husky groan rumbles from him as your fingers find their place in the longer strands at the nape of his neck, twisting and pulling him impossibly closer. 

He could lose himself in this, the simple, electric thrill of kissing you, how you fit so perfectly against him. Hours could slip by, and he wouldn’t mind, but then reality pulls him back; it’s too exposed here, right outside his truck where anyone could stumble upon you. “Get in the car,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, fumbling to unlock the door. It takes him three tries, and he chuckles, feeling the warmth of your laughter beside him as you tease him.

Once inside, his mouth finds yours again, this time more urgently, his hand pressing against your back, tracing the line of your spine through the clothes. “Tell me y’want this,” he breathes, his kisses trailing down your throat, latching onto the tender skin there. “C’mon, baby. Tell me y’want it. Tell me y’want me.”

A soft, breathy sound escapes you as his mouth fixates on that sensitive spot just below your ear. You tilt your hips instinctively, craving contact in search of relief, and he shifts you onto his lap, guiding your thighs to settle over his. Desperately working to undo the buttons of his shirt, yearning to uncover him, you pant against his cheek. “J-Jesus Christ, I need you. Please, touch me. Anything will do. Just—”

He’s silently grateful for your choice of a dress tonight. It makes things easier for him, and he gets right to it, bunching the fabric around your waist, hands roaming over the soft skin of your hips before moving his fingers lower, tracing teasing lines over your clothed center. He can’t fully make out the murmured words you breathe into his ear, but your voice drives him like a lighthouse guides a sinking ship, and he adjusts his movements, pressing with more intention. The only sounds filling the car are his ragged breaths and your gasping moans, and he holds you close to his chest, cooing softly as you start to rock into his hand, asking for more. 

His fingers find their rhythm, circling your clit in deliberate flicks. Joel watches as you unravel, trembling in his arms, a hint of drool spreading over his shoulder from your parted lips on his skin. His grip tightens as he tugs your underwear down your legs, grinning when you kick them impatiently to the floor of the car. Now, as he strokes his digits up and down your folds, you turn to putty on his lap. In another world, he’d have you laid out in his bed, enjoying each inch of your body. But here, in the cramped, dim backseat, he keeps the lights off. He knows it’s reckless, yet that barely slows him down. His cock throbs at the very risk of getting caught, at the edge he’s walking just to have you like this.

“Goddamn, you’re soaked, aren’t ya’?” He doesn’t expect you to answer, at least not in any coherent way. He sinks his middle finger into your bare heat, searching your face in the dark, contemplating the fluttering of your lashes. His hand weaves into your hair, a firm tug guiding your gaze to his. Your head tips back, a moan spilling from your lips at the new sensation, rolling your hips into his palm with earnestness. “It’s gonna be a tight fit, huh? If this is how you’re grippin’ my fingers, I can’t imagine what that cunt’s gonna feel like wrapped ‘round me.”

Studies suggest that in those final, fleeting moments of life, memories flood the human mind—a last journey through a person’s years before crossing over. If he were to die after tonight, he knows your face would be there, etched into his last breath. He can almost picture it: struggling for air, teetering on the edge, with that reddish, towering figure of mortality looming over him. But even then, he’d find solace in the thought of you, thrown into oblivion. You’d grant him a last-minute reprieve, easing the ache. You’d be the one who’d hold back the shadows. This constitutes the apex of his life, and he knows he should be worried, yet intellectual dominance doesn’t stand much of a chance when confronting the heart of a man. Not when that heart, so long starved of its pulse, has finally found someone worth remembering.

He makes space for himself, thrusting his long fingers into you until he’s got your slick coating his palm. One hand settles firmly at the small of your back, guiding your movements, while he feels his collected composure faltering. You mouth at the rough stubble along his jawline when you start to get close, breathless whimpers clouding his thoughts. “Joel,” you call out to him, as if that alone would make wonders. “Oh, fuck. Please, I waited a whole year. I need to come.”

A whole year. You were his once a year, and he was yours, a bittersweet ritual bound by time. He never would’ve thought this party could bring him such pleasure, though he can’t pretend he’s against it. Last time, he hadn’t taken the chance to pull you under and make you fall apart as many times as he’d wanted. He’s intent on making up for that missed opportunity, determined to make you enjoy every moment.

He withdraws his fingers abruptly, and a sharp laugh nearly escapes him at your reaction. You reach instinctively, grabbing for his hand, trying to guide him back to where he belongs between your legs. But he’s already moving, maneuvering you down until you’re lying on your back, fully under his command. He lowers himself, replacing his fingers with the warm insistence of his mouth. The sound that escapes your lips as his mouth presses against your center is nothing short of a scream—a wild cry that fills the space around you. He’s grateful he parked far from the other guests, because that sound would turn more than a few heads. 

Joel laps at your arousal as if it's the fountain of youth, the very essence of everything pure and precious in the world. He presses down on your thighs until they rest on either side of him, unclamping your legs from around his head. The suppleness of your skin feels divine under his fingertips, and he brushes his thumbs over your trembling form, coaxing you into calmness, to let him have his way with you at his own pace. It's an absurd paradox—aiming to soothe you while his mouth continues its fervent worship, tracing intricate patterns against your most sensitive flesh. His beard, streaked with gray and freshly trimmed, glistens with your slick, and Joel smolders with all-consuming passion.

When his friends had told him to go out more, maybe find someone to date, he's certain they didn't mean this. The smart choice (scratch that: the correct one) would have been to pursue a woman his own age. But fuck it—he's spent a lifetime doing what's right. Every road he might've taken would've led him here, to this moment, with you. Part of him believes he must still have something left, some spark of appeal. To have a pretty little thing like you, so eager, so willing, offering yourself to him? He has to have something. His knees ache from where he kneels on the unforgiving surface, but the burn is inconsequential, and he’ll endure anything to be what you need.

Joel trails his hand up your body, over the curve of your breast, before gently groping it, his palm covering yours in a shared grip. He runs the tip of his tongue along your folds, his saliva mingling with your wetness, aquiline nose grazing your sensitive bud. “You’re tellin’ me you’re this tight ‘cause you’ve been savin’ yourself for me? You do know what t’say t’make a man happy.” He spreads you open slowly, his gaze lingering on the way your cunt glistens, a sense of satisfaction rippling through him. You remain silent, your breath shallow. “Still with me, sugar?”

“It’s just that—I’m so close.” You bite back a moan, nails digging into the soft leather of the seat. Joel hums in response, his lips closing around your clit. Agitation flickers across your face as you try to grind your hips against his mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

The pressure is gone as he notices your thighs quivering again, his movements halting immediately.

“No, Joel. Please—”

“You’ll come when I tell ya’.”

He’s having the time of his life. Damn right he is.

He suddenly realizes he's still dressed from head to toes, the heat building in his body becoming too much to ignore. With a frustrated grunt, he undoes his belt, yanking the metal zipper down, longing to rid himself of the constricting denim. A strangled noise escapes him as you suck on his neck, fisting his base, giving him a few purposeful tugs.

“Now, you’re gonna ride me,” he murmurs, making a pause to shrug his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor of the car, “and you’re gonna like it. Don’ want you t’hold back this time, understood?”

His back ends up against one of the fogged-up windows. The air is thick with the apparent scent of sex—a phrase he’d only ever heard in movies, but now, it’s undeniably real. Joel holds his cock, aligning the tip with your entrance as his lips crash against yours in a hungry kiss. A deep groan escapes him, vibrating over your mouth, nipping at your lower lip. The sensation intensifies when your wet interior welcomes him, velvet walls molding to his size. Your brows scrunch together at the stretch, a choked whimper catching in your throat. As your hips sink fully, your ass flush against his thighs, your body clenches around him, that abrupt tightness drawing a stuttering gasp from him.

“For God’s sake,” he exhales, the words rough as his forehead bumps into yours. His hand splays over your ribcage, fingers curling slightly. “Sweetheart, you’re—killin’ me here.”

“I can feel you everywhere,” you huff, your arms looping around his neck to pull him closer, holding your breath. He takes the moment to capture your nipple between his swollen lips, leaving a shiny trail of spit in his wake. You lift yourself, the motion teasing, before sinking back down onto his lap, taking him in fully. “Can feel you in my stomach.”

When you begin to move, Joel loses track of everything else. Time seems to stretch, bending and reshaping itself each time his tip finds some hidden place inside you. He’s fifty-six years old, yet in this moment, his soul feels infinite. Invincible. He brings his hand to your lips, thumb grazing over them before slipping inside. Your warm tongue envelopes it, and when you start to suck dutifully, muffling your moans, his body jerks in response. His eyes drift to your glistening chest, where a sheen of sweat makes your skin glow in the dim light. You’re the most captivating woman he’s ever seen, and he knows he’ll never look at anyone the same again. He can’t tear his gaze away, mesmerized by the way your body merges with his, the way you undulate your hips on top of him.

You move back and forth, and he drives into you, filling you to the brim with every calculated thrust. He thrusts upward, stealing the air from your lungs, the sharp motion making you sputter as your body struggles to keep up with his.

“That’s it.” His voice is a husky growl as he wraps his arms tightly around your back, your chests sticking together with sweat. His pace quickens, the rhythm becoming more insistent. “Takin’ it like a good girl. You feel exquisite, baby. Makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind.”

“So big inside me,” you pant, your own pace faltering as you surrender to Joel’s unforgiving tempo. His hooded eyes flicker to yours, catching the way your pupils have swallowed up your irises, dark and blown wide with desire. A shiver runs through him as your fingers dig into his shoulders, your grip leaving faint crescents in his skin. “Missed your cock so much, Mr. Miller.”

Fuck, not that shit. If it’s possible, he grows impossibly harder. He pounds into you with renewed intensity this time, his singular goal to leave you speechless, boneless, completely undone. He wants you limp and shuddering, with nothing left to give. “Enough of that.” His hands find their place on the soft globes of your ass, molding and squeezing until the pressure has you mewling, the sweet sound shooting straight through him. His lips ghost over the shell of your ear. “Responsive everywhere, honey. Have any idea how much fun I’m gonna have with ya’?”

Who would’ve believed him back then? It proves this isn’t some once-in-a-lifetime fluke. It happened before, and now it’s happening again. He might as well surrender to it—accept his fate and move through the motions like a man resigned to what’s already written.

There’s a moment when your moans sharpen, turning high-pitched and dazed, and the way you constrict him sends his eyes rolling to the back of his skull, a guttural noise tearing from his chest. His movements still, clutching your waist to pin you in place, denying you the chance to move, to bounce on him.

Then you break. A sob wracks your body, tears spilling over and tracing hot paths down your cheeks. They gather, fusing together as they slide along your throat and pool in the hollow of your jaw before disappearing lower. “Asshole,” you hiss, the word fragile as you push your face into the curve of his neck, seeking refuge in his embrace.

“Sorry? Couldn’t catch that.” He makes sure to keep you securely tucked under his chin, tilting his lower half upward. “If you want me t’stop, just say the world and I will.”

He’s messing with you, plain and simple. He doesn’t actually expect you to take his words at face value. But you do, grinding down harder, impaling yourself further on the length of his cock, and your arousal trickles down, slicking the coarse hair of his thighs.  “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.” Slotting your mouth over his, you attempt to move, chasing any sort of friction against your clit. Sadly, pleasure doesn’t come on its own—it’s Joel who can make you feel good, and he’s not obliging. His hand seizes your hair in a rough grasp, tugging sharply. Eyes fluttering shut, you hunch forward, submitting to the sharp edge of his control.

“What an impatient little thing y’are.” Joel grabs your thighs and turns you over, your back pressed against the leather seat. The brusque shift pulls him out of you, the cool air a cruel tease before he taps his head against your swollen folds, then fills you again in one powerful thrust, kissing your cervix in the process. A deep moan rips from your lungs, deep and guttural, as your legs tremble uncontrollably on either side of him. Your ankles dig into his back, fervent to keep him close. His balls rest heavy against your skin, full and aching for release. “Gonna give ya’ what y’want, okay? You’ve been on your best behavior,” he mumbles with his lips stuck to your forehead. “That’s a good girl. Think she deserves to come after all.”

Only then does he find his rhythm again, ramming into your drooling hole. For the third time tonight, he’s captivated by how you teeter on the edge of overwhelming pleasure. He has you eating out of his hand, taking all that he offers, and you do so willingly. He knows he could ask you for anything, and in exchange for an orgasm coaxed by him, you'd comply without thinking twice. In many ways, he’s not so different. He gathers some of your saliva, using it to moisten his fingers before slipping them between your bodies, rubbing your clit as he continues to hit your bundle of nerves. Where his stamina comes from, he has no clue, though he’s determined to keep pushing.

Your face becomes a living poem, each cry of yours adding to its verse. Your head nearly reaches the door, but he cradles it with his arm, ensuring you don’t hurt yourself. “Close,” you whine, struggling to keep your eyes from falling shut. “Joel, please. Let me—”

“Give it to me, darlin’.” Another thrust, another moan. “Drench me, c’mon. That’s what y’want, isn’t it? To come all over this cock?”

The way he’s worked you up has its rewards, leading to a release that feels like an eruption. You bite down on his shoulder, your cries growing louder, chanting his name without pause. It loses all meaning after being chanted so many times, but the way you say it still has an undeniable weight. He doesn’t mind it one bit, not when he’s finishing right after you plead him to fill you. His jaw hangs open as ropes of his seed spill inside you, and he sags against your frame, giving short thrusts to push his cum deeper into your warmth, your pussy milking him dry.

“Oh, God…” he groans, fumbling with one of your breasts, holding onto something for dear life. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Don’t pull out yet,” you say, grinning when you feel him twitch. “Stay a little longer.”

Too personal. Too intimate—dangerous in his books. Normally, he'd tuck himself back into his briefs, drive the woman he’s slept with home, and that would be the end of it. No happy endings in his story. So he’s surprised when he supports his weight on his forearms, claiming your lips in a voracious encounter of tongues and teeth. He caresses your cheek, tilting your face to deepen the kiss, and you sigh contentedly.

The two of you lapse into a heavy silence after that. He clears his throat, and says: “I should’ve asked you for your number that one time.” In the heat of the act, he’s being too honest. Regret will come knocking on his door once his excitement fades. His eyes bore into yours, dubious. “M’sorry for that.”

“Well, you could ask me for it now,” you admit from beneath him, and Joel pulls away for a moment, trying to gauge if you’re serious. He doesn’t think you’re joking. “To make up for lost time.”

This must be the onset of something else. He can't quite put it into words, but he feels it in his chest, in every place where your skin merges with his. He's no fortune teller, and there's no way for him to know where this path will take him, whether it leads to ruin or salvation. Though in this moment, he doesn't care—not now, at least.

At last, Joel blindly reaches for the pocket of his jeans with one arm. “How long are you stayin’ in Austin?”

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[infiniteglitterfall]

know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!

hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh 3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.

I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.

It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases. It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely. The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe. It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad." It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.

Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body. It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.

It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses. People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.

(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.) Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense? They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."

Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.

Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.

People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it. Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.

(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?") One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.

I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.

She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.

And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile. He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason. I think about that a lot. (Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.

He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.

He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired. Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.

I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.) Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.

But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.

It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.

(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)

(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!) All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths. Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.

We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons. Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened. During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID. But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.

People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started. COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example. The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.

Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.

3,000,000.

Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000. Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.

Five times as many.

That's bad. I don't like that at all. I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:

Here's a non-paywalled link to it:

https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates

Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:

Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.

You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.

They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them. These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)

[aliteralsemicolon]

We can't be friends, but I'd like to just pretend

Part 1 of We can't be friends (wait for your love) | See part 2 | See part 3

You and Spencer have convinced yourselves that you’re only meant to be friends despite the strong tension between you two. It only seems to intensify the longer you ignore it, eventually reaching its boiling point and forcing changes in the friendship.

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

(but no mentions of pronouns in this so it can be read as gn)

DISCLAIMER This story is SFW but it’s intended for mature audiences only. You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNING Mentions of: Indirect peer pressure, alcohol/drinking/being drunk, very slight implicated SA (it doesn’t happen), serial killer, kidnapping, torture, murder, stalking, and threats. It’s all barely there and doesn’t really matter to the story tbh. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 9.3K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

Being in love is hard. Being in love with your best friend is harder. It’s a merciless form of torture really, devoting yourself entirely to the person you hold dearest to your heart, but they aren’t yours. It was almost masochistic, standing by to serve him in whatever way you thought he needed. Luckily, you weren’t a masochist. 

Not entirely, at least. 

You were there for him when he needed, offering whatever you had to give, but there were parts of you that you kept guarded. To protect yourself, but more importantly, to protect Spencer. It wasn’t uncommon for you to hear that you were ‘too much’ from passing lovers in your life. A certain level of detachment was necessary to ensure the safety of Spencer’s friendship. He was the most important person in your life. 

Maybe it was the multitude of degrees as a result of his intelligence. He never let you feel stupid or any less intelligent. 

Maybe it was the way his whole body lit up when he shared information he’d stored in that beautiful mind.

Maybe it was the charm in how goofily he carried himself. The way his hands would flail around when he spoke to keep up with the speed his brain moved at. 

Or maybe it was how he made you feel seen. 

How he always knew what to say, what to do. How he remembered little details about you, like how you preferred the window seat on the jet. And how he went out of his way to accommodate the details, like giving up the window seat just so you could sit in it. He was an unusually thoughtful man, with everybody he knew. 

That’s something you had to remind yourself of often. 

