#two thousand tens (decade)

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Smithsonian Magazine:

For the first time in 112 years, Chinook salmon are swimming freely in the Klamath Basin in Oregon.

On October 16, biologists with the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife (ODFW) spotted the fish above the former site of the J.C. Boyle Dam in the Upper Klamath River. The dam was one of four that had blocked the salmon’s migration between the Klamath Basin and the Pacific Ocean. Each of those dams was recently deconstructed in the largest dam removal project in United States history, which has restored the river to its natural, free-flowing state.

At first, biologists wondered if they had really sighted a salmon. “We saw a large fish the day before rise to surface in the Klamath river, but we only saw a dorsal fin,” says Mark Hereford, leader of ODFW’s Klamath Fisheries Reintroduction Project, in a statement. “I thought, was that a salmon, or maybe it was a very large rainbow trout?”

But when the team returned on October 16 and 17, they were able to confirm the fall-run Chinook—making them the first to spot the species in the region since 1912.

The return of the salmon comes less than two months after the end of the dam removals in California and Oregon, an effort that took decades of advocacy by the surrounding tribes—including the Yurok, Karuk, Shasta, Klamath and Hoopa Valley, among others—whose people have deep ties to the Chinook salmon.

Ron Reed, a Karuk tribe member and traditional fisherman, participated in the campaigns for dam removal, advocating that the river’s restoration would help salmon recover. He isn’t surprised the fish have returned so quickly to their ancestral waters, he tells the Los Angeles Times’ Ian James.

“The fact that the fish are going up above the dams now, to the most prolific spawning and rearing habitat in North America, it definitely shines a very bright light on the future,” Reed tells the Los Angeles Times. “Because with those dams in place, we were looking at extinction. We were looking at dead fish.”

In one poignant case, tens of thousands of Chinook salmon died off in the span of days in 2002, as the water quality in the dammed Klamath River deteriorated from the lack of flow. The dams, built between the early 1900s and 1962, also contributed to algae blooms and diseases, and they blocked the salmon’s annual migration.

[probablyasocialecologist]

At least 25 undercover police officers who infiltrated political groups formed sexual relationships with members of the public without disclosing their true identity to them, the Guardian can disclose. The total shows how women were deceived on a systemic basis over more than three decades. It equates to nearly a fifth of all the police spies who were sent to infiltrate political movements. Four of the police spies fathered, or are alleged to have fathered, children with women they met while using their fake identities to infiltrate campaigners. One woman, known as Jacqui, has said her life was “absolutely ruined” after she discovered by chance that the father of her son was an undercover officer, more than 20 years after his birth. The officer, Bob Lambert, abandoned them when the son was an infant, claiming falsely that he had to go on the run abroad to escape being arrested by police. Other women had intimate relationships lasting up to six years with men who concealed the fact they were undercover officers who had been sent to spy on them and their friends. More than 50 women are so far known to have been deceived by the undercover officers, although the total is unknown at the moment and is likely to be higher. They unknowingly shared their most intimate lives with the spies and some attended weddings and funerals with them. The women were devastated when they discovered how the men had betrayed them, leaving them profoundly traumatised and unable to form trusting intimate relationships again. The scale of the deception has been revealed as ITV starts to broadcast a major series on what has become known as the “spy cops” scandal.

[...]

In total, about 139 undercover officers – employed in two covert squads – spied on more than 1,000 political groups. Tens of thousands of mainly leftwing and progressive campaigners were put under surveillance. Many of the spies created aliases based on the identities of dead children after searching through archives containing birth and death records to locate suitable matches. The officers typically spent four years pretending to be campaigners while they infiltrated political groups, befriending activists while simultaneously hoovering up information about their protests. They routinely gathered huge amounts of information about the personal lives of political activists, such as their holiday plans, sexuality and bank accounts.

2 March 2025

[amfstargirl]

Yandere batfam x neglected reader

The cut that always bleed✧.* - what was i made for?

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any grammatical errors that this story may have.

Y/n L/n was a far cry from Y/n Wayne. Despite both last names, each carrying the weight of a turbulent history, "L/n" felt surprisingly lighter. Both names reminded you of the haunting shadows cast by your mother and father, yet they bore different emotional tolls. As you stood before the mirror, a somber reflection gazing back, you pondered on the 13 years—a whole decade and three more—that seemed squandered on people who couldn't hold your gaze for more than fleeting moments.

Of course, the toll it took on your emotional health was immense, but there was nothing you could do about it. You knew that no matter what you did, you could never capture their attention, not even for a moment. By the age of six, you took up martial arts, hoping your family would be proud of you for sharing their passion. But all you received was a pat on the shoulder from Dick when you won a gold medal.

At ten, you delved into video games, hoping to bond with Tim. You spent four days learning all the rules and knowledge about the game, and two whole weeks mastering it. But when you finally mustered the courage to ask Tim to play with you, he stared at you with bored eyes, barely registering your presence. After twelve minutes of rambling about the game, he sighed, pinched his eyes, and said, "I can't. I'm busy, okay?" before leaving your small room. The video game stayed in a box, forgotten and dirty, for thirteen years, a testament to the same treatment you received over and over.

You took every opportunity, every chance to learn something they were talented in, hoping to catch a glimpse of love in their eyes. But all you got were bored, empty stares. Every hobby you had was dedicated to them, except for one: ballet. The art of dancing, with its sharp and strict moves, dancing on your tiptoes, chin up, and a graceful smile on your face. Nothing could take this away from you, not even Cassandra, who was the apple of her family's eyes as she danced on stage. You loved dancing; it filled your heart with joy and bliss. You believed this was the one thing they could never take from you. That's what you thought.

Ballet demanded strict poise and discipline, watching every bite you took and every drink you swallowed. Your mother was a beautiful woman, enchanting enough to enthrall your father. Her eyes could charm thousands of men and bend their morals to her desire. She was like a siren, captivating men with her ethereal beauty. Your father was no different, dazzling people with his money, perfect white teeth, and undeniable allure. He made heads turn and people giggle at his mere presence. So why did you feel as if you were nothing like them? Created by a goddess and a god, yet you turned out to be so unsightly that your mother sneered and threw you out of her arms, forcing you into the embrace of an unknown man.

You panted lightly, staring at your features in the mirror. Why? Why? Why? Why are you like this? Why can't you feel beautiful? Why can't you be beautiful? Why can't you be a sight for sore eyes like the men and women around you? Their features blended so well with their faces, but you? You felt like a pig with makeup on. You saw beauty in everyone but never in yourself.

Your performance is in about a few more days and you haven't eaten anything healthy for the past 3 days, you're starved, you're pressured, and your family hasn't even answered your text in which you, inviting them to please come watch your performance. Dragging your body to walk home, Alfred unfortunately can't drive you home as he is too busy with work (helping your family with their nightly activities) you hiss as the cold wind blew against your fresh scars-the result of you scratching your face with your nails due to resentment for yourself because of the question in the back of your mind: “why can't you just be good enough?”

The harsh glare of your ballet dance teacher only added more pressure, intensifying the burden on your weak shoulders. You carried the lingering thought that your family didn't care about you and the nagging feeling that you would never be good enough for them. The performance was just a few days away, and you hadn't eaten anything healthy for the past three days. You were starved, pressured, and desperately longing for your family's support. Yet, your texts inviting them to watch your performance went unanswered.