He’s like that with everybody. He has an eidetic memory, of course he remembers the little details. 

If only you knew how wrong you were. Spencer was a thoughtful man, there was no doubt about that. Sure he was gifted with an arguably incomparable memory, but unlike all the things he had no choice in remembering, he chose to remember the little details about you. To him you were the closest thing to a real life angel. 

It was the way you were the only person he’d ever met, willing to sit there and listen to him talk for hours. You’d go out of your way to show interest in the things he’d share, even if you didn’t actually have any interest in it.

The way he could swear he saw stars in your eyes whenever he stole an opportunity to stare into them. They would burn brighter if accompanied with the sweet sound of your laughter. 

He felt compelled to accommodate you. Especially when you light up the way you do from such minuscule actions on his part. Spencer loved being the person to bring out your smile, taking any excuse to try and coax one out of you. Even if he’d slightly inconvenience himself at times. His convenience mattered little to him because he knew how much you did for him too. 

Every morning before work you’d make the trip to his favourite coffee shop, getting him scones and coffee exactly to his liking because you knew he had a tendency to skip breakfast. His favourite coffee shop was a fifteen minute drive from your apartment and an extra twenty from Headquarters. You went out of your way to deliver it to him, even reheating the coffee yourself before handing it over. 

Spencer wasn’t alone in recognising your generosity. The entire sixth floor had noticed how both of you subconsciously performed acts of service for each other, even if nobody had brought it up to your faces. 

“I know that look.” Rossi remarks, turning his head towards his raven haired co-worker, eyes on you and Spencer.

“Yea..I just wonder if they know.” Emily mirrors his actions as she gives her own comment on the sight just a few feet in front of her. 

Neither of you realise you have spectators observing your conversation. You’re in your own little bubble at Spencer’s desk, the resident genius seated comfortably with his gaze on you as he speaks. Your focus is entirely on the man across from you, leaning in slightly, perched on the wooden surface. 

“Because stomach acid in the human body is typically 1-2 on the PH scale, it’s capable of dissolving metals such as certain types of stainless steels. Razors for example! The Gastrointestinal Endoscopy journal shared that scientists found that the thickened back of a single-edged blade dissolved just two hours of immersion in stomach acid!” His voice went up a pitch as he spoke and you couldn’t help but smile.

“So theoretically, an unsub could use a razor blade as a murder weapon and potentially eat it to dispose of it?” It was a relatively dumb question, but you just wanted to keep him talking. 

“Well, it’s possible, but realistically I don’t think a razor blade-” 

“Sorry to interrupt my younglings,” A colourful Garcia appears in your bubble and cuts Spencer off, “but I am here to let you know that the team will be going out for drinks, on Rossi, tonight! No exceptions!!”

When your head swivels to Garcia, you also notice the gawking pair not far behind her, shuffling off when they realise they’ve been caught staring. 

“I’ll come, but I won’t be drinking.” Spencer says with an awkward smile. They shift their sights on you for your response. 

“Sorry guys…I already have plans for tonight.” You purse your lips together apologetically. 

“What no! No, no, no! You know how rare these nights can be!” Garcia frowns and grabs your shoulders pleadingly.

“I knowwww…I’m sorry!!”

“Fine, fine, but at least share what’s keeping you busy tonight?” The blonde pokes.

You shift your eyes to Spencer, who’s just staring at you with a curious look and then back to Garcia. 

“Well I have a date-” You begin, but are interrupted by a whispered squeal.

Garcia begins a response, but stops herself when she spots a nonchalant Derek Morgan heading towards the elevators. “We will discuss this in detail during Saturday’s girls night. For now I will accept your excuse and remind you to dress your sexiest! Now excuse me while I go and intercept my sweet chocolate thunder.”

She grips you in a tight hug and scurries off after Morgan. The atmosphere shifts slightly, as you meet Spencer’s eyes awkwardly. 

“You have a date? Why didn’t you mention that” Spencer titters.

“I’m sorry, it just didn’t occur to me.” You try to lie, but Spencer’s expression gives away that he doesn’t believe you. “Okay, okay, I just didn’t wanna say anything because the last time I talked about one of my dates you got all weird and I didn’t want to upset you again.”

“Upset me? I was not upset.” He protests and folds his arms across his chest. 

“Okay what would you call it then?” 

“I wouldn’t call it anything.” 

“Oh really? So you’re not upset that I’m going on a date?”

“Nope. Not at all. I’m interested actually, tell me about him.”

You eye him carefully, trying to figure out where his head is at. Spencer has a tendency to get sassy when he feels defensive. 

“You’re interested? To hear about one of my dates?” You question with playful caution. 

“Yes. I’m always interested in things about you.” He spills. 

Your reaction to his words is immediate, a surprised jump in your features, but you manage to mask it almost just as fast. Spencer’s just as surprised as you. 

“I-I just mean- you know? Because yo-you’re my best friend.” He tries to play it off. 

There’s no way. 

You think to yourself. Spencer definitely didn’t mean it in that way. 

No he definitely didn’t. He just said so himself. You’re his best friend. Spencer Reid does not feel the same way about you.

It stings to admit to yourself, but it’s for the best. Spencer is a smart, handsome, wonderful man with so much to offer. You’re too much work, come with too much baggage, just too much.

“Yea, we’re best friends.” An affirmation more for yourself than him. 

A silence looms as you stare at each other stiffly. 

“Anyways, my date,” you decide not to linger on it for too long, “it’s with that guy I told you about, Nathan.”

“Nathan? Didn’t you go on a date with him last time?” A casual inquiry. 

“Yea!” You squeak enthusiastically, grateful that he had reverted back to his light-hearted self. 

This was something you deeply enjoyed about your friendship. The fact the two of you could flow back into casual conversation no matter what.

“So it’s a second date?”

“Yes! The first one went really well, so I thought why not agree to a second when he asked?”

“That’s good. I’m happy for you.” 

His approval should feel better than it does. For some reason, it makes you uneasy. Almost as if you don’t want him to approve. 

He has approved though, meaning he isn’t against you dating other people. He doesn’t want you the same way.

“Really?” You want to be sure, scared that you might put him off again.

“Yes! Really! If you’re happy then I’m happy for you.” A fib that you were unaware of. 

In truth, Spencer would rather crawl on the office bathroom floor than see you with some other guy. Fortunately for him, he isn’t actually going to be there to see you with this ‘Nathan’. So he doesn’t need to submit to such an awful torture. Maybe he’s being dramatic, you aren’t his girlfriend. He has no right to feel such a heavy drop in his gut. 

Part of him really is happy for you. He wanted you to feel loved, even if it wasn’t by him. God, how he wished it was by him. If friendship is what he has to settle for to be near you, then so be it. Though at times it feels like it might kill him, you being the closest person in his life, but not close enough to the point where he could call himself yours. 

“REID!”

Spencer jumps at the sound of Morgan’s voice, finding it difficult to focus on his current surroundings. He missed half the team scattering around to different parts of the bar, Morgan now his only company. 

“What’s up?” His expression shifts to a tight-lipped smile.

“Where’s your head at man?” Derek probes.

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean I have never seen you this zoned out before. You haven’t checked back in since you sat down.” 

It wasn’t intentional, but since you walked out the doors of the BAU all Spencer’s been able to think about was your date. You probably went straight home to get ready, pulling out all the stops to feel as beautiful as you are. For somebody that can never truly appreciate it, not like he can. 

“I guess I’m just not feeling well.” A pathetic excuse. One Spencer finds himself making whenever he’s pulled out of his thoughts about you. 

Morgan doesn’t believe him. Hell, Spencer doesn’t even believe himself. 

“Kid. You know you can always talk to me right? About anything.” 

“I know. I’m really just tired. Actually- you know what, c-could- could you just tell the others that I’m just not feeling great, I’m- bye Derek.” Spencer stutters as he rushes out of his seat. 

He doesn’t even give the man a chance to respond as he makes his exit out of the bar. He’s lacking the capability to force himself to socialise. The knowledge of you on a date with another man was something he’s been able to handle, but a second date with a man was harder to stomach. You must like him if you’re willing to see him again. 

The ride home feels longer than it actually is. How far had the date gotten? Were you enjoying it? Did Nathan make you laugh the way he could? Spencer might lose his mind. He wondered if you had given Nathan the privilege of touching you. Your skin always looked so soft, his heart panged at the thought. He felt sick. 

You were his best friend. You trusted him. He shouldn’t think this way about you, feel this way about you. Unreciprocated feelings were something Spencer was entirely used to. He’d perfected being able to put the person at the receiving end of his affections in the back of his mind. To ignore until it went away entirely.

Why was it so much harder this time? There is no universe in which you would ever return his love for you. Which is why he needs to force himself to love you from afar. It was a fact Spencer reminded himself of repeatedly. And he would’ve kept at it, if he wasn’t interrupted by the sight of you standing in front of his door as he stepped up his apartment stairs. 

“Hi!” His voice alerts you softly.

“Hi!” You squeak back, turning on your heel to face him. 

He can’t help but note how heavenly you look. It almost knocked the air out of his lungs, except he noticed the poorly wiped tears glistening on your face. He didn’t ask about it, immediately. Instead he just pulled you in for a hug, something he rarely did with others, and unlocked his door as he motioned for you to enter first. Another thing to love about Spencer Reid. 

You step inside, more than familiar with the deep green walls surrounding you. If the stench of liquor wasn’t enough, then the way you stumbled on your way to his couch was all Spencer needed to deduce that you had been drinking. A lot. He walks past you towards his kitchen, returning with a glass of water and painkillers you would definitely need later. 

“Have you eaten?” He asks softly, handing you the glass of water. 

“Um..” you take a sip and pause as you sigh, “yeah.”

The two of you just sit there, silently, stealing small glances at each other and averting your gazes before the other can notice. You know he’s waiting for you to feel comfortable enough to speak first. Except you don’t know what to say. You feel so embarrassed. He probably had better plans for tonight, but here you are, pestering him again. 

“How long were you waiting?” He speaks up once he realises that you aren’t going to.

“Not long, I had actually just gotten there, your timing was really good.” You mumble, forcing an awkward chuckle. 

“Did Nathan drop you off?” Spencer hopes that bringing up your date might give you enough courage to vent. 

“No. No, I walked.” A resigned smile creeps on your face, not wanting to talk about your journey here. “How was your night?”

“Walked?? Alone?? Drunk??” The words seep out of him before he can hold his tongue. “Why didn’t you call me?!”

“I’m sorry! I just didn’t want to bother you!” You defend. 

But you are bothering him. You’re bothering him right now.

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to hold back tears. Guilt creeps inside him. He knows that he’s not the source of your tears, but he didn’t want to make you cry regardless. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he takes hold of your hand and squeezes ever so gently, “we don’t have to talk about it.”

“Why don’t we play chess? You’re getting better at it, you know?” He adds, thinking of a quick distraction. 

Chess was a favourite pastime of yours with Spencer. You pull your hand out of his grip and use it to rub the opposing arm, his touch overwhelming you. He was too soft with you. You suppose it’s why you seek him out so often. Out of all the men you’ve ever known, Spencer was the only one who knew you. It felt so nice to be known. 

“Y-yea..yes. Please. Let’s uh- let’s play chess.” You stumble on your words, eager to think about anything else. 

Spencer retrieves his mini chess board from his satchel and prepares the board between the two of you. Neither of you utter a word as you play your moves. You appreciate the silence, because you know that you can’t say or do the wrong thing. 

“You’re going easy on me.” You break the silence anyway, scared that the silence might bore him. 

“You’re holding back.” He argues and you finally meet his eyes for the first time since you started the game.

“No, I’m just drunk.” You counter.

“I was the one at a bar but you’re the one who’s drunk.” It’s a stupid comment, slightly cringy even, but he earns a genuine laugh out of you. 

His dorkiness was part of his charm. Your laughter makes him smile. A comfortable silence fills the atmosphere as your eyes meet again. Spencer’s eyes were so beautiful, you could drown in them. Spencer in general was so beautiful, in every way possible. 

“It’s your move.” He has to remind you, worried that if he’s allowed to look at you for two long he might do something really stupid.

“I-uhm- I had a shitty date.” You owe him an explanation for ruining his night.

He doesn’t respond, not wanting to say anything that might make you close up again. He wanted to be the person you talked to about your problems. He wanted to be your solace. 

“It started really well. I thought I could see something more, but it turns out he just wanted the same thing as all the others. Thought that maybe if he got me drunk enough..but it obviously didn’t work” You try to lighten the weight of your words by laughing with them. “It’s probably for the best, you know? I don’t think it would’ve worked out regardless, I couldn’t stop-”

Stop comparing him to you. 

Normally, Spencer is the one with the tendency to ramble, but the alcohol wasn’t making it easy for you to shut up. You just hope he doesn’t realise where you were headed with that statement. You kept comparing your date to Spencer. Everything Nathan did today was a direct reminder of things Spencer would never do. 

“Check.” You choose to stop making a fool of yourself there.

Spencer’s breath hitches. Not because he picked up on what you hoped he didn’t, rather because he was concerned by the possible implications of what you said.

“Did he..did he try to-” 

“No. Oh my God, no!” You cut him off before he can finish the thought. 

His shoulders relax and the silence resumes. For the first time since he met you, Spencer found himself speechless. He didn’t know whether to comfort you or give you advice. Part of him felt selfishly relieved, at least he didn’t have to worry about some other guy anymore. The other part, the part that felt disgusted with himself for even thinking about himself right now, felt a mixed range of hurt for you. 

It started with resentment for the negligence Nathan displayed with you and ended with sorrow for how easily you brushed off your hurt. While he ran all the possibilities of the best thing to say, you ran all the possibilities of leaving his apartment in the least inconvenient way for him, interpreting his silence as irritation. 

He should be irritated, you’re disrupting his night. 

You need to leave before he can tell you to. Just as you’re about to mutter some bull-shit excuse, Spencer gently cups your hand with both of his hands and locks eyes with you. His voice is so painstakingly gentle, your breath gets stuck in your throat.

“Nathan and anyone else who has ever allowed themselves to be blinded by their shallow urges is an absolute fool. Idiot. Moron. There aren’t enough words in the English dictionary to describe how stupid they are for missing out on knowing you as you are. I’ve experienced a lot of good things in my life, none have ever brought me as much joy as you do. I can’t even begin to explain how deserving you are of love and it’s heartbreaking to see that you’ve convinced yourself of the opposite.”

It’s your turn to be speechless. Of the list of things you didn’t expect, this wasn’t even on the list. You should have expected it. It was in Spencer’s nature to prove you wrong for underestimating his tenderness. He felt perhaps he went too far. Said too much.

“I-I just mean-” 

“Why are you so nice to me?” Your heart feels like it’s lacking space inside your chest, tears threaten to build. 

“Because you’re my f-friend.” He struggles to utter the last word.

“Friend..” You nervously laugh.

The meaning behind his words don’t register in your drunken state. All your focus is diverted to the feeling of his calloused skin on yours. The liquor in your veins awakens dazed boldness. One you’d be too wary of displaying otherwise. You allow your fingers to dance against his, an act of intimacy not reserved for friends. He doesn’t stop you either. 

“You know…” 

it’s almost not even a whisper, 

“...if I wasn’t who I am…” 

but Spencer was an expert in tuning out everything else to focus solely on your voice,

“...maybe you could love me the way I love you.”

And the world, as Spencer knows it, stops. Your words ring in his ears and he’s sure his heartbeat has become audible. 

“Y-you love me?” He repeats, unable to suppress his need to hear those words again.

The validity of your confession doesn’t bear any weight until you hear it from him, your motions against his hand coming to an immediate stop. You shift line of sight to his face faster than you can blink, waiting for his reaction so you can scramble to save your friendship. 

Parroting your words wasn’t enough, Spencer couldn’t believe it. He had never considered it feasible for you to love him. He had spent so many sleepless nights tormenting himself over the fact. He wanted so badly to cup your face and tell you about all the thoughts of you that consumed his mind. To say those three words back. 

“You can’t love me.” Instead he said four words that strained your hope for salvation. He’d shoot himself if he had any realisation of what he had just done. 

“No, of-of c-course, I meant like an- a- amazing fr-friend. You k-know, like the kind of bes-best friend you only mean once in your lif-life.” And you unknowingly shattered that hope in him. 

Silence has never been more deafening. Neither of you can look away from each other. There’s so much to say but how can it be said now? 

“Right. No, yeah. Of course.” He forces out. 

A fake understanding between you two. The expressions canvassing both of your faces display anything but understanding. Though you’re no longer physically touching, you’re still holding each other in your view. A few moments pass and Spencer is the first to look away. 

“You must be tired-” He starts.

You were still disrupting his space.

“Right, I’ll go-” You stand, ready to rush out the door.

“No-no.” He sighs. “Stay please. It’s late and you’re drunk-”

“No I’ve alrea-” You try to protest, not wanting him to go out of his way for you any longer.

“Please. I’ll feel a lot better knowing you’re safe.” He begs, not just with his words but his eyes. 

“Okay.” You murmur. “But I’m taking the couch.”

Under any other circumstances, Spencer would have resisted you taking the couch. Today? He was utterly drained.

“Alright. I’ll get you something comfortable to change into while I set up the couch. You know where the bathroom is.” He sports a weak smile, unable to meet your eyes again. 

He watches you disappear into the bathroom after handing you some spare clothes. He sets the couch with the pillows and blankets he’d reserved for you. He bought them after you’d slept over a few times at the start of your friendship, wanting you to sleep as comfortably as possible so you would keep coming back.