Dragging your exhausted body home, you felt a deep sense of despair. Alfred, who usually drove you home, was too busy with work, assisting your family with their nightly activities. As you walked, the cold wind bit into your fresh scars, the result of scratching your face with your nails out of self-loathing. The question haunted you: "Why can't you just be good enough?"

Your footsteps echoed in the empty streets, each step a reminder of your solitude. The streetlights cast long shadows, mirroring the darkness that seemed to envelop your soul. You could hear the distant laughter of families and friends enjoying their evenings, a stark contrast to the silence that filled your life.

But even though you're killing me

Arriving home, you unlocked the door with trembling hands. The house was quiet, as it always was when you were alone. The once warm and inviting living room now felt cold and unwelcoming. You dropped your bag and collapsed onto the couch, burying your face in your hands. Tears streamed down your cheeks, a release of the pent-up frustration and sadness. Gasping for breath as you dragged your shivering legs to your cold, small bed room as you dropped your exhausted form to your squeaking bed, staining your pillows with your tears.

I need you like the air I breathe

In your heart, you still held onto a sliver of hope that your family would show up to your performance. You envisioned them in the audience, watching with pride as you executed every move with precision and grace. But reality was harsh, and you knew deep down that their absence would cut deeper than any physical wound. But you needed them. They were the salt to your wounds yet you still crave for their attention. It's not too late right?

Please.

You spent the next few days in a haze, practicing relentlessly for the upcoming performance. Every pirouette, every leap, and every graceful move was tainted by the thought of your family's indifference. You pushed your body to the limit, hoping that the pain would numb the emotional agony. Again, again, again– again y/n! You need to perfect this! This could be the chance for you to prove to them that you're worthy of their attention! That you belong in this family just as much as they do! You can't give up. Stop trembling. Stop acting so weak. If you don't stop acting like a child then maybe they'll eventually throw you out of the house too.

Please

The day of the performance arrived, and you stood backstage, nervously adjusting your costume. Your heart pounded in your chest as you peeked through the curtains, scanning the audience for familiar faces. But as the minutes ticked by, it became clear that your family was not coming. Your lips trembling, your brain can't fathom the idea of them not coming to this performance—of course you'd expect y/n to be unsurprised by this behavior but it's not fair! You worked so hard for this only for them to answer you with nothing but silence.

I need you more than me

You destroyed yourself for this; for them! You worked every bone in your body and stretched every limb of yours, starved yourself for days, just for them to dismiss your one request to just be there. You just wanted that family where they were all so supportive of you, they all loved and adored you. The worst part is they are just not to you. And you had to learn that the hard way.

I need you more than anything

Summoning every ounce of strength, you stepped onto the stage. The spotlight shone brightly, and for a moment, you felt a surge of confidence. The music began, and you moved with the grace and elegance you had practiced so hard to perfect. Each step was a testament to your dedication, a silent plea for recognition and love. Tears threatening to spill from your eyes as a feeling of pain and happiness surged through your chest.

As you danced, the audience watched in awe. To them, you were a vision of beauty and talent. But inside, you felt empty. Every jump, every turn, and every sway of your limb was dedicated to them. With trembling lips you swallow the lump in your throat and ignore the pain in your chest as you play your part of the performance. The applause at the end of your performance was hollow, a reminder that the ones you longed to impress were not there to see it. Backstage, you received praise from your fellow dancers and instructors, but it did little to lift your spirits. You longed for a simple word of encouragement, a sign that your family cared. Instead, you were met with silence. You smiled faintly at them thanking them and exchanging a few compliments here and there. At this moment you couldn't feel anything. You were numb from all the pain you have suffered from this family.

Please, please

That night, as you lay in bed, the weight of the day's events pressed heavily on your chest. You stared at the ceiling, your mind racing with thoughts of inadequacy. The question echoed once more: "Why can't you just be good enough?"

"Those days are over," you say to yourself as you pack your bags and place your belongings into boxes. You've grown, and after 13 years in the manor begging for scraps of their attention, you've realized that what you want will never become reality. It took you a whole decade and three more years to come to this realization. You shake your head softly and smile sadly. What were you thinking? Of course, they wouldn't care about you. Your normalcy and mediocrity never appealed to them, and you’ve decided those days are finally over. It was time to move out and discover what you were truly meant for.

"What was I made for?"

you ask yourself. This question feels so much better than constantly wondering, "Will they finally look at me?" You take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh air of your new home. You breathe in and out, closing your eyes for a moment. This was it. You had made it. Slowly, you open your eyes and look at the people surrounding you, those who truly cared for you and saw you through your scars of insecurity, your perfect little hobbies, and your flawed personality. To them, you weren't Y/n Wayne, child of a billionaire, nor Y/n L/n, child of a prostitute. You were just Y/n, who tried so hard, failed, but ultimately succeeded.

The manor has been noticeably quiet for the past few days. The silence weighting discomfort as if something was wrong–as if something was missing. It was surprisingly first noticed by none other than Richard Grayson himself. The first Robin of Batman, the irreplaceable side kick, the first son of Bruce Wayne, and the darling of the crowd whom everyone loves and adore. As he walked through the large halls of the home he grew up in, he felt something was out of place. Like something wasn't in place or rather something was missing. It took him some time to figure it out as the clock ticks

Tick

Tock

Tick

Tock

Aha! He's got it! It was because there wasn't any classic orchestral music playing through the thick walls of the manor. The soft music of pyotr tchaikovsky wasn't heard anywhere around the corners of the walls. That's strange. The sweet melody of violins and cellos wasn't found in any room at all. He didn't know why but it bugged him. He sighs as he disregards it, nevermind he said, must be Alfred playing his favorite old songs. He walks around the manor to look for his siblings and father and somehow stumbled upon this.. Unknown and empty small room. “wow this is.. Something” he muttered under his breath. He inspected the room and saw multiple trophies decorating the room. It was impressive how someone can achieve this many gold medals and such. His gaze traveled across the room and saw a box full of webs and dust, and got interested as he opened it to see an old video game and thought that it must have been Tim's before he decided to throw it away out of boredom. With no more much to do he slid through the doors and whistled his way out of the room, unaware of how many memories a person created in that very same room withering away.

Tim and Damian recognized the absence of humming and the pattern of footsteps that used to echo around the house from an unknown room. The silence made them uncomfortable. They had grown so accustomed to the faint noise that it had somehow brought them comfort. The melodic lullaby of humming painted a serene picture of paradise, lulling them easily to sleep—a struggle they had faced all their lives as vigilantes, or in Damian's case, as an assassin. Their heartbeats aligned with the rhythm of the faint noise.

For Tim, it was a sweet form of salvation from the demons that haunted his nights and kept him from a good night's sleep. For Damian, it was the comfort he never knew, a stark contrast to the heavy stare of his grandfather and the weight of expectations placed on his shoulders by his mother's watchful gaze.

Jason couldn't care less about what happens around that manor. He hated that place. It made him rethink all the moments he wished he could take back. Jason Todd is a hateful man but a good soldier. He destroys in order to protect. He kills in order to let another live. A morally gray person. In his eyes he was what Bruce wayne–Batman couldn't be. But even a man who goes out at night to protect needs a break. So when he came to the manor and went straight to the library and saw that the usual piled up classic books weren't to be seen at their usual spot he found it.. Unsettling per say. The books written by Jane Austen that were filled with marked pages, sticky notes, and annotations not found in the main table of the room were strange to him. He didn't even know who did it but it made him feel like he was home. The silly doodles and random words written on the sticky notes, careful not to dirty the book, made him chuckle every time he saw it; so where was it now?

Cassandra was into ballet. She grew up silenced, observing others, forever cautious. as to why she expresses herself through dancing: ballet. A moment where she can breathe and let go. Where she can freely pour her heart into dancing. Every point, every movement, she releases her unsaid emotions. She was raised that way. Except then she was thought to swallow her words and release her pent up emotions into bad things instead of gracefully dancing. She was completely in love with dancing. Whenever she went to collect her ballet shoes there's always an extra bandage, extra shoes played on the floor. She never knew why and she never questioned it. Just ignored it. But now she somehow froze at her spot to see nothing but her shoes and not next to the light pink ones that had a small bow to compliment its design. Ever so stunning; the person who wears it must have been the same kind of persona-wait.. Person? There's another one.. Oh.

Bruce Wayne was a busy man. By day, he handled his company, Wayne Enterprises. His days were filled with paperwork, meetings, and managing marketing strategies. But by night, he never slept. No, he donned the mantle of Batman, the prince of Gotham City, the guardian of Lady Gotham. He didn't have time for anything he deemed unworthy of his attention. He noticed every tiny mistake, be it at work or on the streets of Gotham. At work, he spotted grammatical errors and unstraightened lines of decorative mugs. As Batman, he detected the slightest hint of lies in a criminal's eyes. So, yes, he noticed that something—or rather, someone—from the manor was missing.

As dick whistled his way out of the room unable to find his family members, he decided to go to the batcave and have a little fun while being alone. He did all things he could think of. Look for more cases to solve, dig some stuff out criminal records, blah blah blah.. Then he decided to check the manor's CCTV.

As dick was checking the cctv's of the manor out of boredom, he managed to catch a glimpse of footage-about 2 weeks ago of a person..? Packing their bags and putting things from the manor into a box and leaving. It must be a thief! But that's impossible.. The manor has many securities that even a skilled assassin could not pass through the gates, it's impossible. Unless..

Dick took another glance at the footage and zoomed the screen and squinted his eyes. And for a second, his breath hitched and his heart pumped fast, his hand trembled and his eyes dilated..

It can't be.

You.. Y-..y/n? What were you doing? Where are you going? He bit his lips harshly as he watched the footage like a hawk. His hands came to fidget with his hair. Was that really you? You look so grown.. Several thoughts ran through his mind as he pondered on what you were doing. After a matter of time he somehow remembers. Oh yeah! Your contact number. His hands trembling, in a hurry he pressed your name in his phone and.. Shoot. His eyes widened at the several missed calls and texts from you. Not even a single response from him. Come to think of it, when was the last time he talked to you? Like, really talked to you? He quickly text you “heyy baby birdddd I miss you! Let's hang out right now!” while biting his thumb as he bounced his thighs up and down from anticipation. And then suddenly.. He remembers! The room! It was yours! Before he even knew it, he was quick on his feet and ran like a mad man towards your room. He panted slightly at the face of your door and harshly opened your room unaware of his strength. He went through every corner of your room. He explored every side of your room to find something-anything that can give him even a spoil of information about you. And that was when he found a tiny pink notebook. He chuckled softly, out of breath, hair messed up like a mad man but dick didn't care, no because he finally found your one and only diary! Filled with bows and pink glitters.. Hah..you were so cute. He went through your diary, invading your privacy and saw all of the things you've said. The way you praised him, the way you adored your family, your little adventures, your previous ballet performances (you did ballet? Wow, you're just so talented.. Oh his little bird.) he suddenly heard a high pitched ping! And scrambled to his phone as he expected a response from you but instead all he was met with was “y/n has blocked you”.

What..? Why? Didn't you want to spend time with your precious big brother? His blood shot eyes twitched and sweat ran down from his face. The suddenly a deep voice said:

“dick? What's going on here?”

Note: as promised! Here is the chapter yall asked forrr tell me what you guys think!

[layaispunk]

i don’t know if you can write something without smut but i want reader’s parents(or dad idc) organizing this barbecue party in their house and joel trying to hard to play it cool and to stay away from reader who wears skimpy jean shorts and top only to tease him, and they end up sneaking in the kitchen to make out and almost get caught by reader’s dad or smth, you can change it however you see right, i just want to feel a lot tension and risk, thnks<33

you better behave, darling

part two here

pairing: joel miller x female!reader

warnings: sexual tension, mentions of alcohol and cigarettes, age gap unspecified, dilf!joel

masterlist

you didn’t know exactly when your crush on joel miller had gone from “dad’s hot friend” to “i think about you when i’m bored, lonely, or drunk”

maybe it was last winter, when he came over to help your dad fix the leaking pipes and left the garage smelling like his cologne. or maybe it was that time he picked you up from a party because your parents were out of town. 

it didn’t matter anymore.

because now it was summer, you just graduated, joel was very much still single, and the tension in your chest every time he was near had officially passed the point of manageable.

it didn’t help that he was practically family. joel had been friends with your parents for over a decade. came to holidays, fixed things when they broke, gave your dad advice about tires and taxes, even helped put up the christmas lights last year. he was dependable, and masculine, and protective, and you …. you had a massive crush on him. and he’d never looked at you like that. which was…. fine. safe. understandable. and completely infuriating. 

you were stirring a spoon around in your coffee, half-listening to your parents chat at the table behind you.

“the weather’s holding up,” your dad said between bites of toast. “could be a good weekend for that barbecue.”

your mom nodded. “we haven’t done one in a while. invite the usual crew? tommy, joel…”

at that, your stomach flipped. you didn’t flinch, or turn around, you just kept stirring your coffee a little longer than necessary, like the silence might cool it down faster.

joel.

you hadn’t seen him in a couple weeks — not since he stopped by to drop off a toolbox your dad had left in his truck. he stayed for a beer, made polite conversation, asked how you’d been. you said fine. normal. 

you tried not to think about him too much. emphasis on tried.

“i’ll call joel later, tell him to bring that smoked sausage he always does,” your dad said. “man knows his way around a grill.”

you turned your back so they couldn’t see the smile on your face. 

ten minutes later, you were upstairs in your room. you shut the bedroom door with your hip and let out a slow breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

you opened your closet and started throwing every single summer dress you owned onto your bed. 

you stared at a faded red sundress with thin straps and a hem that rested above your thighs.

maybe you were overthinking it. maybe it was all in your head. joel probably still saw you as just a family friend, someone he watched grow up. there were a thousand reasons not to try anything . the age gap, the connection to your parents, the risk of looking foolish.

but even with all of that, you couldn’t shake the feeling.

it was stupid. delusional, even. but there was something about this summer. post-grad, the loneliness, the ache to feel something different … that made you want to stop tiptoeing around what you wanted.

what was the worst that could happen?

he says no? he laughs it off? you survive. you move on. life keeps going.

but what if he didn’t?

you flopped back on the bed dramatically, letting the red dress fan out beside you. your heart fluttering. you were tired of wondering. of watching him from across the street like he was just some living daydream. you were going to do something about it.

that night, you couldn’t sleep.

you tried, tossing your arm over your eyes, shifting under the thin sheet, but your body was still humming with something you couldn’t quiet understand.

maybe you could watch a rom-com, fall asleep to it. you got out of bed and padded downstairs barefoot, planning to dig through the kitchen for a snack while watching the movie. 

halfway down the stairs, you heard it. his voice.

oh god.

you froze on the last step, blinking like you’d imagined it.