You’d just broken his heart into a million pieces, so fine that he’d never be able to put it back together whole, but he still couldn’t not exert the utmost care when it came to you. 

In the bathroom, you fight back tears again as you fumble into his clothes. You’d worn this particular sweatshirt before, because you didn’t anticipate staying the night. It was never planned, often you two just lost track of time because you spent too long engaged in conversations. After a while you started leaving things at his place so you had an excuse to keep coming back. 

You can handle just being his friend, but you don’t think you can handle not being anything to him. Was there something you could do so you didn’t have to stop coming back? 

When you came out and saw your makeshift bed for the night, you felt slightly fuzzy inside. Spencer had already gone to bed but he’d covered the cushions of the couch with a thick blanket and two fluffy pillows. A fresh glass of water was waiting for you on the coffee table with the pills from earlier. 

Maybe things were okay after all? Surely he wouldn’t have put as much care into your comfort if they weren’t. So why couldn’t you shake this feeling of dread inside you? Why did the air feel so thick?

You spend most of what’s left of the night awake, curled into yourself on his couch, muffling your sobs. You’ve ruined another good thing. Pushed away probably the most important person in your life. You knew he was too good for you, he could never feel the same way. You got greedy.

Just a few feet away from you, Spencer’s in the exact same position as you on his bed. No rejection has ever hurt as much as when it came from you. He knew you were drunk, he knew you could never actually feel the same way. But aren’t drunk words sober thoughts? Statistics definitely agree they are.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the pounding headache. Then the dry mouth. Spencer had left a glass of water, painkillers and a bagel on the coffee table. You reach for the pill first, hoping that the faster you take it, the faster it kicks in. As you practically pour the water down your throat, you see a little note next to the bagel. 

“Paper work day at the office. Make sure to eat and drink lots of water. Will tell Hotch that you’ll be late/taking the day off. - Spencer”

Thoughtful as ever. The bagel was still warm so he must’ve left recently. It was strange that he’d left without waking you up like he normally does. Your first bite of the bread jolts the memories of the night before and it hits you harder than the headache. Your appetite faded and the remorse set in. 

Shit. 

You and Spencer have always been able to bounce back, but the damage you caused last night might be irreparable. Say Spencer does forget about it, can you? You always knew he couldn’t love you back, but you never imagined that he would forbid you to love him in the first place. As much as you didn’t want to face Spencer right now, work was the best place for you to be if you didn’t want to go mad thinking about last night. 

You’d have to change into appropriate work attire first, so a trip back to your place was warranted. The whole uber ride back to your apartment you think of things to say when you see him. Things didn’t need to change. You had to apologise, obviously, but there had to be some way of apologising while maintaining normalcy. The best start was getting him his coffee and scones like you usually did. 

Meanwhile at the office, Spencer was stuck on the same page of his file. It had never taken him more than a few seconds to turn a page, but he wasn’t actually reading the words. You took up every thought in his mind again. He wondered if you were awake yet, if you remembered the events of the night before. 

“You know if I wasn’t who I am, maybe you could love me the way I love you.”

When he initially heard you say it, all he heard was that you love him.

“You know if I wasn’t who I am, maybe you could love me the way I love you.”

When he said it out loud to himself all he wanted to do was tell you how much he does love you, but the chance was ripped away from him just as fast as it was given to him. Did you even care? Or was it just an insignificant event to you? It was a lot easier to accept that you could never love him the same way before he had a taste of what it would be like if you did. 

There was this moment, when your fingers were fiddling with his and you said those words, just a second where he experienced what it could be like. He can’t go back to how it was, not now that he knows how it could’ve been. In order to protect himself from unravelling completely he has to let you go. An impossible task, considering you work together. 

“I brought coffee.” Your expression is tentative. 

Spencer looks up to see you standing above him, holding his daily coffee and scones in hand. There are no traces of the night before to be seen on you. Your makeup is fresh and you’d clearly changed clothes. You looked perfectly angelic, as always. If it were any other day, your gesture would’ve made him feel like the most special person in the world. Today, it felt like the cruellest thing in the world. 

“Do you wanna come with me while I heat it up? Or should I just bring it back to you?” You prompt. 

“No.” He rises from his seat and pries it out from your hand. “I can do it. Thank you.” 

Before you comprehend what’s happened, Spencer’s walked away. You try to follow him to the kitchen, but when you get there he’s nowhere to be seen. This seems to be a trend for the next few days. You find some excuse to try for conversation and he shuts it down after about one sentence. That’s if you’re able to get close enough to him for that sentence. It’s becoming more and more obvious that he’s avoiding you. 

You decide to give him space after about a week of it, wishing everyday that you could go back in time and change things. Around the two week mark, he starts giving you the cold shoulder, not even so much as looking at you. He couldn’t look at you. It was taking everything in him to force himself away from you, but it was easier than being near you. You weren’t the only one who could feel this change in your dynamic, the team was just as confused.

They’d all tried to investigate the root of this shift, individually directing casual questions to both of you in conversations. You’d both just brushed it off, not wanting to be the burden of the topic. Spencer had been doing so well in keeping his distance, but eventually, Hotch made the decision that enough is enough.

The BAU was in Chicago this week, hunting down another unsub who thought he was too smart to get caught. This was one of those cases that would stick with you for a while, so tensions were already high amongst everyone. Nobody was more on edge than Spencer and now he was forced in a car with you, driving around the city, chasing leads. 

Rarely did he ever get behind the wheel, but he knew he would need any distraction he could get. Driving was supposed to mean he wouldn’t be stuck in the passenger seat, fighting the urge to stare at you. Now he was fighting the urge to stare at you from the driver's seat. He hated being in love. You were trying your best to stay silent and looking out the window at the passing buildings. 

“Are you hungry?” 

That’s the first time in a month that Spencer’s been the first one to speak. He tried not to. Like he tried not to pay attention to your routine. It wasn’t possible. No matter how hard he tried, there were just some things Spencer couldn’t not do in regards to you. The most important thing was that he couldn’t not care. 

He knew you hadn't been eating properly. You had a tendency to forget about your well-being during hard cases. You were probably hungry. Somebody had to take care of you because you most definitely weren’t going to. He was right. The thought of food made your stomach growl. It was wicked timing. 

“No, thank you.” You lie anyway, not wanting to inconvenience him further. 

“Why won’t you stop lying to me?” He mutters in annoyance. 

“Excuse me?” You scoff, turning to look at him. 

He doesn’t look away from the road, pretending to not have heard you. 

“Seriously?” You sputter. “You’re ignoring me now?”

You huff as you throw yourself back against your seat. He didn’t mean to ignore you, he just didn’t know what to say. 

“I don’t understand why you’re being like this.” You mumble. 

It was already daunting when he was barely acknowledging you, but refusing to acknowledge all together? When you were the only person next to him? That was just vicious. You knew you’d fucked up, but was this necessary? You had already spent so much of yourself trying to keep it together, being confined in this car with him would waste your efforts. 

“Pull over.” You say in the kindest way possible, which was immensely harsh. “Spencer Reid pull this damn car over or I swear to fucking God I am going to jump out of it.”

That definitely caught his attention. In all your time together, you had never spoken to him in that way. You had definitely never addressed him by his full name. He brings the car to a halt on the side of the curb and finally turns to face you. You push the door open and hop out, slamming it behind you. 

“What are yo-” Spencer starts, but you’re already walking away. He quickly gets out and follows behind you. It doesn’t take him long to catch up to you and he stops you by the arm when he realises saying your name won’t make you turn back around. 

“Don’t touch me!” You yank your arm out of his grip and keep walking. 

“Where are you going?!” 

“Anywhere you’re not.” 

He tries you by your name again, but when it fails again, he grabs you by the shoulders and spins you around. You hadn’t noticed that you’d walked into an alleyway. 

“Get back in the car.” He demands.

“I am not getting in a car with you.” You have never been this upset with him before. 

“You’re being childish!” He snaps, rolling his eyes.

“Oh I’m being childish?! Spencer, believe me when I say I mean this is the nicest way I possibly can right now – FUCK OFF!” You push his hands off you and take a step back, but he just grabs your wrist.

“Listen to me,” he urges, “there is a serial killer that’s kidnapping women in broad daylight, torturing them and murdering them. And he’s threatened each of us individually during the course of this investigation. You cannot just be walking around alone, in a city you hardly know.”

“Don’t explain the details of this case to me, I’m well aware.” You snarl, your irritation increasing tenfold.

“Then why are you being so difficult?!” He screeches.

“Why are you–fucking hell, I cannot keep doing this. I’m not getting in the car when you won’t talk to me. Hell, you won’t even so much as look at me!” 

“Fine! You wanna talk? We’ll talk! Just–get back in the car. Please.” He sighs in defeat. You still don’t budge, so he pleads softer. “Please.”

You take a deep breath and roll your eyes, stealing your wrist out of his grasp. Spencer doesn’t move until you do, both of you silently making your way to the car. 

You’re both silent initially, not knowing where exactly to go from here. There’s one thing you know for sure, you won’t be the first to speak. Spencer catches on to that fast. 

“What do you wanna talk about?” He snarls, shrugging his arms. 

“Cut the shit, I won’t get back in this car if I get out for a second time.” You’re not in the mood. The two of you had avoided this conversation for long enough, it was now or never. Some part of you wished for never. 

“Fine. Did you mean it?” He shoots, briskly. 

“What?” You didn’t know which part he meant. 

“That you love me specifically as an ‘amazing friend’, I believe was your wording.” His voice cracks and it causes a shift in his behaviour. He’s no longer hostile, just hurt. 

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” 

In your rush to get him talking, you hadn’t actually realised that you weren’t ready to talk about this. You were stalling. 

“Answering a question with a question.” 

This doesn’t feel like a conversation. More like an interrogation, except you’re the unsub. He scoffs bitterly at your silence. 

“Spencer, don’t–” 

“No, you’re the one who wanted to talk! You were so insistent, in fact, that you would have rather made yourself a serial killer’s target then get in a car with me if I didn’t talk to you. And all of a sudden you’re speechless?” He snaps at you. 

“Yes! I was the one who wanted to talk! I just– I can’t understand what I’ve done to make you hate me so much? Was it because I said I love you? Did it really upset you that much?” You were both shouting from frustration. 

“You think I’m upset because you love me?!” Spencer scoffs in disbelief. 

“Aren’t you?!” You bitterly laugh. 

Spencer rubs his temples and squeezes his eyes shut, mumbling some under his breath. He’s genuinely never been this frustrated in his life. 

“Are you being serious?” His voice strains in pitch, as he tries to keep himself a lot calmer than he feels. “Is this some sort of joke to you?”

“Some sort of joke–”

“Do not interrupt me again. You wanna run away from this? Fine. But you will listen because I will not have this conversation again.” His tone is sharp, like a blade being held against your throat. It definitely shuts you up.

“Talk. Okay, let’s talk about how I have spent the last four years watching you allow undeserving men to walk all over you, letting them treat you like you’re worth nothing. I damn near drove myself insane trying to figure out why. Why is it something you accept for yourself? And then I realised– that’s how you see yourself. You actually hate yourself so much that you’ve convinced yourself you deserve it! Do you realise how infuriating that is?!

Especially because it’s the furthest thing from the truth! Still, I watched you throw yourself into this vicious cycle over and over again. You gave yourself away to those idiots, knowing that they didn’t have good intentions, but you still hoped it would be different every time. I mean you’re a fucking profiler for God’s sake! How can you expect others to love you if you can’t even love yourself? 

That’s not even the worst part! You’re so desperate for their acceptance that you continuously neglect the acceptance you already have from the people who love you. People like Emily, Penelope, Derek– the team– people like– people like me. I mean I’ve always known that you didn’t love me as anything more than a friend, but your constant reminders feel like a punch to the gut! Is it that embarrassing for you to love me as anything more?

I’ve survived way worse things, but this is the cruellest thing I’ve ever been through. Because it’s coming from you! I just never expected it’d be from you.” He’s practically hyperventilating for air by the time his speech comes to a stop, the vein in his forehead more prominent than usual.

Your jaw is tense and restless, twitching from anger. Some part of you still wants to keep this friendship. The louder part knows that there’s no going back from this. You’re not entirely sure you want to go back. Your entire body is shaking from rage. The first rule of your friendship was no profiling. Not only did he break that rule, he used the profile against you as if you actually were an unsub he was interrogating. 

“That’s not fair”

His eye twitches at your response. 

“Not? Fair?” Spencer grumbles in pauses.

“No, that's not fair!” You cry out. “It’s your turn to listen.”

It doesn’t feel like there’s any oxygen left to breathe in the car.

“Self loathing? Spencer, that's your projection! You love too hard and nobody’s ever loved you back the same way. But just because you lack things you want in your life doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me! And all this talk about love, but none of it makes any sense. You think I’m embarrassed of loving you? Is that how shallow you think I am?! You’re the one who told me that I can’t love you. God, you are the most duplicitous person I’ve ever met! I can’t believe I didn’t see it. You’ve been giving me the cold shoulder because I love you as an ‘amazing friend’? Because you love me and you think I’ve been neglecting you?!”

You had never spoken to anyone this way in your life. There was so much truth to Spencer’s words, but he had no right. He’d touched every nerve in your body without ever laying a hand on you. Up until roughly twenty minutes ago, being seen by Spencer was your favourite thing in the entire world. Now? You’d never hated the feeling more in your life. 

Spencer squeezes his hand into a fist, knuckles going white and releases his fingers like if he were aggressively squishing a stress ball. If asked about a month ago, he would never in a million years think that your friendship would manage to dissipate in just a few seconds. He didn’t think he could associate the word love with you anymore.

“Let’s get one thing straight. I do not love you. I do not love anything about you. Actually, I hate you. I hate how sweet you pretend to be. I hate the stupid morning coffee you bring me, nothing tastes more bitter. I hate to admit this but you’re right; everything about you is a brutal reminder of all the good things I can never have and I despise you for it.” He spits his words out with extreme tension in his blood vessels. 

“I can’t say I’ve known what it feels like to truly loathe someone before I met you.” You fire back, breathlessly, not having it in you to spare any more words for him. 

You’re not exactly sure how long the two of you have been sitting there just glaring at each other. Only when Spencer’s phone rings do you two look away. 

“Reid.” He answers the call. “Yea, she’s still here. We’re on our way back now.”

The ride back to the precinct was silent. Even as you regrouped with the rest of the team, you acknowledged everybody but each other. The team was instantly alert to the change, but no one mentioned it at the time because of the high stress of the case. You wrapped the case up a few days later and only then did the questions start making their way around. 

“Is everything okay between you two?”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“What happened between you and Reid?”

“What’s up with Boy Wonder over there?”

You didn’t entertain any of them, Spencer had taken up enough time in your life. You refused to talk about him, look at him or acknowledge him at all. He shared that same incentive. Another three weeks passed as the team watched what was once the closest duo in the BAU, pretend that their counterpart didn’t exist. 

If one of you was in a room and noticed the other enter, you’d walk out without drawing attention to the situation. When leaving the room was not an option, you either went as far in the opposite corner of the room as you could or you’d simply pretend the other wasn’t present just a few metres away. You wouldn’t discuss intel with each other about cases, sharing your findings with anybody else. 

Since Chicago, Hotch only assigned you with Spencer once more, but quickly realised that wasn’t going to help when both of you begged to be assigned with someone else privately. If you were in a discussion with someone and they started talking about Spencer, you’d tune out entirely. After a while the hating game got exhausting.

Spencer hated pretending that he hated you. He felt an immense amount of guilt for the things he’d said, but it was too late to take it back. He thought it would be easier to deal with his feelings if he wasn’t around you all the time, but it was just as difficult as before. You still lit up the dull grey rooms of the building. The only difference was that now he had to watch you shine from afar. 

In truth, you didn’t hate Spencer either. What you actually hated was that you didn’t hate Spencer. You still caught yourself staring at him for long periods of time. There were days when you’d go to his favourite coffee shop before work and buy his order, only to give it away to somebody on the street because you didn’t want to ruin Spencer’s day with the bitterness of your coffee. 

By the fifth week since you had gotten back from Chicago, you and Spencer were no longer ignoring each other as much. You’d gotten into a routine of professionalism for the sake of the team, only talking to each other about cases when necessary. That didn’t stop you from subconsciously showing subtle gestures of love. These were a lot quieter than the gestures you showed when you were friends. 

You’d make sure that there was always a fresh pot of coffee in the office kitchen, so Spencer would have it ready to drink whenever he needed. He’d make sure that the snack cupboard was always filled with your favourite snacks because he knew you liked having something to munch on when catching up on paperwork. You’d keep extra painkillers in Garcia’s lair knowing Spencer would retreat there when a migraine hit.

He’d ensure the aircon was always set to room temperature, you get uncomfortable if the room was too cold. Both of you were aware of the little gestures too, no one else knew your truly niche preferences. Neither of you was brave enough to actually go up to the other, though. It was all too much for you. No matter what was said, he was still your thoughtful Spencer deep down and it killed you.

You’d tried to talk to Spencer a few times, building up the courage for days in advance. As soon as he noticed you heading in his direction, he nearly bolted in the other direction. His avoidance didn’t end at the office. You recently became aware that Penelope had been scheduling rosters to invite you and Spencer to outings, trying to ensure you were present for equal amounts of time. 

You were chilling at her desk in wait for her, when you noticed a little note with your name next to a date and time. Under that was Spencer’s name with a separate date and time. 

“Hey! What are you doing here?” She greets you.