“-nah, she’s got good taste, i’ll give her that,” joel was saying, voice smooth and warm from laughter.

you stepped into the living room, eyes flicking toward the kitchen where he stood with your dad, each with a bottle of beer in hand. joel turned when he saw you, his smile lazy, casual.

“evenin’,” he said.

“hey,” you replied, swallowing the sudden flutter in your throat. 

“joel brought over that old drill i needed,” your dad said, wiping his hands on a rag. “we got to talkin’, hope we didn’t wake you.”

“no, i was just… getting a snack,” you said, causally.

your dad looked at his watch and sighed. “gotta take a shower before bed. long day tomorrow. mind lettin’ him out when you’re done? make sure the old man makes it to his porch without fallin’ on his ass.”

you snorted. “sure.”

your dad clapped joel on the shoulder and disappeared upstairs.

and just like that, it was just you and joel.

the kitchen felt smaller. he leaned against the counter, nursing the rest of his beer, his eyes meeting yours with a little lift of his chin.

“remind me, when’s your graduation ceremony?” he asked after a beat.

you opened the fridge and pretended to look for something, keeping your voice even. “10th october. why?”

he took another sip before answering. “so i can get sarah to book a flight. she’s been wantin’ an excuse to come home for a bit.”

your head turned slightly, surprise flashing across your face. “that’s sweet.”

he shrugged, eyes warm. “plus i need time to rent a real nice suit. y’know, show up proper. make you proud.”

you turned your head to look at him fully now, your hand still on the fridge door.

“seriously?” you laughed.

he nodded, “wouldn’t miss it.”

your lips twitched into a soft smile. you were really looking at him now, the way the light hit the grays in his hair. at the soft creases around his mouth. at the strong, careful way he watched you.

joel tilted his head, voice quiet. “why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”

you shrugged, mouth twitching. “no reason.” a pause. then, just barely above a whisper: “you smell good.”

something shifted in his face. his fingers tensed slightly around the neck of the bottle.

a beat passed. then he spoke again, casual but with something simmering underneath.

“you still seein’ that brandon boy?”

you blinked. “brandon?” you laughed softly. “god, no. he was… stupid. and immature.”

joel made a small noise of approval, almost a chuckle.

“i prefer older guys anyway,” you added, letting the words linger in the air.

his eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t say anything right away. just met your eyes with something unreadable and intense.

you cleared your throat, breaking the silence before it could swallow you whole. “you coming to the barbecue tomorrow night?”

“yeah, course,” he said slowly, like he’d just pieced something together. “you?”

“mhm.” you nodded.  “i’ll just have to look extra pretty, for you, then.”

joel’s brow twitched, and you swore you saw the corner of his mouth lift. “that right?”

you shrugged, playing it cool. “well, if you’re gonna go through all the trouble of renting a suit, i figure i should match the effort.”

“that dress you wore to mrs. adler’s party would probably do it,” he said, voice quiet.

you blinked. “you remember what i wore?”

a blush crept up on his neck. “i mean … i dont know. i guess.”

you smiled, “hm.”

he ran a hand over the back of his neck, “kinda hard to forget. you looked real pretty.”

you grabbed some snacks from the cabinet, trying to fight your grin. “you think you can keep your cool tomorrow?” 

joel exhaled through his nose, “you really tryin’ to start somethin’ right now?”

“maybe” you just tilted your head, all innoncent. 

joel leaned just a little closer, voice low and thick. “you better behave tomorrow, darlin’.”

the evening heat was relentless, sun hanging low over the backyard, making the sky look pink and orange, shimmering with heat. you could feel it sticking to your skin beneath the thin fabric of your dress. restless, you kept stealing glances toward joel. he was the center of attention as usual, leaning against the grill, a beer in one hand, chatting with his blonde neighbors who definitely knew how to flirt. it was clear why: joel was the hottest guy in austin. no competition. 

you twisted the hem of your dress nervously and slipped inside the kitchen, your steps light on the floor. your eyes landed on the bottle of tequila you’d been using to mix drinks for the guests. without thinking, you grabbed it and took a quick, rebellious gulp.

“hey, what the hell are you doing, kiddo?” your dad’s voice cut through the quiet.

caught off guard, you froze, then blurted out, “it’s summer, dad. leave me alone.”

he just shook his head with a smirk, joking about losing a brain cell, and walked away, leaving you to slip back out into the backyard.

as you rounded the corner, you bumped into joel. his beer nearly slipped from his hand, but he caught it without missing a beat.

“hey,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he looked you up and down.

you looked around, making sure nobody could hear you, “you didn’t say a word about the dress, joel. i thought it was for you.”

he chuckled softly, shaking his head. “you’re bein’ stupid. you know your old man would kill me. chop my head off and put it on a plate, probably.”

joel’s eyes softened, and his voice lowered just for you. “you’re real pretty tonight, darlin’, but we can’t.”

you bit your lip, stepping a little closer. “so what if we can’t? makes it more fun.”

he gave you a half-smile, and headed toward the fence, pulling out a cigarette. lighting it, he took a slow drag and exhaled the smoke into the summer air.

you followed him, leaning against the fence beside him. “mind if i have a puff?” you asked casually.

joel didn’t even hesitate, handing you the cigarette with a small grin. after you took a slow drag, you looked down at your dress and then back at him. “hey, can you help me with this?” you said, pointing to the strap sliding off your shoulder.

he glanced at you, smirking. “i know what you’re doing, dirty girl.”

you looked up at him, innocently. “just want you to help me with my dress, joel.” you stepped closer, right in front of him, your breath catching when his hands reached for the straps of your dress. his fingers brushed your shoulders, sending a jolt straight through you.

for a moment, the world shrank down to the two of you. the distant laughter, the grill, the heat of the summer evening, all fading into nothing. you could feel the heat pooling low, your panties already soaked from the tequila and nerves, and the touch of joel’s hands. 

he tightened the strap with slow care, his fingers lingering just a second too long. you swallowed hard, the backyard spinning just a little.

then, you did something stupid. you glanced over your shoulder, making sure no one was close enough to see what you were about to do. with a quick, reckless motion, you slid your light pink thongs down your thighs and, without a word,  handed them to joel.

his eyes widened just the slightest when he caught the delicate fabric.

you turned on your heel and walked away, heart hammering, cheeks burning. 

you didn’t see him again for about an hour. he was avoiding you.

the backyard was buzzing with bodies, laughter, and music. you found yourself stuck in the kitchen, nodding politely while your mom’s friend kelly launched into a drawn-out conversation about your post-grad plans. you tried to focus, offering half-hearted mhms and smiles, but your brain was still caught on what you’d done. the tequila was wearing off just enough for embarrassment to creep in.

god. you’d really handed joel miller your panties like it was nothing.  you shifted your weight, pretending to sip your beer, trying to inch toward the doorway when you caught something out of the corner of your eye.

joel. standing by the hallway.

he wasn’t looking at you directly, but his body was turned just enough that you knew he was waiting. his eyes flicked to the bathroom door beside him, then back to you. a silent message.

you didn’t hesitate.