“I needed to talk to you…Penelope what is this?” You hold up the little pink sticky note.

Penelope sets her octopus mug down and takes the note from your hand. 

“This? This is nothing.” She fumbles a bit as she speaks.

“Garcia?” You purposefully speak with warning.

“Okay! Okay! But you didn’t hear it from me! We’ve kinda been taking turns hanging out with you and Spencer sometimes. But it’s because we love you and don’t want to make either of you-” She starts a panicked tangent.

“Garcia!” You interrupt her before she sends herself into a spiral. “There’s no need to do all of this. Yes Spencer and I aren’t close anymore, but you guys don’t need to go out of your way for us.”

“Well..” She grits her teeth and tilts her head.

“What?” 

“We didn’t really mean to. It’s just we noticed that Spencer would never come if you were going. And both of you just straight up refuse to talk about it, so this was the best we could come up with.” 

“Oh. Penny, I’m sorry that you guys have had to do that.” That was all you could say, your head hanging in guilt.

“Can you at least tell me why you won’t talk about it? I mean it makes sense for Boy Wonder, he’s always been stubbornly private, but you’ve never not told me anything!” 

You look towards Garcia again, thinking for a minute. You didn’t know exactly why you refused to talk about it. 

“I don’t know, honestly. I just don’t want to talk about it, if that makes sense?” You pull your friend in for a hug as an apology. 

You felt awful leaving her lair without giving her a proper answer or a resolution. It didn’t matter how professional you acted, this rift would always impact your friends and your work life. 

Spencer would always impact everything in your life. 

The guilt didn’t spare you that night, creeping its way to the forefront of your mind every few minutes. It had been four months since your last fight. It was the longest you’d gone without Spencer. This had to end for the sake of the team. That was how you found yourself standing at his door once again. After a few minutes you finally knock. You didn’t know what you were going to say, honestly you just wanted to run before he answered. You hear the locks being undone, but it’s not Spencer who answers when that door finally swings open.

“Yes?” 

It’s a woman, one you've never seen before. You’re taken aback and look around to make sure you got the right apartment. This was definitely Spencer’s apartment, you’d been here a hundred times before. And some woman was answering his door for him. Some very beautiful woman. 

“Can I help you?” She follows up, looking you up and down. 

“Hi, yeah, sorry, is–um– is Spencer here?”

“Who’s asking?” She’s definitely not very friendly. 

“We work together. Is he here or not?” You didn’t have the patience for this, annoyance seeping through your pores. 

“Who’s at the door?” His voice emerges from behind her and he finally shows up. “Oh.”

“Hey.” You glance away as soon as you see him. 

“Could you give me a minute?” He turns to the woman. She flashes a sickly sweet smile and kisses his cheek before disappearing inside. Spencer shuffles out to the corridor, closing the door behind him.

“That–uh–that was–” He stops himself, clearing his throat and switching to his professional voice. “What are you doing here?”

Cold.

“I was hoping we could talk.” You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to play off what you just saw. 

“What more is there to say?” 

“About the team. I came over to, um, apologise and maybe move past things for the sake of the team.” You were looking everywhere but at him. 

“Honestly?” His eyes are on you though. “I don’t care. And even if I did, I don’t want to hear it.” 

He starts to walk away, but turns back and mentions your name like it’s the most vile word in the dictionary. “Please don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.” 

With that he re-enters his apartment, leaving you standing in the hallway. It’s hard to imagine that this man was once your best friend. If you didn’t know about all the good times, you wouldn’t have believed it. Every tear that your body could ever produce streamed out of you for the rest of the night. Once you had made it back to your apartment, they broke out in sobs. In your line of work, you had survived being shot at, almost blown up and even a kidnapping once.

The man you loved with every fibre of your being looking at you like you were less than filth under a person's shoes was your breaking point. There was no way you were going to face him again. You needed to forget about Spencer Reid, which meant a fresh start. This city was a constant reminder of his essence, you couldn’t stay. You plopped down on your bed with your work bag, reaching into it for your work computer. Hands twitching as you type. 

You remember being so proud when David Rossi recommended you for the FBI’s Behavioural Analysis Unit. You were even more ecstatic when Hotch actually requested your transfer there. You had worked your ass off for it. It was there that you met the infamous Doctor Reid. He was much different than how you had imagined him. He was so charming, friendly and so down to earth, not liking him wasn’t an option. The two of you had so much in common, despite being so different, it was the foundation for your friendship. His caring nature pulled you in further, you soon found yourself deeply in love with him. 

Tears flooded your keyboard as all your memories with him flash through your brain. His friendship was a beautiful bonus of the job you once loved, you never thought that he would become the reason you’d leave it. Yet here you were, furiously drafting your resignation to Agent Hotchner. There were so many signals in your brain telling you to back off, to open a bottle of wine and drown your sorrows instead, but your heart didn’t feel like that would be enough. Your love for your job didn’t outweigh your desire to run.

Spencer Reid was your best friend and being in love with him is an excruciating torture. One that you can no longer endure. You had never been more sure of anything as you are at this moment and you weren’t going to give yourself time to change your mind. Your time with Spencer and, as a consequence, your time at the BAU had come to an end. Another memory flashes through your mind as you sign the letter off with your name. A case in Boston had gone wrong and you were really hung up on it. Spencer, in an attempt to help you move on, shared a quote with an author he had recently read. You bitterly chuckle to yourself at this recall and press send with no second thought.

 “Getting over a painful experience is much like crossing monkey bars. You have to let go at some point in order to move forward.” - C.S. Lewis.

Spoilers: BAU! Reader, friends to enemies, mutual pining, hurt, angst no comfort, whump (maybe idk), Reader & Spencer are both idiots, they should probably consider therapy actually, Spencer is a sassy little shit, but really just needs a hug and a class on communication. 

AN - You’ve heard of enemies to lovers/friends, now I present to you the exact same thing in reverse (been done time and time again, I’m not in any way original <3). You can blame Ariana Grande for this one. Sorry that I haven't posted, I've had insane writers block. I might be slightly incapable of shorter word counts, I’ll try to improve that.  I apologise for grammar/anything that does not make sense, I am both an idiot and also was dealing with a bad case of the flu when I wrote this. I’d like to thank @reidmotif for curing my writer's block and inspiring me on the second half of this fic. Thank you @starstruckbambi for proof reading this.

Drop thoughts & feelings so I can ponder on them. Always remember that I’m in your walls. 

Thank you for reading!

[chuluoyi]

✎ stupid liar

- gojo satoru x reader

no way. impossible. you couldn't possibly be jealous of gravure idol gojo likes so much now... or could you?

genre: jealous!reader vs slightly jealous!gojo, crack, and obviously, fluff !!

note: based on this post :))

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

"Look, Suguru~ Isn't she pretty?"

Your eye twitched at the sing-song voice, lips twisting into a scowl as you glanced at him from the corner of your twitching eye.

No. You don't care. Not in the slightest.

You stabbed your fork into your cheesecake with more fervor than necessary though.

"Eh?"

"Inoue Waka!" Satoru exclaimed with an enthusiasm that felt almost too bright. "This is her in her newest issue!"

‘Newest issue’ being a bikini special, with the said model lay sprawled in the most revealing piece possible. That indecent photo had also become the wallpaper and lockscreen on your boyfriend's phone, and he shamelessly showed it off with pride.

You steeled yourself. Again. No. It's not a big deal. You weren't jealous, especially not over some... heavily-altered picture of a porn actress!

"Ahh, she does look nice..."

You attacked your now-mutilated cheesecake again, feeling your mood plummet further after hearing Suguru's response. Now you were convinced, all men are dogs!

"—but not exactly my type," he added quickly, his gaze darting towards you. His interest lay more in your reaction, which was why he stirred the pot further: "Is she your type, Satoru?"

Your boyfriend, whether oblivious or intentional, erupted into giddy laughter like a kid. "Ehh... why of course!"

His enthusiastic agreement seemed to echo louder in your ears than it probably should have. The cheesecake, once a treat, now felt like lead in your mouth.

That's it. One more time and—

But then, Suguru's voice cut through your irritated thoughts again, clearly amused. "Well, but I've always thought real beauty lies not just in appearances but in strength of character. Wouldn't you agree, Satoru?"

You knew it, Suguru was indeed the best. You dared to glance up from your plate, curious about your cocky little clown’s response. But you really shouldn't, because Satoru, the absolute cretin he was—

"Why are you getting philosophical all of sudden?" he sullenly grumbled. "Important thing is if she's hot, then she is hot." You could have sworn he briefly side-eyed you before saying, "And no one is hotter than Inoue Waka."

Stupid. Idiot. Insufferable.

Standing up, your patience dissipated into thin air. Your brisk pace made Shoko, who was beside Suguru, to quirk an eyebrow. "Oh, leaving already?"

"I'm going back. Have a practice."

"Ehh? You didn't say?" only now did your shameless boyfriend turned to you fully. "It's still break time—"

"Nanami is waiting for me, goodbye."

You didn't look back even once, too annoyed to notice that Satoru was gawking at your words.

Satoru couldn't believe this. You ignored him. You actually did… in favor of Nanami!

He was starring daggers at how the two of you conversing so amiably across the hall. You were his girlfriend already, but he could barely able to make you look as sweet as you were with Nanami just now. You were always prickly with him!

Okay, but rest assured—with Suguru he may have doubts, but with Nanami, he was convinced he outshone him by a wide margin, perhaps even ten or twenty times over!

"Why are you sparring with him?" he was sulking when he caught you on the way back to the dorms after school. "Why not Haibara instead?"

You scoffed. "And why do you idolize Inoue Waka and not Yuzuki Tina?"

Oh, so that's what this is about. Suddenly, he didn't feel as miffed as a stupid grin split his face. "Ooh, you're looking into gravure idols too?"

"..."

"Heh, if you're doing it for research purpose, that's totally okay~"

"..."

"Pfft, you're so jealous it's so great to watch—"

You halted abruptly, your annoyance now at its peak. Facing your infuriating boyfriend, you leveled a piercing glare at him that caught him off-guard. "Gojo, from today onwards, we're having a ban."

"Whoa, hey—"

"—and in the meantime, you can print Inoue Waka out of your phone, hang her in your dorm and kiss your wall instead—"

"Just a minute!" Satoru interjected, eyes rounded with slight alarm. "Don't be too hasty!"

He looked at you, really looked at you, and saw that you were actually upset.

A twinge of... what is it? Some kind of guilt, he supposed, pricked his chest. He didn't like seeing you like this, especially knowing he had played a part in it. You should be smiling sweetly and catching his heart with it, not frowning like this.

"Hey," he started, his voice softening as a small, sincere smile crept onto his face. You continued to look away, a stubborn pout fixed on your lips. Darn it, how did you manage to look cute while angry too?

"Look at me, I'm all yours, okay?"

That got you to shoot him a sharp glance, and boohoo!—the ice in your heart thawed slightly as you met his smile, which soon evolved into a toothy grin.

But then, in one swift strike, he pulled his phone out and took a snap of your very-not-ready face.

"Satoru!" you screamed in panic, trying to climb over him to pluck his phone. "No! Delete that!"

"Ah ah," he crisply snickers, raising his hand with the phone high above where you couldn't reach. After pressing a few buttons, he triumphantly showed you his phone screen, now displaying your flop picture in all of its glory.

"That's seriously awful!" you grimaced, a look of horror in your face. "Satoru, for real—"

“You’re adorable,” he countered almost immediately, his smile wide and unabashed—the very winning smile that won your heart. “My girl is cute as heck and you know what the best part is? She’s mine.”

. . .

—okay, you were now positively melting. This was irritating, how can you forgive him this easily?

You huffed, raising your chin high to cover the very sizzling heat in your cheeks. "Hmph. Keep that photo then. But I'm still sparring with Nanami though."

"Mm-hmm, whatever. I hope his foul hairstyle won't affect you—"

"Don't badmouth him! Wait, don't tell me... you feel threatened by him?"

"Wha? Why would I!? I have the better face, better wallet—!"

Together, you walked back to the dorms, the evening air somehow felt lighter around you. Satoru's hand found yours along the way, and the two of you kept up a playful banter, followed by shared giggles afterwards.

. . .

What you didn't realize, however, was that there was another reason behind Satoru's happy laughter... his secret little mission had been a smashing success~

Epilogue

“I put too much faith in Y/N. I’m disappointed.”

“We are paying Gojo, damn it.”

Suguru and Shoko let out collective sighs, looking at the two of you. They witnessed your little outburst and that sealed everything.

You used to not give in to so easily. Unfortunately now, you were whipped for that idiot too, enough to get jealous over him.

As Suguru opened his wallet, a realization struck. “Shoko, now that I think about it… why am I always losing these bets?”

“You could just suck… or maybe," she glances him over before letting out a snort. "Your bangs just bring bad luck?”

[nanpecan]

₊✩‧₊˚once more to see you˚₊✩‧₊

{nanami x f!reader}

˚₊✩‧₊summary: You're a manager at Jujutsu Kaisen and happen to get assigned to driving a rank 1 sorcerer you've had a crush on for a while. Everything seems to be going as normal until an interaction with a curse leaves him a little hot and bothered.

˚₊✩‧₊tags: nanami x fem!reader, explicit smut (mdni) !!

˚₊✩‧₊ word count: 5.6k

˚₊✩‧₊author's note: this has been in my head for so long and I guess its part one to a longer story but who knows if I'll ever get around to writing it, yet alone posting it. anyways first time, kinda nervous; this is super self indulgent and i'm not even sorry about it.

˚₊✩‧₊this is also kind of inspired by this Mitski song, hence the title. I love this song, I think it's very Nanami coded<3

˚₊✩‧₊all parts here! pt 2. pt 3. pt 4. pt 5. pt 6.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

An obsession. 

That’s what it was. 

A rush of emotion when you caught even the smallest glance of him. 

Always in a hurry. 

Always somewhere to be. 

Never paying any mind to you. 

This lifestyle was a rushed one and you hardly ever found time for yourself, but your mind always seemed to have a second to wonder about him. 

Was he safe? Was he injured?

You had heard about him through others. 

You had really only seen him in action from a distance, once, and very briefly. But that had been enough to develop this stupid crush. 

You were a busy body, nothing but a cushion to the real missions of importance. 

You had come to accept that you would never really matter past making it from point A to point B, with whatever message you had to deliver, or whoever you had to transport for the day. 

You were secretly content with the position. You had started because you wanted to make a difference. 

But you knew you were a coward. 

You had the spirit but lacked the physical strength to back it. And that made you afraid. 

“Nanami Kento.” 

Your hand stopped mid air as you reached for your phone. 

“I’m sorry?” You must have misheard. 

“You owe me one.” Akari said with a smirk. The head manager had been one of your closest friends since you had begun working as an assistant. You had similar pasts and were around the same age, so you had instantly clicked. She was very much aware of your infatuation even if you hadn’t directly expressed it. She could see right through you every time you tried to feign indifference whenever the topic of Nanami was brought up. 

“Nanami needs transportation to his next mission. He usually goes on his own, but the client insisted he gets driven to this location specifically.”  There was something suspicious about that last statement, but you dismissed it as she kept talking.  “Ijichi is busy dealing with something so it was passed down to me.” She smiled again and shrugged. “But I have some very important business to take care of so I’m passing it on to someone I trust is more than qualified to drive a sorcerer of his class.”  She winked at you. “Don’t worry about the briefing he’s been sent all the information. All you have to do is drive him there and back.” 

You looked down at your phone and tried to act nonchalant. Until you saw the details. “Today?” 

She nodded. “Sorry for the last minute switch up, I figured you’d get in your own head if you had too much time to think about it. Make a good first impression. I’m rooting for you!” She gave you two thumbs up and laughed. 

You tapped your finger against the wheel nervously. You had never been more nervous to drive. It’s okay, you thought to yourself, nothing is going to happen, I doubt he’ll even speak to me. He’s not much of a talker, and besides, he always carries around a newspaper or a book. He won’t be paying attention to me. Just focus on-

You flinched as you heard the passenger door open. You had expected him to sit behind you. 

You felt your stomach drop as Nanami was suddenly next to you. It was almost overwhelming, his size, his smell, his warmth. 

You stared ahead awkwardly and felt his gaze on you. You turned to look at him trying not to seem too flustered. 

“Ah, good afternoon.” You smiled warmly at him. “Um, I’m y/n.” You said. 

He nodded and didn’t say anything back. 

“Right, it should take us around 36 minutes to get to your location.” 

He nodded again, his glasses turning to his watch. He suddenly looked up and stared ahead, as to signal that he was ready to head out.

This was so awkward. It was kind of making it easier to be around him. You didn’t know what else you expected. You’d actually preferred the silence rather than trying to carry a conversation with him. At least that’s what you were telling yourself. 

“Feel free to mess with the radio. I don’t have any preferences.” 

“I prefer to sit in silence before missions.” His voice sent a chill up your spine. Wait a minute, in silence? Weird. You thought to yourself. “Is that okay?” 

“Yes, that’s fine too.” Really weird. Most sorcerers would listen to something to amp them up before a mission. For Kusabe that was smooth Jazz, Yuki would put on 80’s Japanese Rock Classics, Ino would put on Ska and you couldn’t help but laugh the first time he requested it. You smirked at the memory and felt his eyes on you again. You dropped the smile and clenched your jaw. “Alright, we’ll be off then.” He hadn’t stopped staring. You quickly turned to look at him and smiled warmly. He turned away, seeming flustered. You quickly made a note of his reaction and you felt your stomach flutter a bit. You let your eyes linger on him for a bit longer, as he tugged at an invisible string on his suit, before turning away and driving off. 

-

You arrived at your location and looked up at the old building. You bit your lip to hold back a laugh. The crooked neon sign over the door was no longer lit up but you could still read out what it said, ‘Paradise X Massage.’ You curiously looked over to see Nanami’s reaction. As usual, he was stoic. 

He has to know what that means, right? You went around the car to stand next to him and the moment you took a step closer you felt the aura of the building. A shiver went up your spine and your stomach felt tingly. You couldn’t help but smile. A curse born from a place of sex was bound to have this kind of aura. 

Things started to click. Of course Nanami was the best sorcerer for the job. He would take this very seriously. You doubted he ever let his emotions get ahead of him. You thought back to a story Ijichi had told you a long time ago about a group of male sorcerers that had been sent to exorcise a type of Kejoro, only for them to return unsuccessful, unable to carry out the mission, as well as being hot and bothered for a week. 

You felt Nanami’s eyes on you again. You looked at him before turning back at the sign and scrunching your face. “Nanami, I wouldn’t have taken you for this type of man, but don’t worry I won’t tell.” You winked at him and cringed at your stupid joke. You didn’t know him like that. He probably thought you were insane. 

“Thank you, I try not to make it a habit.” He said back with a small smile. 

You looked at him a little surprised and laughed. 

“There you are, hello!” A sweaty man with beady eyes came your way and beelined to Nanami. “My name is Gonji, I was the one who sent for you.” He glanced at your direction before turning his back to you to speak with Nanami. You blinked and grimaced. “I bought this location five months ago, I should have known there was something wrong for the price I paid, but hey! That’s business! I’m planning on fixing her up and turning it into a real refined establishment if you know what I mean. I already have the clientele, and the girls but this damn thing keeps scaring the girls away and-“ he whispered the next words. “-killed three of my guys. But hey, that’s business!” He laughed nervously. He was talking a mile a minute, becoming more and more sweaty. The air had to be getting to him. “Anyway I’ve already called a bunch of weirdos to go in there and kill the damn thing but they were all useless. Scammers all of them.” He spat at the ground. “Hey if ya help me out, I’m sure we can work out some sort of discount for you once we’re up and running. What do you say, your choice of girl-“ 

“Has it taken any hostages?” Nanami cut him off. 

“No it only scares off the girls, but lets them out. The men on the other hand…If they do manage to make it out they act like wild animals. I have to keep them away from my girls.” He laughed and then erupted into a coughing fit. “That’s why I recommend you bring a driver. Even if you do kill this thing, the tent in your pants won’t let you focus on anything else for another two hours.” He cackled and elbowed Nanami in a playful manner. Nanami’s jaw clenched and he stared down at the man. Gonji didn’t seem to notice. He finally turned towards you. “Well at least you brought yourself a cute mouse to play with if it gets to be too much.” You couldn’t hide the look of disgust on your face when he finally looked at you. “Hey there little lady, a smile might help.” He rolled his eyes and turned back to Nanami. “Women these days. Can’t take a joke.” He tried elbowing Nanami again and was stopped by Nanami’s large hand grabbing his forearm. 

“We’ll get started. Did you want to go inside with me?” Nanami asked the man. 

Gonji pulled his arm out of Nanami’s grasp and swore at him under his breath. “No, I’m taking off. I have places to go, people to see, although I’d pay god knows what to see that bitch’s blood spilled on the floor.” He looked around and picked up a rock before weakly throwing it at the sign. He missed, it didn’t even hit the wall. He messed with his jacket, embarrassed. “I’ll be leaving now. I’ll send the payment tomorrow when I come and see the place again.” He waddled off. 

“What a fucking dickhead.” You said. “We shouldn’t even exorcise this curse. He shouldn’t be allowed to run a place like that. I’m willing to bet-“ 

“Will you put up the barrier?” You turned back to Nanami and nodded before muttering the incantation. Nanami awkwardly placed a hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.” He turned towards the barrier. “For the record I agree. Scum like him are a scourge to society and should be dealt with accordingly. For now let’s bring this curse some peace.”

“Let’s.” You said in agreement. You watched him disappear into the veil.  

-

You leaned back against the car and checked the time on your watch. He had been gone for 20 minutes now. You sighed. Was it an insult to worry about him? He was one of the best - in your heavily biased opinion. 

   You heard your phone ding from inside the car as you received a message and you quickly went around to check it.  

    -So when’s the wedding? 

Akari was checking in on you. 

   -answer me this, what does it mean when someone doesn’t want to listen to any music on a 30 minute drive. 

   -No music? Like at all?     -none.    -weird. 

   -that’s what I was thinking! he must be fighting demons in his head.     -or he just wanted to savor every minute with you<3     -shut up.     -how’s it going anyway?     -don’t you have “important” business to take care of?     -:p boooo     -it’s fine, it’s some sort of sex cu-

You jumped as the back passenger door to your right was suddenly being opened. You felt the car shake as Nanami collapsed into the seats.  

“Shit, Nanami? Are you okay.” You should have been out there to greet him. You exited out of the car and dropped the veil. The building was a pile of rubble. You made your way around the car and yanked open the door. 

You felt blood rush to your face and your jaw dropped as you looked at what lay in front of you. 

Nanami had taken off his suit jacket, and was no longer wearing his glasses. He was suddenly desperately undoing his tie and fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, all the while breathing heavily. He turned away from you as you looked in.  

“What’s wrong, are you injured? How can I help?” Your face felt hot as you watched him struggle with his clothes. You hesitated to move forward, unsure what to do. 

He moved around a bit more, still struggling with his shirt, and you got a better look at him. His face was flush red and there was a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. He was panting, basically gasping for air. You stared at him feeling a burning in your chest as your heart beat in your ears. 

You snapped out of your trance, this was not the time. He might be hurt. He had backed up enough to be leaning on the opposite car door so you moved forward and let the door shut behind you. “Let me help you with that.” You said softly, moving your hands closer to help him with the buttons. “Are you hurt?” You asked as he let out a soft grunt. “Let me take a look.” His hands fell to his side and you noticed he was gripping the seats. He winced away from your touch, hissing as your knee touched his thigh. 

You froze. Your hands still on his shirt. He shuddered away from you but you felt him move his thigh forward, slightly, to touch your knee again. He let out a deep exhale and a muffled grunt. He repeated the movement again and again. You stayed there staring at him, face burning as you realized he was basically humping you. His breaths got faster and you felt the ghost of his hand on your back slowly pulling you closer. His inner thigh was now pushing into your knee repeatedly and you felt him slightly buckle his hips as his hand finally landed on your neck and pulled you forward. Your hands, still on his shirt buttons, pushed lightly against his chest and your head fell into the space above his shoulder, cheeks now next to each other. He pushed hard against your knee one more time and then you heard him moan deeply into your ear. 

“Fuck.” You heard him mutter. His voice was full of frustration. “Fuck.” He said again. 

You slowly pulled back, looking at him, completely in shock. He wasn’t meeting your gaze. He just kept muttering “fuck” and “sorry” under his breath. 

You looked down and once again felt blood rush to your face as you realized what had happened. 

Since his body was leaned back against the door, you had crawled closer to him and were now on your knees between his legs. You guessed at some point he had managed to undo his belt, the button to his trousers, and pulled down the zipper because you were staring at his erection through the fabric of his underwear. It was soaked. 

You quickly pulled back away from him, somewhat losing your balance and placing your hands back down to steady yourself. Nanami lurched up as you placed your hands on his thighs and you watched as he came again. This time seeing the white liquid bleed through the fabric and drip down. 

“I- I am so sorry.” You said quickly and started to back away. You needed to leave him alone. One of his hands grabbed onto your arm keeping you in place. You looked at him confused. 

“No, stop,” he said, panting. “I’m sorry,” he said, finally looking into your eyes. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I apologize. This is bad. I can't control-“ he squeezed your arm a little as his eyes shut and his brows knit together. “I need...” he looked into your eyes and slowly moved closer to you. His face was inches away and you felt the warmth radiating off of him. He looked directly at you now and seemed to be looking for some sort of sign. His eyes were beautiful. You realized this was the first time you had seen them. “Please…” You continued to stare at him, in shock. He wriggled beneath you and let out a soft moan. “I need you.” 

You understood. 

You quickly moved closer to him, crashing your lips into his. He moaned into your mouth and desperately pressed his lips to yours. You pushed your tongue through his closed lips and he slightly opened his mouth meeting you with his own tongue. You let him slither his in yours before closing your mouth and tugging at his lips slightly. When you finally pulled back you were both panting heavily, a string of saliva connecting you. You looked down and saw he had come again. 

“Y/N, please,” he took your hand and pulled it towards him. “I want…” you looked at him and smirked. Your eyes wandered down as he groaned again. 

“What do you want?” You said mischievously. You looked back up. 

“Please.” You had intended to tease him, but he looked so distraught and frazzled, you felt it would be too mean spirited. You nodded and let his hand guide you to his pants. You laid your hand down gently over him and felt him twitch underneath you. He groaned and you felt your face burn up again. This was happening. 

“I’ll-I’ll help you out, don’t worry.” You said nervously. You pressed down and his hips jutted into your hand. Your chest felt fluttery as your eyes were glued down to your hand and his member twitching beneath it. You smiled a little and clenched your thighs together. Focus. You were all talk. You tried to hide your nerves as you slowly wrapped your fingers around his clothed cock. He tried to suppress a moan as he shuddered underneath you. You watched the discoloration in his underwear spread as more fluid leaked out. “Wow.” 

He suddenly pulled your face closer to him and kissed you. He was desperate for contact, moaning into your mouth as he used his free hand to pull down the band of his underwear and you gasped as you felt his hot skin in your hand. 

You opened your eyes to try to sneak a peek but his right hand was buried in your hair, keeping you in place to make out with him. You kept your fingers together and wrapped around him as he thrust his hips forward, sliding between your curled fingers easily. He tugged at your bottom lip with his teeth as you felt him wrap a hand around yours, guiding you to stroke him. His breath shuddered at the feeling and he pulled you closer again. You moved your free hand to steady yourself as you leaned over him. 

He looked up at you and you saw fire burning in his eyes. He suddenly moved your hand away from his dick and placed his hands on your hips lifting you slightly so he could readjust himself under you. You were straddling him. He watched you carefully as he gently rocked his hips up between your legs and moved his hands up to go under your shirt. He waited patiently for your approval. You nodded and his hands slithered up your shirt to cup your breasts. You gasped as he roughly kneaded you and you started to undo the buttons on your shirt. Nanami decided you weren’t fast enough and ripped the shirt off of you. You didn’t have time to process past the sound of fabric ripping because he sat up and kissed you again. 

His hands moved impatiently all over your body as he pulled you closer. He was rough, but not in an aggressive way, he was impatient. You suddenly felt his fingers work their way into the waistband of your pants and you moved your hands to stop him. He looked up at you and stopped moving. He stared silently, still breathing heavily. “Would you like me… to stop?” He asked. 

You looked down at him and took a moment to assess the situation. Nanami was half naked laying under you. His shirt was now off revealing his toned chest and abdomen. You finally looked down and saw his dick. Wide and long, the bright red tip was leaning right and radiating heat. Your mouth watered. And you lightly moved your hips forward to feel it push against your core. 

“Is there a problem?” He asked. 

You hesitated to answer him. How embarrassing, you thought to yourself, this is probably going to hurt. Would he stop if you told him you were a virgin? Maybe it would be for the best. You could feel yourself soaking through your underwear, but would that be enough? He was big. You looked back up at him and opened your mouth to speak. You met his eyes and you blushed. His hair was tousled, skin pink and flush and of course he was breathing deeply. You noticed something on the side of his neck. A cut. It was a puncture wound, no bigger than your pinky nail, but it looked deep. 

“You’re injured.” You put your hand up to it and carefully examined it. It was emoting cursed energy and everything clicked. He might have defeated the curse in the building but she had gotten a good lick in. You put your hand over it to heal him. 

You weren’t good at much, but your ability to use a tiny amount of RCT had been your saving grace. Not that you were very good at it. You could really only handle superficial wounds like this one. 

Suddenly his hand grabbed your wrist and pulled it away. “Later,” he said. You stared at him confused. “I want to finish you first.” His hips thrust upwards against your pants and you couldn’t help but smile. You nodded and brought your hands down to undo the button to your pants. Nanami hissed under you as you shifted your weight around trying to pull your pants down. You were able to get one leg out and began pulling them down the other when he grabbed you quickly and settled you on top of him again. He looked up at you and you watched his eyes move down to take in your body. “Are you ready?”

You looked back at him nervously. “I-you’re so big.” You were too embarrassed to tell him it was your first time. He sat up and was suddenly inches from your face. 

He smiled coyly and nodded. “It’s okay, I can help you.” You felt one of his hands grip your waist and the other moved down to rub your clit. Your breath shuddered and you automatically buckled your hips against his hand. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders for support. He smiled wider, amused. His fingers moved lower and he slid them between your folds to collect your arousal. You were breathing heavily, your face buried into his chest. You felt him slip a finger inside of you, slowly, you felt him push up against you as far as he could go before there was a slight pop. 

A moan escaped your lips as he pushed his finger deeper. “Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re so tight.” You felt him drag his finger out, “I’m adding another one, okay?” You nodded lost in bliss. You bit your lip as you felt his fingers stretch you out again, this time sliding in a bit easier. His hands were large and his fingers long, but you knew this was easy to take compared to the real thing. Your ability to think was damped as he sped up his thrusts and his other hand slid down to rub your clit again with his thumb. You gasped and felt yourself clench onto him. You moved your hips forward desperate to feel friction. You were panting wildly and felt yourself getting close. You moved your arm down and wrapped a hand around his cock. Roughly stroking it, to repay the favor. 

“Wait-I’m close, I-I want you inside of me.” You whispered into his ear. You could feel his heartbeat quicken as his lips crashed down on yours again. 

“Whatever you want.” He said. He removed his fingers and you winced at the new empty feeling. Still rubbing your clit with one hand, he moved his now free hand to stop your strokes and guided himself between your legs. He thrust slowly against your folds running his cock between your thighs and your mound and you buckled your hips against him.

You smiled happily. Even if you couldn’t take him, you’re sure you could come from just this. He suddenly stopped and pulled back, you looked down at his cock now gleaming, covered in your fluids. He lay back against the seat and put his hands on your hips. “Now it’s up to you,” he lifted your hips and positioned you so your cunt was hovering over him. “Take your time, if you don’t think you can do it, let me know.” You felt embarrassment rush through you. Did he know? 

“Thank you.” You said meekly. 

“I’m not trying to embarrass you,” he said softly. His hand came up and caressed your cheek. “I just don’t want to hurt you.” The kindness in his eyes made your heart flutter. You nodded with new determination. You placed a hand on his chest to balance yourself as you reached down with your other one to position him in place. You thrust your hips against his tip and pushed it into your folds, watching as his jaw clenched from the feeling. You found your opening and slowly lowered yourself to allow him inside. You winced as the tip entered you and you pushed down as far as you could go. You looked down in disappointment as you realized he wasn’t even half way in. You moved your hips back and forth just on his tip and he moved his hands onto your hips digging his fingers into you. He hissed and closed his eyes from the feeling. 

“Sorry.” You apologized. 

   He opened his eyes and furrowed his brows. “Don’t apologize. If that’s all you can do, I’ll take it.” He slowly thrust his hips and you moaned. You wished you could take him further. You bit your lip, you could do it. You reached down to lead his cock further into you and you braced yourself as you pushed him in deeper. You whimpered as you felt him stretch you out and after a little resistance he slid right in with a plop. He pulled you closer and bucked his hips slightly as he felt you wrapped around him. Pulsing from the new feeling. You winced as he moved. He was so big. You looked up at him and his face was pure bliss. His mouth was slightly open and his eyes closed, brows furrowed. “Shit,” he muttered. “You’re so tight around me.” He looked up at you. “Is this your first-“ you cut him off with a kiss. You winced at the sensation of him inside of you but suddenly moaned as he pushed up and you felt him reach a spot deep inside of you. You gasped as he thrust and hit it again. 

“There, right there, please.” You said desperately. He smiled and began thrusting his hips upwards satisfied every time he saw your face scrunch when he hit that spot. His hands moved back to your ass and he spread your cheeks out allowing himself to go just a little bit deeper. You let out a yelp as he now directly hit that spot inside of you. 

“Good girl, you’re taking me so well”. He said. You smiled lazily and kissed him. He slowed his pace a bit as he moved his hand down to rub your clit again. He had seen how much you had liked it and wanted you to finish soon. The feeling of you clamping down on him was going to make him cum soon, too. You let out a heavenly moan as he started to rub you. 

Your hips moved down on their own as you rode him. “Nanami! Fuck!” You whined as you bounced over him. You pulled him closer to you to make out and he began to move his hips in opposition to yours. You gasped as you felt him reach deep inside of you, and you wanted more, you felt your climax building up as you desperately pushed against him. Wanting to keep him deeper. He understood and thrust sharply and rubbed your clit harder. Loud moans of his name and ungodly noises left your lips as you felt it all become too much and you suddenly felt your whole body shake vigorously as you came. You felt tears come to your eyes. 

You had never felt this good, you felt radiant, like a blinding fire took your body and left you refreshed. You shook over him a couple of times, enjoying the feeling of your cunt pulsing on him. He had stopped moving, still buried deep inside of you so you could ride out your high. Your eyes fluttered as you looked up at him and you smiled, happier than you’d ever been. He planted a kiss on your lips. 