“sorry-beer’s hitting me,” you said quickly to kelly, leaving the beer on the counter and flashing a small apologetic smile as you backed away. “need to pee before i explode.”

she laughed and waved you off.

you slipped down the hall, heart pounding so loud it felt like your whole body moved with each beat. joel stood there, still as anything, but the look in his eyes was different now. 

when you reached the door, he grabbed your wrist, pulled you inside the bathroom, and shut the door behind you with a click, and locked it. 

you were pressed against the door, chests touching, the very little space between you hot and electric. neither of you moved for a second. just breathing. you could hear the party still humming faintly outside the door, but it felt miles away.

joel leaned in, his mouth close to your ear, voice low and ragged. “you’re outta your goddamn mind.”

you shivered.

“the hell has gotten into you tonight, huh?”

your courage from earlier fizzled out, the reality of it all creeping in now that he was here, so close, and looking at you like that.

“i’m sorry,” you said, breath hitching. “i didn’t mean to pressure you. i just…”

his mouth was on yours before you could finish.

it was rough and desperate, his hand cradling the back of your head as his lips crushed into yours. you gasped, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongues sliding, hands wandering. you felt him everywhere. his body, solid and warm, pressing you harder against the door. his grip firm and grounding.

you whimpered against his mouth, fingers tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer like you couldn’t get enough. he tasted like beer and smoke, and it made your knees weak.

joel finally pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours. “jesus,” he muttered. “you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.” his lips found yours again, hungry and desperate. he kissed you like he needed to memorize the way you tasted. 

you moaned into his mouth, your body practically vibrating with need. his hands moved slowly, trailing down your sides, fingers grazing your hips. you could feel the hesitation there, the weight of everything unsaid between you, but it didn’t stop him.

his touch slipped beneath the hem of your dress, calloused palms dragging up the bare skin of your thighs. your breath hitched, and you couldn’t help it, you let out a soft moan.

“joel …”

he groaned low in his throat. “fuck.”

then.. two knocks.

you both froze.

your heart jumped into your throat. joel’s hand clapped gently but firmly over your mouth before you could react. his palm covered half your face—god, his hands were huge. 

yep. dad was right. you officially lost a brain cell.

“hey, someone in there?” your dad’s voice rang out from behind the door.

joel’s eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights. he took a deep breath and answered with forced nonchalance.

“yeah, buddy. gimme a second. beer’s hittin’ me hard. think i just lost my goddamn bowels.”

PART 2 !

thankyou for reading ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

p.s the whole underwear situation was inspired by the fic we all read and love, fourth of july by jrrmint

[docrobinavitch]

tracing back lucky stars

dr. robby x f!attending!reader masterlist content: 18+ mdni, sexually explicit content, infidelity, swearing, angst, usual medical canon events (not much tho), mention of alcoholic parent, other mentions of death, grief, age gap (less than ten year gap) words: 15.4K synopsis: this fic spans over a decade and follows our reader from first meeting robby in a chance interaction in florida as a resident all the way to 2024. all events take place prior to season one. this is inspired by when harry met sally, as requested from one of my beloved anons. lots of will they won't they, robby being oblivious to his own feelings for like ten goddamn years, i guess slow burn ish??? a/n: hi my friends, can't explain just how much fun i had writing this so huuuuuge thank you to the anon that requested it!! i really hope you love it. they will live in my brain space for quite a while i think. title is taken from song lucky stars by haim. as always thank u for being here!! <3 syd

2013 

As you stood at that rental car counter, you decided you hated the south. You hated the way southerners pretended to be nice, but really probably hated your guts. The way they smiled at you and crooned with their syrupy sweet voices that bless your heart, they thought you were a little soft in the head. Everyone always loved to say northerners were assholes, but to you they were just honest. You had infinitely more respect for the guy from Philly who flipped you off in traffic and screamed out his window that you drove like a ninety seven year old lady with glaucoma than the man in front of you who was giving his best Aw Shucks expression as he told you he would not rent his last car to you.

“Ma’am, as I’ve already explained to you, I cannot rent you that car, it’s a manual.”

“And as I’ve already explained to you, Martin, I know how to drive a stick.”

“If that’s true,” He said slowly, “Then why did you select ‘automatic’ for preferred transmission type on the rental form?”

You sighed and let your hands rise and fall loudly with a smack onto the counter, “Because the year is two thousand and thirteen and I assumed that there would be an automatic car available.”

You were running very low on patience after the morning you’d had. After spending the weekend at an emergency medicine conference, you had gotten up at four in the morning to make an early flight back to Pittsburgh. But lovely, beautiful Panama City, Florida had fucked you over from the moment you woke up this morning. 

The hot water in your hotel room had been out and you’d been forced to take an icy shower. You spilt orange juice all over the outfit you planned to wear to the airport and so were forced to instead wear denim shorts that rode just an inch too high. The iced coffee you had made yourself behind schedule to buy before getting to the airport was knocked from your hand by an inattentive cyclist. And you had broken the heel on one of your cowboy boots on your way into the airport. So you hobbled up to bag check only to find out that your flight was cancelled and could not be rescheduled until tomorrow.

You couldn’t wait until tomorrow. You were an R3 and you had a double shift tomorrow and you needed this flight to get back to Pittsburgh at a reasonable hour so you could get whatever sleep possible before reporting for shift. So you really, really needed this fucking car if you had any hope at all of both getting some sleep and making your shift.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m just not comfortable renting you the vehicle. Now, I really need to take care of the next customer–”

“Oh, Jesus, fuck, I’m trying to give you money for a service!” You pushed your credit card and license across the counter, “Please just rent me the car so I can go home!”

“Excuse me,” The voice behind you was rough and warm, and oddly familiar. It took you less than thirty seconds to place him. 

You had listened to him speak at the conference for an hour about how to deliver bad news to patients with the right amount of empathy. You remembered specifically how soothing you had found his voice and found it unsurprising that he would seem so good at delivering bad news. He could probably tell you he had stolen your identity and all money from your bank account and you would thank him.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I overheard you’re also heading to Pittsburgh?” He said to you and then turned to your newly minted nemesis, Martin, “I can drive stick, I could drive us both.”

Well, smooth voice or not, he could get fucked if he thought he was going to steal your rental.

“Excuse me,” You said, turning to the doctor who was way taller in person than you remembered him being on stage, “But you’re not taking my rental.”

“Ma’am, as I’ve said, it’s not your rental.”

“Martin,” You said, your voice high and strained as you whipped your head back towards him, “Could you mind your own goddamn business, please?”

“I— Sorry—“ Doctor Soothing Voice interjected again, “I just, I heard you were going to Pittsburgh and it’s the last rental—“

“So you thought you’d steal it from me?”

He laughed and scratched the back of his head, “No, I thought we could split it.”

Ordinarily, you may have been more polite. You had really enjoyed his talk. But you were very angry and your ankle was throbbing from when you had broken your heel. You wanted a peaceful drive by yourself.

“I don’t share cars with strange men, that’s how you end up on Dateline.”

He nodded, “Yeah, fair enough. What if we grab a coffee first?” He turned to Martin and slid a fifty dollar bill across the counter, “You’ll hold the car for us?”

You watched as Martin pocketed the fifty, nodding politely at Doctor Soothing Voice and you glared at him, upper lip beginning to turn up in disgust. You could already be on the road by now if it wasn’t for this sexist pig who thought women couldn’t drive stick.

“If you keep staring at him like that,” Doctor Soothing Voice whispered from over your shoulder, “You might actually end up on Dateline when they find his body.”

Accepting defeat, you sighed. Grabbing your bags, you began walking away from the counter.

“Have a beautiful day, ma’am.” Martin said as you walked by. 

You gave a short laugh and started to turn back around, “Oh, you son of a—“

“Nope.” Doctor Soothing Voice gently took your shoulders and turned you back in the direction of the door, “Just keep walking.”

Once outside in the oppressive humidity, you shook his hands off you, “You know, I could have handled that myself.”

He nodded, smiling, “I have no doubts on that front.” He gestured down to your heel-less boot, “What happened to your boot, you get in a brawl with a condescending horse?”

You snorted, “A doctor and funny. Though, I guess unsurprising since you work in an ER. If anyone’s gonna be funny it’s emergency medicine doctors. How else do we cope with the horrors?” He frowned at you in silent question, “Oh. Sorry. I should have said, I was at the conference, I saw your talk. Though your name is slipping my mind at the moment.”

He raised his eyebrows and you saw the way his eyes traveled down your legs and back up again, “You were… Here for the conference?”

“What, so, because I wore cowboy boots and booty shorts to the airport you think they’re gonna take my medical license away?”

He laughed, “You’re right, I apologize. Of course you can still practice medicine in booty shorts.” He held out a hand for you to shake, “I’m Michael. Robinavitch. You could also just call me Robby, if you want, that’s what I go by in the ER.”

You shook his hand and gave him your name, “I’m an R3, I work at UPMC Presbyterian.”

“Huh, what are the odds?” He ran a hand through his hair, “So you knew who I was and still refuse to get in a car with me?”

You started rolling your suitcase towards the Dunkin’ across the street, hobbling as you went, “Just because you’re a good doctor doesn’t mean you’re not also a deviant. People are layered and nuanced. And sick.”

His mouth was twitching towards a smirk again as he followed after you. Something about you was very intriguing to him. “Nuanced like how you’re an R3 wearing booty shorts and cowboy boots to the airport?”

“Yes, exactly.” You looked both ways at the crosswalk in front of the Dunkin’ before stepping into traffic, “Besides, I need an iced coffee if I’m about to endure fifteen plus hours in a car with a stranger.”

Robby continues to watch you from behind, eternally amused by your uneven gate, “Don’t you have other shoes?”

“Yes, well, I’ve hardly had the time to dig into my suitcase to find them now, have I?” You turned and walked backwards so you could look at him, “Do you criticize all your residents like this?”

He frowned, “That wasn’t a critique, you just look uncomfortable. Do you get this defensive with all your attendings?”

You turned away from him and he watched your shoulders heave with a sigh, “No. Believe it or not, I’m not normally like this. Must be something about you that gets under my skin.”

“Well,” He smirked and held the Dunkin’ door open for you, “You have about fifteen hours to figure out what it is.”

***

“When was the last time you drove stick?” Robby was holding the keys up just out of your reach. You knew he was trying to see if you would jump for them, but you would not be humiliated. You crossed your arms and glared at him instead.

In the last half hour you had changed your shoes and drank half your iced coffee while Robby filled out the rest of the paperwork for the car.

You shrugged, “I don’t know, more than ten years ago?”

He scoffed, “Okay, you’re definitely not driving then.”

“What, like you drive a stick super often?”

“Yes, actually, the car I own at home is a manual.”

You laughed, “Oh, okay. You’re one of those guys?”

He blinked at you, still smirking, “What does that mean? One of those guys?”

You walked around to the passenger side door, opening it, and standing on the step so you could look over the roof at him, “You know, one of those guys who only drives a manual and thinks they’re better than you for it. And like, probably owns a fucking motorcycle or something that he works on in his garage with his own two hands and talks about like it’s his child.”

You watched with glee as his face reddened, “Oh my God, you do have a motorcycle, don’t you? And a leather jacket?”

“Get in the car,” He said, still blushing as he opened the driver’s side door.

Very pleased with yourself, you ducked into the car.

***

“How’d you learn to drive stick?” He asked once they were on the road.

You were eating a donut with your feet propped up on the dash, the window open and blowing in your hair, “My dad taught me.”

He nodded, “Are the two of you close?”

“No,” You said, mouth full of donut, and then swallowed, “He was an alcoholic.”

“Oh,” Robby said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Oh, he’s not dead, he’s just dead to me.” You turned to him and smirked as he was blushing again, “It’s okay, I haven’t spoken to him in almost ten years. I’ve moved on.”

He nodded and cleared his throat, “Sounds like that must’ve been… difficult.”

Your smile widened at his attempt to comfort you. Commiserate, even, “We are strangers in a car for fifteen hours together. We don’t have to do all this.”

He shrugged and turned to look at you briefly while stopped at a red light, “Isn’t this sorta the whole point of being alive though? Getting to know strangers?”

He had very intense, very warm, brown eyes. The kind of eyes that seemed to look right through you on first glance, that made you itch to break his stare. For just a moment, your smile slipped, and you tore your gaze from his to look out the windshield, “The light’s green.”

After a few moments of silence, you cleared your throat, “Seems like now’s a good time to mention that I am engaged, by the way. So if you were thinking about falling in love with me in the next fifteen hours, don’t.”

You heard him chuckle next to you, “Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on it. You’re not my type.”

You choked on your iced coffee and turned to look at him, “Excuse me?”

“What?” He laughed, “Are you shocked that the booty shorts didn’t work on me or something?”

You felt your face flush and you turned away from him, “No, I just… men don’t have a type.”

He scoffed, “What are you talking about?”

“Men will fuck any woman who shows even a little bit of interest in them. It’s why they’re incapable of being just friends with women.”

He raised his eyebrows, “You don’t think men and women can be just friends?”

“I don’t think straight men and straight women can be just friends because the man will always be secretly thinking about fucking her.” Robby was shaking his head, “What, you disagree?”

He laughed, “Yeah, of course. I promise I am not thinking about fucking you even a little bit.”

You smirked, “Okay. Well, I guess we can be friends then. At least until you prove me right.”

“Won’t happen.” 

You grinned, “Friends forever, then.”

He laughed, “Yeah, sure. Friends forever.”

***

The sun was beginning to set when Robby pulled back on the highway after stopping for Wendy’s, french fry hanging from his mouth.

“I could drive, you know, for a little while.”

“S’okay,” Robby said, food in his mouth, “I like the driving. Prefer it, actually.”

You nodded, “Yeah, that tracks with the whole thing you got going on.”