“You’re beautiful.” He said. You felt heat weld up in your stomach, he wiped your tears away softly. 

You looked down at him and furrowed your brows. “You didn’t come.” You lifted your hips slightly and winced. “Keep going.” You blushed as you saw the white ring that had formed at the base of his cock. The opening of his pants was also covered in your slick. 

He nodded and put a hand over your waist, quickly flipping you over and laying you down across the back seats. You were now under him and watched as he backed up, pulling his pants further down. You watched him through the V frame of your legs. Your cunt was sore and you felt like you looked a mess but when he looked back up at you, all your insecurities vanished. He took the sight of you in and you saw his dick twitch with anticipation. He came closer and while you expected him to just go in you gasped as his face went between your thighs and his lips latched onto your clit. You let out a moan. It was too much, you were still so sensitive. You grabbed his head and ran your fingers through his blonde locks. He looked up at you as he ran a stiff tongue against your folds and you shuddered. He smirked and went to town. 

He threw your legs over his shoulders and devoured you. Your toes curled and you had to stop yourself from closing your thighs, afraid to crush him. You suddenly felt his fingers curl deep inside you as his tongue played with your bud and you yelled out, your climax hitting again. You held his head against you as you rode out your high; thrusting your hips forward, and rubbing your cunt over his entire face, his nose in particular hitting your clit and making you shudder. You let your head fall back and looked up at him. He smiled at you before backing up and lining himself up to your entrance. “Are you still okay?” 

You nodded, exhausted but ready for more. This had to be a dream. “Whatever you want.” You repeated back to him with a smile.

“Good girl.” He pushed himself easily into you and you watched his face form a scowl as he went past your tightest part. You clenched down on him and he opened an eye and smirked at you. “Tell me if it gets to be too much.” You couldn’t even answer him before he was thrusting into you quickly, his hands on your hips holding you down and pulling you against him. He was desperate to fuck you. His hips bucked wildly against you, going in and out at a sickening pace. You could only stare at him in bliss, your mouth open and deep moans escaping everytime he moved. He grunted and pulled you closer, feeling himself coming to his limit. “You’re so good. You’re taking me so well, Princess. Fuck.” He muttered. 

“Nanami-” you moaned his name as you felt another high wash over you. You yelped and shut your eyes, arching your back with a cry. You wrapped your legs around him, locking him in place as you felt him growing more desperate with each thrust. You hummed as you noticed him looking at you, once again looking like he was looking for a sign. You smiled, exhausted and nodded. That’s all he needed. 

He grunted again and thrust his hips into you one last time, roughly, as he came. You felt him shooting hot ropes of cum inside of you and you brought his head down to kiss him. He smiled against your lips. You felt his cock pulsing inside of you and your eyes closed sleepily. 

“Thank you, y/n.” 

You nodded as you felt exhaustion come over you. “You can go again if you want.” You said barely keeping your eyes open. 

“What?” 

“You made me come three times just now. I think I owe you two more rounds.” He smiled and shook his head. 

“Rest, I’ll clean you up.” You furrowed your brows and frowned. “Do you trust me?” 

“Yes, but,” your eyes closed again. “It’s not fair. Go again, I don’t mind. I’ve been dreaming about this for so long I-“ you fell asleep.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

pt. 2 pt 3. pt 4. pt 5. pt. 6

˚₊✩‧₊nana here: if you made it this far bless you. if you saw a typo...no you didn't. idk if i'll ever post pt 2...i guess it depends on how this does or if a certain someone somehow convinces me to post the next part—shout out to cath my biggest supporter<3

[luvleyshif4]

BOUND TO YOU pt 2

Rafe Cameron x Reader (Rafe’s POV)

Summary: Even after dating for years, just like you, Rafe is still so in love with you, and he realizes just how obsessed with you he really is

Warning: fluffiest fluff, lot of physical touch, tooth rotting love, reader is a book gyal, this is purely Rafe’s POV (there aren't really any serious warnings)

Word count: 1.01k words

Authors note: so this is the Rafe POV yall requested, and when yall request I provide so here it is!!! Hope this is up to ur expectations!! LEMME KNOW IF IT IS😘😘 if you haven’t read reader’s POV yet you can read it after this or before this!!!👇🏽

Reader’s POV

RAFE’S POV

The soft hum of the laptop filled the room as Rafe typed away, his eyes scanning the screen, his brows slightly furrowed in concentration. His fingers moved quickly over the keys, the click of the buttons steady and rhythmic. But, despite the focus required for his work, he couldn’t help but be aware of the presence beside him.

He knew she was there—he could feel her gaze, even before he glanced up. It was a feeling he’d gotten used to over the years, that quiet attention she paid to him, always subtle but unmistakable.

Rafe glanced to his side, finding her eyes already on him. She didn’t look away, her gaze soft, almost distant, and it made his heart skip a beat. There was something in the way she looked at him that always made him feel like he was the most important person in her world, something he never took for granted.

“What?” he asked, his voice a little teasing, though he couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. He knew the answer even before she tried to play it off.

“Nothing,” she murmured quickly, her gaze dropping to the book in her lap. But he could tell. She wasn’t fooling him.

He chuckled under his breath, watching her squirm a little, her cheeks warming. It was endearing, the way she always got embarrassed, even now. He loved it.

“Uh-huh,” he said, leaning back slightly and closing his laptop. There was no need to pretend to work when the real work was to be here with her, even if it was just in silence. “You’re staring at me, baby.”

“I’m not,” she said, but it was too late. He could see it, the way her lips twitched in a way that betrayed her.

He stretched out his arm, the invitation clear. Come closer. His eyes never left hers, and when she moved toward him, sliding into his side, he pulled her in close, his arm instinctively wrapping around her.

Her head found its place against his shoulder, and he couldn’t help but inhale the scent of her��clean and familiar, with just the slightest trace of something floral. Her warmth settled into him, and it felt like the world had quieted even more, leaving just the two of them in that little bubble.

Rafe let his hand rest gently on her waist, his thumb brushing lightly against her side. His fingers moved absentmindedly, tracing patterns, and he could feel her pulse quicken under his touch. He loved how sensitive she was, how her body responded to him so naturally. It was something he could never get enough of, that connection between them.

She tilted her head to look up at him, and he caught the way her gaze lingered on his lips for just a moment too long. He couldn’t resist.

Leaning in, he kissed her softly, his lips slow and deliberate against hers. It wasn’t rushed; it was a kiss that felt like it had been waiting for this moment, like everything had been building up to this.

His hand cupped her jaw, his thumb gently brushing her cheek, and he kissed her deeper, letting the world around them fade away. There was nothing in that moment except her, and he knew, without a doubt, that he would never tire of this—never tire of her.

When he pulled away, his forehead found hers, his eyes heavy with affection. He smiled softly, the kind of smile that was reserved only for her.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

She nodded, but he could see the emotions swirling in her eyes. She didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need words. Her presence was more than enough.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, wrapping her up in his arms. The rhythm of her breath slowed against him, and he could feel the weight of her thoughts, even if she wasn’t voicing them. She was everything to him, and in this moment, with her tucked safely against him, he knew that it wasn’t just love. It was something deeper. Something that no words could capture.

Rafe’s fingers traced absent patterns on her arm, his touch soothing, a quiet comfort as he held her close. He could feel her body relax against his, but something about the stillness made him wonder if something was on her mind.

“You’re quiet,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, like he didn’t want to break the peace they shared.

She tilted her head to look up at him, the corners of her lips lifting in a small smile, one that only ever seemed to appear when she was near him. It made his heart flutter, even after all this time. “Just thinking,” she replied, her voice light.

“About what?” he asked, a hint of curiosity in his tone, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something more than simple thoughts. The way she paused, the way she looked at him, told him that she was feeling something—something that only the two of them shared.

Her smile softened, and for a moment, he thought she might not say anything. But then she spoke, her voice barely audible as she answered with the simplicity that always made his heart race.

“You.”

Rafe smiled again, the simple truth making his chest swell. He pressed another kiss to her forehead, his voice just as gentle as hers.

“Good,” he murmured. “’Cause I’m always thinking about you.”

There was no need for anything more. They just stayed like that, together, in that quiet space, the world outside forgotten for now. And as he held her, the realization struck him again, as it did every time: she was his everything.

Rafe knew he was bound to you the moment he met you. And even after all this time, he couldn’t get enough of you.

[verdantlights]

OKAY YEAH i didnt want to say it cause i wasnt sure, but knowing that mizi is the main character, ive always felt like till was second (just like how he was second to luka ahahhahahahah *gets shot*) and right behind mizi in terms of relevance. especially with the way his personality is, its very brash and outgoing but also incredibly perceptive, his downfall/fatal flaw being his sensitivity. its not completely unheard of for a main charactOH MY GOD BAKUGOU. no fuck sorry not bringing that here but its not completely unheard of for a deuteragonist and even main protagonist being killed. side eyes akame ga kill. but in tills case of course it really did feel like he had his arc set up for him. okay so then yeah that actually does bring me back to bakugou. if he was killed when he was, it wouldve supported the plot big time. it wouldve been a well executed plot twist. here it just feels unsatisfactory

truly our schrödinger Till... </3

I’m going to be so honest right now, but as someone who legitimately thought that Till was being set up to be the deuteragonist of the series (and does kind of still believe that since I think he might still be alive), there being a good chance that Till might just be gone is kind of really funny to me?? I think it's because I’m still a little in shock over what happened, but it really felt like he had everything going for him and that he was going to have a whole arc, but he might just be dead. This truly is our schrödinger Till.

[ventismacchiato]

11 stuck with you — five feet apart !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

ACT TWO

Another hot and sticky night in the stuffy dorms led you outside earlier than usual. Maybe if you were up before Scara you could make something without depending on him for food like everyone else was. 

But alas, the universe hated you. And there he was. Scaramouche, already awake, sitting at the kitchen island mindlessly stirring a cup of tea. But more important than that was the tray of mouth watering muffins sitting in front of him. 

“Did you make those?” you ask cautiously, eyeing him as if he laced them with poison just for the hell of it.

He glanced up, his face unreadable.

“No,” he answers, “Yoimiya did.” 

You felt like thanking the gods right then and there. Relief washed over you. Yoimiya was a safe bet. You grabbed one of the chocolate chip muffins and took a tentative bite. It was sweet, soft, and perfect. At last, something that wasn’t a disaster.

“Finally,” you muttered, savoring the taste. “Something I can actually eat.”

Scara side eyes you, but you didn’t spare him a glance before grabbing another one. You left the blueberry ones untouched, as it wasn’t your favorite. 

“Not surprised you chose the unhealthy option,” Scara speaks up, reaching over to grab a blueberry one.

“I’m not a fan,” you huff, getting defensive over your picky palate. 

“Such a child,” he muttered, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

Just then, the door swung open, and Yoimiya waltzed in along with everyone else.

“Good morning, everyone!” she chirped, her hair bouncing as she moved, “I’m starving!”

“Have some of the muffins you made,” you suggest, “They were really good.”

“Hm? What muffins?” Yoimiya asks as Venti steps around her to grab one, “I didn’t make those, Scara did.”

You turned to Scara, mouth agape. “What? But you said-”

His cheeks flushed slightly, but he recovered quickly, crossing his arms defiantly.

“Fuck off, I said Yoimiya made them,” he corrected, crossing his arms defensively.

“Scara, I literally watched you mix the batter,” she said, “You told me to fuck off because I kept licking the spoons.”

Childe, Aether, and Venti, who had been leaning against the wall munching on said muffins, immediately perked up, sensing an opportunity to annoy the hothead. 

“Looks like Scara’s a real tsundere” Childe laughed, elbowing Aether.

“Right? Can’t even admit he can bake,” Aether chimed in, stifling a chuckle.

“Whatever,” Scara scoffed, getting up and grabbing the water pails and walking off. Lumine shoved you after him.

“Go help him fetch the water,” she suggested, not taking no for an answer.

Scara walked ahead the worn down path, pails swinging at his sides. You hurried to catch up, grabbing one of the pails from him, but immediately winced at its weight. “Fuck.”

Scara lets out a smug smirk at your struggle and easily grabs it back, “Looks like someone’s weak,” he taunted. 

“It’s just the weather,” you say, ignoring how he rolls his eyes. You help turn the spout on to feel a little helpful as you both watch the buckets fill up. Scara’s back was turned to you as he watched to make sure they didn’t overflow. It was rather easy to talk to him when he wasn’t looking at you so you took your chance.

“Thanks for the muffins,” you say almost so quietly the stream of the water almost overshadows it. But with the way Scaramouche’s head slightly turns at your words indicates he heard it. 

“I did it for me, not you,” he says, turning the spout off, “I didn’t want you collapsing on my consciousness.” 

You huffed at his response, but your chest felt oddly warm. You hadn’t considered that Scara might care. In a very roundabout way. 

“Well, why did you lie about them?”

“You wouldn’t have eaten them if I told you I made them,” he answers, grabbing both pails back and turning around. The water sloshed around the edge and left a trail of water running down his biceps. You avert your eyes. Weird. 

“Well, you’re right I wouldn’t have,” you frown, mad he’s right.

“And I didn’t need you thinking I want to do nice things for you,” he adds, stepping past you.

“Besides,” he adds, sparing you a glance, “It’s fun to watch you squirm a bit.”

You ignore the feeling in your stomach.

//

“I hate living on this fucking island,” Scara mutters, wincing at the taste of the well water.

“It’s nice, but doesn’t feel like the vacation I thought it would,” Childe adds, fanning himself with a paper plate. None of the buildings had AC, hence you all were dying. 

“I have so many mosquito bites,” Venti groans.

“I heard you guys complaining!” Yae exclaims, popping in from nowhere.

“Wait, were you behind that counter the entire time?”Aether interrupts.

“Yes, but don’t mind that,” Yae waves off, “I was waiting for a good segway!”

“Couldn’t we have just faked one?” Fischl pipes up.

Yae pauses.

“I suppose so,” she sighs, “Now all of you hush, let me get on with my spiel.” 

She clears her throat and throws on a smile, “I bring all of you a lovely incentive! Today’s game will have a better prize! Remember how we mentioned the sister island is an actual resort? Well, the winner of today’s game will get to spend the night at the five star hotel. That means no cooking your own meals, an actual bed, and spending time with your crush!”

The entire group cheers at her words.

Yae brings the mic down and whispers, “And off record, this one won’t be rigged. Just to keep it more realistic. If a pair other than Scara and Yn win then it’s fine, we’ll send then over another time”

“The archons have listened to me,” Venti praises, raising his hands up, “Hot showers here I come.”

“You guys are going to draw lots for your pairs, but choose whoever you want. It’s a strength challenge so keep that in mind.”

“Fuck yeah,” Childe cheers, already getting up to flex.

“I’m not sure if we should zoom in or cut the cameras,” Yae ponders, “Would the youth be into this?”

“Cut the cameras,” everyone deadpans.

The excitement in the air was palpable as Yae explained the challenge. Everyone would be paired up in groups of two and one member would have to be carried by the other on the shoulders. Yae and the crew would spray water on all of them and try to get them to slip off balance. The last pair standing would win the night on the sister island and be back by tomorrow morning. 

Scara shot you a look, “We are going to win this. I am not spending another night listening to Childe’s snoring and hiking half a mile for water.” 

“Oh, fuck off!” Childe yelled from where he was hoisting Fischl onto his shoulders. 

“Really? You don’t look like you work out,” you mumbled, knowing you were treading on thin ice but unable to resist. “Full offense,” you added for good measure. You didn’t have high hopes for this challenge. You’d already kissed goodbye to your chances at spending the night at the resort. 

“Are you doubting me?” he muttered, already beginning to unbutton his shirt a little to prepare for the challenge, revealing a surprisingly toned build underneath. You felt your cheeks warm slightly as you caught a glimpse of the muscles you hadn’t expected. Archons, why did he always have to one up you?

“Okay, maybe I was wrong,” you admitted, a little flustered. “But you still might not be strong enough to carry me.”

“Just get on my shoulders,” he replied, a hint of irritation in his tone. “You’ll see.”

You reluctantly climbed onto his shoulders, wrapping your arms around his neck as he hoisted you up from under your legs. It felt odd to be held this close by him. 

Yae barely gave any of you time to adjust before she gestured for the crew to start spraying cold jet streams at you. You could immediately feel your grip slip. You heard a yelp that sounded a lot like Venti’s to your right.

The moment your skin touched his, you felt an unexpected jolt of warmth. “Hold still!” you yelled as the water began spraying down on you both.

“Stop moving,” Scara yelled, but he was shaking his head, trying to clear the water from his face.

“You stop moving!” you yell back, feeling yourself slipping through his grip as water gets in his eyes. You adjust yourself so one arm is hanging onto his shoulders and you bring your other palm to cover his eyes to shield him from the water. 

“Is that better?” you huff, still squinting from your own eyes having no protection.

“Just…hide your head in my neck,” he says, his voice slightly strained but firm. You didn’t need to be told twice, your eyes burning hurt more than your urge to be petty against Scara at that moment. Your will wasn’t very strong, water was enough to take you down it seemed.

You obliged, leaning forward and burying your face in the crook of his neck. Your lips were pressed right up against his skin due to the proximity and you could feel every breath he took.

“Another pair down!” Yae cheered, “Turn up the pressure!”

“She’s having too much fun with this,” you lamented, though your voice came out muffled. You could hear him chuckle, and despite the chaos, you felt a strange comfort in his steadiness.