He laughed and gave you a quick glance, “You are such a know-it-all, you know? Anyone ever told you that? What thing do I have going on?”

You tossed a chicken nugget in your mouth before answering, “I’m not a know-it-all, I'm just really good at reading people.” You swallowed, “You have control issues.”

He ran a hand over his face, slightly shaking his head, “And how did you arrive at this conclusion?”

You shrugged, “It’s just sorta written all over you. The way you stepped in at the rental counter, the way you insist on driving, even in your talk at the conference you told a story when you were a resident where you ended up stealing a patient from another, more senior resident because you thought you knew best.”

He scoffed, “Yes, but I was right.”

“That time. I’m sure you’ve done that before and been wrong.” He’s quiet and when you look over at him, his jaw is clenched. Oh. You’ve pissed him off. “I didn’t mean to upset you, it’s not necessarily a bad thing. We all have quirks—“

“Like you being an insufferable know-it-all?” He said sharply.

You went quiet. You weren’t offended, exactly, moreso caught off guard that you had triggered him so easily when it hadn’t been your intention. 

“Sorry,” He said after a moment, sighing, “That was unnecessary.”

You nodded, “Let’s take a break from talking for a while.” You leaned forward to start fiddling with the radio before sitting back and humming along.

Robby drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, but for the most part, the two of you sat in companionable silence for roughly a half hour.

Until Robby cleared his throat, “I’m sorry for snapping at you, I know I have control issues. Guess it was frustrating hearing it from someone who doesn’t even really know me.”

You shrugged, “It’s okay. For what it’s worth I have been told I’m an insufferable know-it-all.”

He smirked, “And does your fiancé love that about you?”

You snorted, “No. There’s nothing a man hates more than a woman who thinks she knows more than him.”

The comment struck him as a little too honest. And he thought, perhaps, there was a note of hurt in your voice.

“How long have you been together?” He asked mildly.

You sighed and he saw you examine the ring on your finger out of the corner of his eye, “We dated for three years and got engaged about six months ago.”

He nodded, “You have a date in mind for the wedding?”

You became uncharacteristically quiet and he worried he had pushed too hard, but then, “No, um, we still can’t agree on a venue. And then we just decided maybe it would make more sense to wait until I finished my residency.”

“Oh,” He said, “Well, yeah, that seems reasonable.”

You cleared your throat, “What about you, Robby, you have anyone at home?”

It was not lost on him that you had redirected the conversation away from yourself, but that was fine. It wasn’t his business anyway.

“No,” He said, “No, it’s just been me for a while now.”

You nodded, “How’s that going for ya?”

He smirked, “No one to make a victim of with my control issues, so it’s alright.”

You smiled and then yawned, “Could you talk for a while?”

He huffed a laugh through his nose, “About what?”

“Anything. Medical procedures. Hell, give me your talk again.” You yawned a second time, “Anyone ever told you you have a very calming voice?”

“Oh, so my talk put you to sleep?”

“No,” You settled back into the car seat, pulling the lever to recline it slightly and resting your head against the door, “Your talk was very good, actually. You just have a nice voice. It’s how I recognized you earlier. But now, yes, I would like you to put me to sleep if you don’t mind. I have a double tomorrow.”

Robby smirked and looked at you out of the corner of his eye. Your eyes were already closed, head leaned against the window, arms crossed across your chest.

“Alright,” He said eventually, “If you insist.”

***

It took only about twenty minutes of him talking, redoing the talk he had done the day before, before he noticed you had drifted off. When he could safely get a look at you, he saw your mouth slightly agape and you were snoring softly. It shocked him how endearing he found it, how oddly comforting it was to drive with someone dozing off in the passenger seat.

You had entered your address into the GPS a couple of hours ago and with the street lights illuminating the inside of the car, he pulled up outside your apartment building.

He hated to wake you, you really did look so peaceful, the street lights giving your face an artificial glow. 

He stared at you a beat too long before he reached a hand to your knee and gave it a light squeeze, “Hey, you’re home.”

You stirred, what sounded almost like a mewl crawled out your throat as you came to and Robby fought a smile. “Home?” You asked sleepily.

“Yes,” He leaned away from you, allowing you to wake fully, “You fell asleep.”

You blinked the sleep from your eyes and looked around, “Well,” You dragged your arm at the corner of your mouth, wiping away the drool that had collected there, “I think it’s safe to say you’re no deviant, Michael Robinavitch. Thank you for getting me home safely.”

He smirked and got out of the car to help you with your suitcase, “Anytime.”

Having all your things, you looked from your apartment building back to Robby, “So, we’re still friends?” You asked, smirking, calling everything back to your earlier conversation.

A slow smile made its way across his face. The answer was yes, but he was beginning to wonder if he had more than fifteen hours with you if the answer would eventually be no.

“Yes,” Was all he said, though. You were engaged. Someone else’s. “Friends forever, like I said.”

Your smile widened and you laughed, “Good, excellent. Maybe I’ll see you around then, Dr. Robby.”

He nodded, hands stuffed in his pockets, “I hope so.”

And then he watched, leaning against the car, as you made your way towards the apartment building. You didn’t look back at him. He waited until you were safely inside before climbing back into the car and pulling off the curb.

***

2018

Normally, you could only be found at a local bookstore, but every one you had checked as of late was missing the one book you wanted. So that was how you ended up at Barnes & Noble that day. You were crouched in front of the shelf, looking intently at the spines to locate the title you were looking for and so didn’t notice that someone was now standing next to you.

Successfully locating the novel, you pulled it from its shelf and rose to standing, beginning to read the blurb on the back cover.

Which was how you found yourself face to face with Michael Robinavitch after not seeing him for five years.

“Oh,” You said, “Hi.”

Quickly, you realized it was more than likely he had completely forgotten about you. It had been five years since you had shared that rental car up to Pittsburgh and you hadn’t seen him since. He hadn’t changed all that much, though his beard was a bit more unruly than you remembered.

But then, his face lit up in recognition, “Hi,” He said, seemingly shocked, but pleased to run into you, “I almost didn’t recognize you, your hair… it’s… different.”

You smirked, “Oh, you hate it.”

“No,” He said quickly, “No, I actually think it suits you more than the long hair.”

You smiled, “Nice save. Just as charming as I remembered.”

He shook his head, a flush working its way up his neck, “You still at Presby?”

“Yes,” You nodded, “I’m an attending now, though.”

“Good, that’s good,” You noted the way his eyes fell to your left hand and you knew what he was looking for, “Did you get married, then? You said you were waiting to finish your residency.”

It was shocking to you that he remembered you had said that. At the same time, it sent an ache through you to think about that relationship.

“I did get married,” You said slowly, looking down at your empty ring finger, “We got divorced about a year ago.”

“Oh,” He sighed, “I’m… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it’s okay.” Instinctively, you placed a hand on his forearm, meant for reassurance. But his eyes stared down at your hand, and self consciously, you pulled away, “We probably shouldn’t have gotten married in the first place,” You shrugged, “Besides, relationships will probably always be doomed for me. Emergency medicine doctors suck at marriage.”

He barked a short laugh and shook his head, “You can’t think like that.”

“Hey, I’m just going by the empirical data,” You tilted your head to the side and narrowed your eyes at him, “Are you… in a relationship? I didn’t see a ring.”