As the game progressed, you noticed that it was down to just you and Scara against Yoimiya and Lumine. The water sprayed relentlessly, and you felt yourself slipping, but Scara’s grip on your legs tightened. 

Finally, Lumine slipped and the duo fell, leaving just you and Scara to stand.

“We won?” you questioned as Scara let you down, and you stumbled slightly as your feet hit the ground. “Finally,” you breathed, relieved but exhilarated. You both let yourself fall to the ground from exhaustion and cough up water as Yae cheered you guys on.

“Geez guys, at least try to look hot for the camera,” she sighed, letting you guys get up before turning the camera towards you both, “Our winners Scara and Yn will get to spend a night at the luxury resort!”

Childe whistled, and you turned to see Scara’s shirt clinging to him, soaked through from the spray. He shook his head, sending droplets flying everywhere. “Good.” he muttered, looking over at you, “Don’t doubt me next time.”

“Whatever,” you swallow, averting your eyes and locking them with your members instead who decided to be obnoxious and wiggle their eyebrows at you. 

//

You were starting to wonder if spending the night at a luxury hotel instead of the shabby island was worth it when you saw your ride there.

“Why can’t we take a boat?” you mourn, staring up at the helicopter awaiting you and Scara’s departure.

“Because it’ll take too long,” Lisa explained, “We’ll take some last shots then you guys will board and there’ll be a crew over there waiting for you. I want some romance tonight but I’ll let you guys enjoy the amenities too.”

Her words washed over you as you started contemplating swimming to the other island.

Scaramouche let out a scoff as he watched the panic filter through your eyes. He wordlessly grabbed your arm and pulled you into the death trap as you started wondering why you ever became an idol. 

“It’s only fifteen minutes, keep it together,” he muttered, watching as it took you three tries to put your belt on.

You shot him a glare, though the unease in your gut was making it hard to muster up a convincing retort. 

"Not all of us have a death wish," you muttered, trying to sound braver than you felt. The thought of the helicopter's blades slicing through the air and lifting you far above the ocean was doing nothing to steady your nerves.

He opened his mouth to fire back, but Lisa’s voice cut in before he could. “Alright, save the banter for the cameras. Let’s get a shot of you two boarding together!” she said cheerily, a bit too excited for your taste.

You swallowed hard, eyeing the helicopter as if it might bite you. But before you could back away or think of an excuse, you felt a sudden grip on your face, forcing you to turn away from the intimidating sight.

“Idiot,” Scaramouche muttered under his breath, his hand warm against your cheek as he held your head steady, forcing you to meet his gaze instead. “Don’t look if you’re scared. Just focus on something else.”

His eyes were steady, a mixture of exasperation and something softer that caught you off guard. For a second, the world outside—the roar of the helicopter, the prying eyes of the crew, even your own fear—seemed to blur at the edges. All you could see was him, closer than he’d ever been, the lines of his usual smirk softened into something almost unreadable.

You blinked, momentarily stunned by the unexpected gesture.

“That’s good,” Lisa hummed, breaking the weird tension as Scara let go of you and you focused on your shoes.

 "You know you didn’t have to do that,” you say as the pilot starts getting ready for takeoff, “I was fine.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you were,” Scaramouche replies, his voice gruff but quieter now, “I’ll make sure you don’t embarrass yourself too much.” 

You weren’t sure whether to be grateful or insulted, but somehow, the tremor in your hands wasn’t quite as bad as before. 

//

The resort was breathtaking, as one would expect from a luxury hotel. Even Scara was impressed as you both practically cried at the array of foods welcoming you, an escape from the dreadful meals you’ve been preparing for yourself. It all seemed perfect.

Well, apart from one thing. 

“This is so corny, why is there only one bed?” you question as you both walk into your room for the day. It was a lover’s suite. Of course it was.

“Well, you should take the floor,” Scara unhelpfully suggests.

Well, maybe two things.

“Absolutely not!” Lisa shouts from the speakers, causing you both to be startled.

“Freaks, why are you watching us sleep?” Scara mumbles.

“I can hear you!” Lisa shouts again. 

“Whatever, anything’s better than that stupid island,” he eyes you to make his point before walking off to unpack.

“Fuck you!” you call out but he’s already gone. The suite was either so big he coudn’t hear you or he was ignoring you. Far likely to be the latter. 

//

There was one thing you were looking forward to coming here tonight, finally getting to soak in water that wasn’t the frigid ocean. Even if you had to share that with the idiot that was Scaramouche. 

The hot tub bubbled around you, steam curling into the air in soft wisps. The view was stunning, all twinkling lights from the resort below and a sky full of stars that might have seemed romantic if you weren't stuck here with Scaramouche. 

“Ugh, can you stop hogging all the space?” you snapped, your shoulder bumping into his as you shifted to get comfortable. The hot water was supposed to be relaxing, but with him practically glued to your side, it was anything but. You had both gotten in and sat at opposite ends but with endless yelling in your earpieces from Yae you had bredgrudingly scooted closer. Too close.

“Maybe if you weren't all elbows,” he shot back, “I don’t want to be this close to you, but that devil of a woman is making me.”

“I heard that,” Yae replies from the speakers. Scara flips her off.

“This isn’t relaxing when I can hear you breathing right beside me,” you huff, sinking into the tub.

“Go underwater then,” Scara replies, “I’ll help you.” You swat his hands away, drowning on camera in a three foot tub would end your career and whatever was left of your dignity.

A sudden voice crackled to life over the speakers, startling you both. “Less bickering, more flirting!” Lisa’s voice boomed.

“Tell him to act more likeable!” you shoot back, yelling at where you think the camera is. 

He shot you a withering look. “Me? You’re the one who looks like you’re constipated every time you try to smile at me.”

“Well, maybe it’s because looking at you does that to me,” you snark back.

“I am so dry in the studio,” Yae mourns over the speakers, “Put this tension into something else. Scara, take your shirt off.”

“Fuck no?” Scara yells, crossing his arms over his chest, “What is wrong with you guys?”

Yae's voice came through the speakers again, dripping with amusement. "Alright then, if you won’t take your shirt off willingly, how about you give our dear co-star a hand, hm? Go on, help him with those buttons, Yn."

You stared at the camera, slack-jawed. "You can’t be serious."

"Oh, I'm very serious," Yae replied, her tone too cheerful to be anything but evil. "It's called fan service, darlings. Now, hop to it."

You turned to Scara, who looked about two seconds away from drowning himself in the tub. 

He eyed you, a flicker of something like a dare in his eyes, “Don’t even think about it.”

“They’ll keep yelling if we don’t," you muttered, more to yourself than to him. 

“Put on a show!” Lisa reminded through the speakers.

You sighed. You’d have kept your mouth shut at that damn award show if it meant not having to do whatever this was.

Slowly and hesitantly you reached out, fingers brushing the top button of his shirt.

“You’ll be more comfortable if you loosened your top,” you swallow, your attempt at trying to sound believable.

“Take it off then,” Scara replies against his will, uncrossing his arms and leaning back against the tub.

Your breath hitched slightly, and you could see the way Scara’s lips curved up into a teasing smirk. He was enjoying this. Your hesitation. Your obvious discomfort. He didn’t think you could do it. It made you want to wipe that smirk off his stupid pretty face.

"Fine," you said, your voice steadying, the challenge accepted. You took a deep breath and reached for the second button, fingers trembling just slightly as you undid it. The fabric parted to reveal the sharp lines of his collarbone, and the heat of his skin seemed to radiate into the space between you.

"Don’t get shy now," he taunted, voice low, barely above a whisper. His eyes were locked on yours, unblinking, as if daring you to keep going, “You’re not very good at this, don’t tell me you’ve never undressed someone before.”

"Oh, please," you shot back, “Of course I have,” your tone dripping with false bravado. He knew damn well you’ve never.

He chuckled, a soft, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Keep telling yourself that," he said, his gaze slipping to where your hands hovered over the next button, like he was daring you to take it further. You couldn’t let him win by chickening out. 

You fumbled with the button, but when it finally came undone, your eyes couldn't help but widen slightly. His chest was inked with tattoos—bold, intricate designs that curled and twisted across his skin, disappearing under the remaining fabric. It was more than you expected, more than he’d ever let on in any photoshoot or public appearance.

"I didn’t know you had all these," you blurted out before you could stop yourself, your voice tinged with genuine surprise.

He arched an eyebrow, that ever-present smirk returning full force. "And how would you know anything about me, huh? Are you stalking my photoshoots now?"

You glared at him, the embarrassment making your cheeks heat. "Don’t flatter yourself. I just figured a narcissist like you would’ve shown these off already."

"Shows what you know," he said, "Some things aren’t meant for everyone to see."

Your fingers hesitated over the last few buttons at his words. There was something about the way he said it, like it was a confession layered under his usual sarcasm.

"Then why show them now?" you asked, quieter, the banter slipping into something that felt almost serious.

"Because I like watching you squirm."

You scoffed, more to cover up the way your pulse had quickened than anything else. "You’re insufferable." 

Of course, it didn’t mean anything. He was just as infuriating as ever.

"And you’re blushing," he pointed out, a wicked gleam in his eyes that made you want to dunk him right into the bubbling water.

“It’s the steam,” you grumbled, flicking water on him and scooting away as he rubbed at his eyes.

Lisa’s voice crackled over the speakers, almost giddy with delight. "Oh, now this is what I’m talking about! Keep that energy, you two. That’s chemistry! The audience is going to eat this up!"

You both shot a glare toward the camera, and in unison, muttered under your breaths, "Shut up, Lisa."

You both spent the rest of the hour on opposite ends of the tub.

//

“I want that side.”

“Well, suddenly I want that side.”

“I wasn’t asking, I was just letting you know,” you huffed, already slipping under the covers on the left side of the bed. With a pointed look, you grabbed one of the many pillows and wedged it firmly between you like a flimsy barricade.

Scara rolled his eyes, scoffing at your actions. “As if I’d touch you with a ten foot pole,” he muttered, reluctantly getting into the other side of the bed. 

You both sat there in stiff silence, staring at the ceiling, the awkwardness so thick you could practically cut it with a knife. Neither of you knew what to do with yourselves, like two kids playing a game of chicken to see who'd crack first.

There was a strange feeling in your chest being this close to him. Every sense seemed dialed up to ten, heightened and fixed on one single point. You felt hyper-aware of every movement, every breath, and even every blink. You swallowed unconsciously, the action feeling louder and more awkward than it should’ve. You let out a shaky sigh and wipe your free hand on the comforter, surprised to find your palm slicked with sweat. This was weird, weird, weird.

You heard a soft shuffle next to you, and when you glanced over, you saw Scaramouche turn on his side, his back now facing you. He moved like he was trying to put as much distance between you as possible, yet there was something almost vulnerable about the way his shoulders hunched.

You found yourself watching him longer than you intended, tracking the slow, even rise and fall of his breathing as he settled into sleep. There was something disarming about seeing him like this. He was quiet, without his usual smirk or biting remarks to put you on edge. You didn’t even have to reach out your arm to touch him. Not like you would. But you could.

You slowly turn to the other side, pulling the covers over your head and begging yourself to go to sleep. But even with the pillow wall between you, the warmth of his presence lingered. You felt it like a soft hum through the sheets, the awareness of his touch from earlier still lingering on your skin like a ghost. It was unsettling, the way it seemed to echo long after it was gone. 

Weird didn’t even begin to cover it.

[00:00:00] ONE BED INTERVIEW ONE, TAKE ONE

YAE: [QUIET]

SCARAMOUCHE: Don't piss me off.

YAE: I didn't even say anything!

SCARAMOUCHE: I felt it.

JEAN, SIGHING: Good lord.

YAE: Moving on...

YAE: How was your night with only one bed?

SCARAMOUCHE: Quiet.

YAE: That's such a lie.

SCARAMOUCHE: No.

YAE: Are you going to say more than one word?

SCARAMOUCHE: Maybe.

JEAN, QUIETLY: Oh, my God...

SCARAMOUCHE: What did you want me to say? We watched the stars through the skylight and talked about our fears together?

YAE: Yes, actually.

SCARAMOUCHE: Bite me. We didn't.

JEAN: Scaramouche, if you give us something-anything-you can go back to your room.

SCARAMOUCHE, CROSSING HIS ARMS AND HUFFING: YN is a blanket hog. I was cold and couldn't sleep because they toss and turn like a demon is chasing them in their sleep.

SCARAMOUCHE: They didn't even apologize when they woke up. They just said to quote, "Cope."

JEAN: ... Good enough.

YAE: Cut!

[00:00:00] ONE BED INTERVIEW TWO, TAKE ONE

YN: Why does that little thingy say one bed?

YAE, CONFUSED: This is what you did last night? We want to know about it.

YN: No, I didn't.

YAE: Don't play with me.

JEAN: YN, this all goes faster if you don't lie.

YN, SCOWLING: Don't play with me!

JEAN: Good grief! Cut!

[00:05:30] ONE BED INTERVIEW TWO, TAKE TWO

YAE: [STARING AT YN BEHIND THE CAMERA]

YN: [STARING BACK]

JEAN: Guys, please...

YN: Yeah, okay, fine. I shared a bed with Scaramouche last night. So what?

YAE: Did anything... happen...?

YN: Like what?

YAE: You know like...

YAE: [PRETEND GIGGLES LIKE A SCHOOLGIRL] Kissing and stuff?

YN: Are we five years old? Don't piss me off!

YAE: Scaramouche said the same thing.

YN, STANDING UP: Well stop pissing me off!

JEAN: YN, just give us something.

YN, WALKING OFF CAMERA: I hogged the blankets on purpose to make him mad. Fuck that guy.

YAE, CALLING TO YN: Anything else?

YN: Bite me!

YAE: Scara said that, too.

JEAN: Cut!

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

*slide13: can u bring me back some food

*slide 15: …get him to go to the gym…and scara

I JUST REALIZED AE REPLIES TO YNS PRIVATE TWEET IN THIS PLS IGNORE AND PRETEND ITS VENTI

also scara uses the wrong your in slide 23 he wud never i’m so tired pls forgive me

title is from that one vine am i showing my age lord two bros chillin in the hot tub five feet apart cus they’re not gay

if you can’t read the qna tweets send me an ask i’ll post a clearer version! also literally don’t know what yn wud have as a wallpaper sorry

also sorry if u like blueberries it’ll come back later

taglist is closed, comment on the masterlist if i can use ur user as a fan in the au!

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

notes — im sorry for leaving you guys hanging for two months! hopefully it hasnt been too long where u forgot the plot,, college was really busy for me and i lost all motivation to write,, i lowk got rlly depressed lmao like omg med school is not for the weak!! i had to lock tf in and study but i saw a scara edit on my feed a few days ago and got to inspo to write so pls enjoy this long chapter :) missed u guys!! pls comment if u enjoyed to give me some motivation <33

taglist is closed! — @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @jangyung @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @chuuismylife @flowerypesky @creammpuff @justanothertiredreader @boxdisappeared @kissmiere @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @pjsucks @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @herebyaccident0 @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @vxcmx @domimiki @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @kazuhasbabe

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt: Valentine's day spirit. Superbat edition.

When Phantom sets foot on the Justice League base many years later, he expects anything but not Flash pointing finger at him and screaming about "legendary child who made Superbat canon".

~~~~

Being in Metropolis because of a ghost hunt right in the middle of a battle between Lex Luthor and Superman was not the best outcome, especially considering that Jack had his three-year-old son with him. But without such a combination of circumstances, they would never have found out that "Ghost!" "Daddy, no!" Ectoblast that Jack shot at the target of their hunt touches Superman and..really hurts him.

There were two sides to Danny-the ghostbuster's son and the astronerd. It is clear which half of him did not have a chance to win.

Danny threw his space rocket toy aside and grabbed father's arm. In the next second, boy had already sunk his teeth into Jack's fingers, forcing him to drop weapon. Youngling quickly jumped off and picked up ectoblast and then ran towards Superman. "Fly away! I'll hold him!" Danny stood up to try to cover up ghost (or alien?) in case Dad took not one but a whole bunch of shooting things with him again.

Jack: Get away from my son, ghost. Superman: Sir, I'm sure this is some kind of misunderstanding, I'm not a ghost. Jack: Danny, come to me, he's trying to hide his identity and manipulate us. Danny: No. If the heroes are being attacked, then someone must protect them too. Jack: But he's a ghost.. Danny: Alien or ghost is not so important, Daddy. He's in pain, and he's protecting this city, not haunting it. It's wrong to try to catch him for experiments. I forbid you to do that. Jack: Danny, champ, you're wrong.

Lex: Hah, what an interesting substance. Despite the other aggregate state, or rather its absence, it is so similar to kryptonite. Superman: Lex, is this a portable lab? Now is not the time, in case you haven't noticed. Lex: There is always time for science. I think my colleague will agree, right? "Similar to kryptonite?" Jack muttered to himself.

Jack: So Superman wasn't my target. And we are not colleagues. There is only one insanely rich man with questionable moral values with whom I am ready to do work, and your surname is clearly not Masters. Lex: It's a pity, but still, if you want to carry out the delivery of your wonderful weapons or exchange experiences, then call this number. Luther quickly shoves a business card into Fenton's hand. Jack*throws it away*: Come on, son, let's go back to the hotel, you've skinned your knees.

~~~The Evening. The Roof of the mentioned hotel~~~

"My friend Sam is also very frightening. And she also likes dark.“ The boy paused for a minute of thinking. “You want to kiss your goth friend?" "W-What makes you think that, kid. We’re colleagues, I respect him very much and.." "So you want to. It’s okay, I’d like to kiss Sam too but I’m afraid she’s gonna hit me. You have the same problem?" "It’s a little more complicated for adults." Kal begins to explain but stumbles upon Danny’s completely unimpressed look. Yeah, this boy apparently has heard 'kids would understand when they grow up' lectures at least thousand times. "But you’re basically right."

~~~~

When Batman himself comes to their hotel the next day as a representative of the Justice League to make sure that Mr. Fenton has no desire to harm Superman in the future and to tell that Superman is not going to press charges because of the ectoblast that injured him, Danny refuses to leave the room.

Jack: Oh, Danny, I thought you dropped your space rocket yesterday, it's a good that Alicia's Christmas present isn't lost. Danny: Well, dad, I left it on the roof of a bad bad man, yeah, but Uncle Kal returned it last night and we talked for a while. Jack: About what? Space, my little star? *Father immediately assumes that Danny would like to ask about everything real alien*. Boy*blushes and shakes his head negatively*: No, not about it.

Jack: Then what it was about? Danny: Secret superhero things. I can't tell you. I agreed to withhold that information as part of a pinky swear. Batman: And what about me, young man? You can tell me, right? Batman couldn't resist talking with such a cute kid. The boy thinks only for a second before hurriedly trying to push his father out of the room. Danny: Dad, come out for a minute and don't eavesdrop. I'll tell you when you can come in. The big man laughingly obeys. Lil child checks the reliability of the closed door and runs up to Batman. Danny: And so, Mr. Batman, first promise not to laugh or hit Uncle Kal. Batman: I promise? Danny: Good. This is very important information. Batman: I'm listening.

Danny: He thinks you're terrifying and wants to kiss you. And since he is afraid that you will hit him for this, I recommended him to appease you with a pie cooked according to his mother's recipe. Well, you know, since you love sweets and his parents' farm has the most wonderful apples in all states. He rarely cooks himself, but he will try for you, so even if he doesn't succeed, pretend that you liked it, please. Batman:...

Batman: Would you like to work in intelligence for the Justice League when you grow up? Danny: Actually, I want to be an astronaut. Batman: Our base is located in space. Danny:

Danny: Hmm, then I'll think about your offer.

Batman: Great. It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Fenton. You can count on a job recommendation from me. Do you want anything as compensation for your consultation? Danny: Actually, yes. Mr. Batman, tell me honestly, are you a bat on a frugivorous diet like Giant golden-crowned flying fox or you are a Vampire Bat? Sam says that such a big bat can only be a vegetarian and uncle Kal said your son was more than happy to steal strawberries from his garden with Superboy but..

~~~

Batman tries to behave naturally for a week. However, the sweet tooth inside him still makes him clamp Superman in the corner and question him. "Where the hell are the pies you promised to cook for me, Clark?"

[dooberific]

I absolutely love your writing!! Idk if you're open for request, but if you do, can I request doctor!reader with Harumasa? He loves to go to infirmary not only he can pretend to be sick but also just to see them

Double trouble cause I thought it sounded like a fun combination. Does using a 1988 song name as the title make me sound old? 🤔

❝ 𝘉𝘢𝘥 𝘊𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 ❞

harumasa x afab!doctor!reader

genre: fluff, I projected a little bit into this???

summary: if being in love with your cute doctor wasn’t bad enough, she’s completely clueless when it comes to romance

wc: 1.6k

The end of your pen tapped thoughtfully against your plush lower lip as you skimmed your notes. Once. Twice. Your eyes dart to the opened paper file on the counter beside you.

 Even cracked it was a solid two inches high and crammed full of health histories, specialty consult results and prescription sheets all bound haphazardly with what looked like ties from a bread bag. You really needed to get an actual binder to hold it all, but as of now you had other problems to address.

“Well,” you swiveled your chair around as you clicked your pen, eyes still skimming your intake sheet before you looked up with a smile, “Good news is nothing seems to be wrong. Well, let me rephrase that, wrong when compared to your baseline.” 

It was an important differentiation to make when you were dealing with one of your most tasking patients. In your two years of clinic practice in the city you had never needed to spend a series of days pouring over a patient file, heck, even before you graduated and were staged as a resident in the clinic in the Outer Ring it wasn’t so extensive. 

Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome was a bad actor, and Asaba Harumasa seemed to be its favorite role to haunt. 

He coughed pitifully, a hand splayed over his chest as he shook his head. “Are you sure, Doc? My body’s aching all over and my head feels funny, and I—,” he coughed again, “can’t seem to shake this cough.” 

You frowned, scribbling another note on your papers. “Have you been taking all your medications as indicated?”

“Just as the doctor ordered…actually,” a pensive expression decorated his face as he fisted the fabric of his work shirt, “maybe I have a deficiency in something, I think I ran out of some of my vitamins.” 

You perked up immediately, flipping quickly to his laundry list of medication and supplements. “Which one have you been missing? A? C? K?”

“I think it was vitamin you.”

“Oh.” You pulled your prescription pad off the desk. “I’m going to write you an order for  Vitamin U. Try adding some cruciferous veggies to your diet, leafy greens, broccoli, stuff like that. Call me if it starts giving you stomach problems.”

You tore the slip off your pad as you extended it to him, the paper decorated in your curling and messy script. 

“Do you need a work excuse?”

Should he just quit? This was the question he asked himself every time he stepped out the door of the clinic back onto the street, paper bag of medication in his hand. 

White coat syndrome was a very real affliction, though his heart wasn’t racing and his blood pressure wasn’t spiking because he was anxious. After the fourth visit you just assumed it was his baseline response to see his pulse spike randomly through the exam, after all, his syndrome mainly seemed to impact his heart and lungs. 

What you didn’t know was that wasn’t his baseline, nor was it a mutation of his syndrome not documented by his past physicians. It was simply a biological response to something else you conveniently seemed to not notice: the raging interest he had in you.

Rest assured he was absolutely mortified when he figured it out himself, laying on his back staring at the ceiling in the dark as he realized he was enthralled by the very idea of you. Your intelligence, your nimble hands, the way you tapped your pen against your lips when met was a challenge you hadn’t quite deciphered, your warm smile.

It wasn’t a complete lie when he would tell you he felt feverish, or that his stomach felt sick and his heart was racing, he felt all those things with horrifying clarity tenfold when your hand pressed against his forehead after noting aloud that his skin seemed flush and clammy. 

Was it crossing a line to be flirting with your doctor? Definitely, he was sure he was toeing some doctor-patient professional relationship line, but if he ended up in someone else’s care later then there really wasn’t anything holding him back. 

But he was growing increasingly convinced that if you weren’t intentionally playing dumb that you might be a little thick when it came to the nuanced science of flirtation because he had shifted from casual to nearly outright and you never batted an eye.

How else could you have misinterpreted his texts from last week? He was half-giddy with excitement, sure he had you this time.

I miss you.

Your appointment isn’t until next week, you didn’t miss anything. Have a good night :)

It haunted him nearly as much as the day he forgot his work excuse and asked you to text it to him, how proudly he had flipped the phone screen to show Tsukishiro until she squinted and asked, “Why do you have heart emojis around your doctor’s name?”

A devastating blow to his ego. But so was every failed attempt to catch your eye. 

“Do you have an inhaler? Cause you just took my breath away.”

“Hold on, I’ll grab one from the cart. You’re supposed to carry your own inhaler, Mr Asaba!” You scolded, disappearing for a moment before tossing him an inhaler. 

“You look a little under the weather yourself, Doc. Sure you aren’t deficient in vitamin M E?”

“Ah, I didn’t put as much makeup on today.” You cupped your cheeks with your hands thoughtfully. “I feel fine though, thanks for your concern.” 

“I’m no organ donor, but I’d love to give you my heart.”

“Your medical condition prevents you from joining the organ donation program.” You didn’t even bother to turn around when you acknowledged him.

“I think my heart just skipped a beat when I looked at you.”

“You’re on a medication that regulates heart rhythm, should I write you a cardiology referral?”

He went to text you again as he walked home for the evening. Typed. Deleted. Typed again. Deleted again. You just weren’t getting it, or maybe you were just too kind to tell him you weren’t interested or even that you had a boyfriend already on his numerous visits. Maybe he should just give you some space?

But maybe that would be cruel when you were standing on the sidewalk waiting for the light to change, mascara smeared down your cheeks as you sniffled. He pocketed his phone.

“Hey Doc, you alright?” 

You tensed, head swiveled in his direction before you quickly turned your face away, hands swiping at your cheeks before wiping them on your dark scrubs hastily.

“Oh, hey Mr. Asaba.” He frowned at your attempt at a cheerful tone, your voice still wavering from your tears before you cleared your throat. “You, uh, don’t have to call me Doc when the clinic is closed.” 

“And you don’t have to call me Mister when I’m not sitting on your exam table.” He retorted, catching the little quirk at the corner of your lips as they quivered in a small smile.

“Want me to walk you home? It’s kinda late.” 

“No, but thank you.” You peered over your shoulder towards the restaurant just behind you. You gripped your bag tighter, inching closer to where he stood beside you on the curb.  “Actually, would you mind..?” 

He didn’t have to ask you what was wrong, within the first five minutes of your walk you had apologized to him multiple times, started crying again, and spilled your heart out.

Six bad dates in the span of a couple weeks came to a head over a plate of chicken parm, your date kicking back as he declared you to be dull, hopeless, slow, and much uglier in person than your dating profile picture (which was your clinic profile photo). 

“He said that I “couldn’t take a hint”, whatever that’s supposed to mean!” You cried indignantly before you turned to him, eyes puffy and wet from your tears. 

“Am I that bad?”

He sucked a breath between his teeth. “Well, not to play the devil’s advocate but I’ve been flirting with you for weeks and you didn’t notice.” 

You stopped dead in your tracks. “What?!”

He held up his hands defensively, but before he could say anything your head had already hung low, shuffling your clinic sneakers on the dirty sidewalk outside your apartment.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice was small as your shoulders sank. “I’m not very good at stuff like this.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, fingers grazing his choker. “I noticed, but it’s fine. You just need things to be a little more straightforward.”

He took a deep breath, clasping his hands together as he pointed at you. “I think you’re very pretty and charming in your weird doctor-y kind of way, so I would like to take you out for dinner sometime. Like, romantically.”

He was sure you gave yourself whiplash for how quickly your head snapped up, eyes wide. You brushed your tousled hair back from your face, cheeks flushing brightly enough he could see them burning under the streetlights.

“Oh, okay….when?”

“Tomorrow after you get off? I’m dreaming of beer and fried chicken if you aren’t opposed.”

“Of course not!” 

He was a little taken aback by how aggressively you answered, your hands clasping around one of his as if he was about to dematerialize before your very eyes.

“Great, then I will see you tomorrow. Have a good night, Doc—I mean, (y/n).”

“Good night to you as well.”

He turned to leave. He was practically screaming inside like a teenage girl you just secured a prom date, a new lightness to his step in the wake of his victory.

“Harumasa!”

He paused in his step, head whipping around to face you. You still stood on the stoop, a smile plastered across your face like he hadn’t seen before, one that lit your eyes up and dimpled your cheek.

“Thank you!”

He gripped his chest over his heart as it flipped wildly in his chest. His grin was pained when he looked up at you. 

“Doc, I might actually need emergency care this time--,”

Rey 2024

[shycloudkitty]

Just one more minute...

Summary: Your husband has to leave for yet another mission but he's not quite ready to let you go yet… So he just savors…each… moment… 

Pairing: Death Island! Leon × Fem reader

Tags: a bit angsty but lots of comfort, Leon sleeping peacefully for once in his life, fluff, established relationship. Just overall a short comfy read <3

WC: 1.3K

Small droplets of rain splatter on the windows of your bedroom. The soft sound created a soothing lullaby for the ears for those who were sleeping to it. The cloudy weather and the chill air contributed in making it the most serene environment while you stay snuggled up peacefully in your husband's arms with a warm blanket over you. 

His arms stayed around your waist holding you gently in a warm embrace, face nuzzling your hair, gentle breathing warming your neck. This was always his favorite position to fall asleep to. Your smell, your soft touch, your weight beneath him, telling him that you were really here… You were real. 

Your arms were wrapped around his bare torso and face buried in his chest. Feeling his body warmth seep into your skin. Limbs trained to take life, now just protecting you from the chill air and comforting you in your sleep. 

It was such a simple moment, just a couple sleeping and relaxing in each other's comfort. But at the same time it was so rare between you two. Just having these simple moments with him felt like a blessing. It was heaven.

And why wasn't it normal for both of you? Right. He had a job of saving the world, do or die, special agent... You get the idea. Except his job wasn't exactly a James Bond one. That only happened in movies. No, this was more grim than what they show in the movies. But what can you do when these are the cards life dealt you with? 

But he always felt inspired by you, how you handled every situation thrown at you with grace. Obviously, he wasn't a fool, he could see it was tough but still tried your best. Even in this relationship, you handle everything with so much love and care…he never had someone who sticked with him more than a few months let alone actually get married to. 

He didn’t hold anything against his exes, like his life was basically swamped with work so he understood why they left. What was actually confusing? You staying in his life, despite everything. You stayed even when he missed some of the important moments of your life. Sadly, that was the reality of his job. You win some, you lose some.

He was obviously happy that you stayed with him despite everything but he never quite understood why? He couldn't help but ask you this question. He remembers seeing your cheeks get red, avoiding his gaze and softly saying ‘I love you’. He also recalls saying ‘thank you’ in response because of how flustered he got from the confession. 

That memory always makes him facepalm himself.

After the day of your confession it was like his world flipped. And even though he didn't understand it fully at the time he wanted to do everything in his power to keep you in his life, even if it meant catering to your every whim. He listened to everything you said, trying to remember the best he could. 

He actually has a secret folder on his phone containing everything about your likes and dislikes just in case he needs a refresher. 

He didn’t even realize when it happened but he fell in love with you and wanted to keep you in his life forever. Thankfully, you felt the same way when he got down on one knee and asked if you wanted to marry him. He almost lost the ring with how nervous he was, fidgeting with the ring box in his pocket every 5 minutes.

It's been a few years since he tied down the knot with you and it was the best decision of his life. Sure, being married presents its own set of problems, sometimes things get rocky between you two, but there was nothing you both couldn't solve. Sometimes the problems needed talking, other times he could tell without you saying a word. But each time he makes it known that he loves you. Always. 

The soft rain slowly stirs Leon awake, he glances at his surroundings and then looks down at your sleeping face with his bleary eyes. He yawns and rubs his eyes, the digital clock on his nightstand read 6:30am. 

It was still half an hour early before he had to go to work today for some missing person assignment Hunnigan gave out. He didn’t wanna go but apparently it was top priority and needs his immediate attention. He told you about it last night, you weren't exactly happy since it was last minute but at this point you had grown used to it.

He tilts his head and looks at your serene face, caressing your cheek and sighing. His lips press a soft kiss on your forehead and gently threads his fingers through your hair. His voice comes as a soft whisper. “I don't wanna go either… you know that, right?” You probably knew how he felt about going too. You could read him like a book at this point. 

His eyes flit through your soft features, taking note of your breathing, slow and deep, fully relaxed. He smiles to himself and whispers in the same soft voice. “God, you’re so beautiful. You always are.” he lovingly brushes some hair out of your face. “I'm really lucky I get to see you like this, feels like I'm in heaven even if I probably won't ever go there. You do so much for us, I wish I could just stop this moment for us and never let go.”

He sighs softly and slowly pulls you closer to the warmth of his chest, trying not to jostle you too much. He closes his eyes briefly, focusing on your warmth. And starts mumbling to himself. “Honestly, if I was a poet I would have written dozens of poems about you. They probably would have been corny but you would have liked it.”

He gently starts brushing your hair again and continues. “But since I'm not… I don't have enough words to fully express how much you mean to me. The fact that we’re still together, makes me the luckiest fool ever lived. My heart hurts sometimes because of how happy I get cause of you.”

He sighs and mumbles. “I'm not normal…never have been. But with you…I feel that I finally became the man that I was supposed to be. And that I finally have a place called home."

He scoffs to himself, shaking his head. He didn't know what had possessed to become so sentimental this early. “I'm really cheesy aren't I?”

He felt soft teardrops on his chest where your face was resting. You had woken up from his rambling. 

His heart clenches from realization. He gulps, feeling the sudden lump rise up in his throat. He hugs you tighter and rubs your bare back. “I will come back, I promise.” Softly pressing a kiss on your shoulder. 

He glances at the time again. It was nearly 6:55am. He had to start getting ready for work. 

He slowly tilts your face, wiping away the tears from your shining eyes. His expression softens, cupping your face in his hands and softly kisses you. He feels you kiss him back, your grip on his arm tight. 

After a few moments you both slowly pull back from the kiss, eyes closed, foreheads resting against one another, soft breathing filling the quiet room. He softly mumbles. “I have to get ready now sweetheart.”

He feels you shake your head in response. Your soft voice fills the room. “No…wait for few more minutes. Just stay.”

He gulps and nods. He wasn't strong enough to deny that request. He pulls you close, covering both of you in the blanket. “Of course, darling.” And press soft kisses on your shoulder. 

Enjoying these quiet moments of solace with you. Even if he couldn't make this moment last forever, he knew he would come back to relish it again... 

Usually I wouldn't say this but I would very much appreciate it if you left comments, obviously if you want to. It helps me improve and encourages me to write more. 😊❤

-Bella