He gave you a lopsided grin, “I’m actually here with my girlfriend, Janey and her son, Jake. Wandered off by myself while they were looking for a book for him for school.”

Oh, it pissed you off the way your stomach sank. He had always said you weren’t his type anyway. He was probably actually telling the truth. It figured the only honest man you’d ever met wouldn’t be into you.

Granted, you didn’t really know Robby, only the version of him that lived in your head from that fifteen hour car ride that you revisited every so often. More so since your divorce finalized. But it was just loneliness, you assured yourself. You had created a version of him in your head that didn’t exist. The man you occasionally pined after was not in front of you, just someone who looked like him.

“That’s lovely, Robby. I’m happy for you.”

He laughed, “You just said ER doctors can’t keep a relationship.”

You shook your head, “Stupid and self deprecating. It’s just a coping mechanism. I’m sure you’re really great at it. Being a boyfriend.”

He scoffed and scratched the back of his head, “I don’t know about that, but I’m trying.” He nodded to the book in your hand, “What’s that?”

You flipped it in your hand so he could see the cover, My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Otessa Moshfegh. 

“Uh, just a book I heard about online,” You shrugged.

“What’s it about?”

You shrugged again, smirking, “A woman who is so sick of everything she gets her psychiatrist to prescribe her enough pills to sleep through a whole year.”

He tilted his head slightly as he looked at you. You had worked with many an ER physician in your career and while in med school. You knew what it looked like when someone was assessing you for injury.

“Should I be concerned?” He asked. His tone was casual, but his posture was anything but.

Your grin widened, “You should always be concerned about me.” You joked, but his frown deepened, “I’m fine, Robby. It’s just a book.”

It wasn’t totally true. You had sought the book out because you suspected you would relate to the protagonist. Maybe too much. But he was a stranger. He didn’t need to hear about your suicidal ideations.

“You still drive stick?” You asked, anxious to move the conversation away from yourself.

He laughed and shook his head, “No, I finally have an automatic like the rest of the population.”

You laughed, “Oh, no. Bummer. You’re just like the rest of us peasants now. Do you at least still have the motorcycle?”

“Sold it a couple years ago.”

You winced, “Man, you’ve really let yourself go.”

He laughed and ran a hand over the back of his neck. You didn’t want to leave, but you felt the longer you stood here talking to him, it threatened to disprove the belief that he could not be as lovely as you made him out to be in your head.

“So,” You said finally and held your fist out to him, “Still friends?”

He gave you a lopsided grin and pressed his fist to yours, “Friends forever,” He repeated the words from five years ago and for a moment it felt as if no time had passed at all, “Like I said. Though I hope to see you again sooner than five years from now.”

“Yeah,” You said, “Me too.” 

***

2023 

Robby had zero desire to meet the new attending Gloria had hired. Whoever it was, they had been hired behind his back and with no warning to him until they were three days out from when they were supposed to start. If Gloria had hired someone behind his back, it had to mean that whoever it was was in her pocket. Or at the very least, Gloria thought that person was in her pocket. And that was enough for him to stay far away from whoever it was.

But what he hadn’t been expecting when Gloria came downstairs, new attending by her side as she gave a tour, was you.

He stopped short and stared dumbly as you and Gloria approached him. Unfortunately for him, he was unable to stop the stupid smile that spread across his face at the sight of you. 

“Dr. Robinavitch.” You said, once you were close enough. Your smile was wide enough to mirror his, “It’s good to see you again.”

He laughed, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You two know each other?” Gloria frowned, looking back and forth between you two.

“Sort of.” You said, “We met at a conference ten years ago.”

Sort of was an accurate way to describe whatever this repeated crossing of paths seemed to be between the two of you. 

“Oh.” Gloria seemed less than pleased at this revelation, “Lovely. Well, I’ll leave you in more capable hands then. Come find me if you need anything.” And then she was gone.

Robby shook his head at you, “I’ll ask again, what the hell are you doing here? Presby get too small for you?”

“Uh,” You shrugged, “I just… really needed a change.”

He smirked, “And… knowing I was here probably made it more enticing?”

You laughed, “You caught me. Thought it was finally time we became actual friends.”

Robby could not explain how pleased he was that you were here. It was stupid that he cared. He hadn’t seen you in five years. And before that brief exchange, he hadn’t seen you for five years before that. So really, he hadn’t seen you in ten years. And yet, he was traipsing you around, introducing you to everyone, laughing a little too loudly at your jokes, like he was a fucking teenager.

Until he was walking you home at the end of the day. Until you mentioned Dean.

“That’s great,” He said when you said it, that you were seeing someone, “So you think you’ve broken the ER doctor curse, then?”

You shrugged, smirking, “Probably not. But I really like him. It feels good, right now.”

“Good,” He said, “You deserve that.” 

And he meant it. You had looked so sad the last time he’d seen you. And even before that, the first time you met, you had struck him as something of a wounded animal. Defending itself with jokes and pessimism. You deserved to be truly happy.

“And what about Janey, how is she?”

He sighed, “Um, we broke up shortly after the last time I saw you. It seems the curse of the ER doctors is still with me. But I still get to see Jake, her son, so I feel really lucky about that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s probably for the best,” He rubbed a hand over the back of his head, “I’ve been a fucking wreck since covid anyway.”

You nodded, “Yeah. It’s been a rough couple of years.” The silence stretched between the two of you. Neither of you brave enough to break it with the horrors you experienced during the pandemic.

Finally, you cleared your throat, “Did you lose anyone?” You asked quietly.

He swallowed thickly, then nodded, “Our Chief of Emergency Medicine, Dr. Adamson. My mentor.”

He heard your sharp intake of breath next to him, “I heard about that. I didn’t realize you were close. I’m so sorry, Michael.”

Something about you using his first name undid him just a little and he had to focus very hard on his shoes and his steps to keep the emotion at bay.

“What about you?” He asked instead, “Who did you lose?”

Because you had to have lost someone. Almost everyone had. Especially if you worked in a hospital.

You sighed deeply, “Our charge nurse, Liz. She was like a mother to me. She’d been charge since I was a resident.”

“Is that why you left Presby?”

“I watched a lot of people I loved and deeply respected burn out and hospital admin did nothing about it. I know too many nurses and doctors both that decided to retire early or completely change careers.” You shrugged, “I don’t know. It felt like I was watching my entire department crash and burn.”

He shook his head, “It’s so fucked.”

“That we’re here and they’re not?” Finally, he met your gaze. Your eyes were warm and impossibly open as you looked at him. If he looked closely enough, he could see his own grief mirrored back at him. He gave you a slight nod. 

“Yeah,” You sighed and looked up at the moon, “It is fucked.”

After a few minutes of walking in comfortable silence, you stopped in front of an apartment complex, “Well, this is me. Thank you for walking me home, though it was completely unnecessary.”

Robby shrugged his shoulders up to his ears, “Let me feel useful, will you?”

You laughed, “Alright. See you tomorrow, then, Dr. Robby.”

He watched you go inside and as he walked away from the building he found himself thinking that he wished you’d call him Michael again.

***

It went like that for weeks. Robby walked you home after every shift, though you insisted it was unnecessary. You talked about everything and nothing. The shift, the hard patients, the ones you lost. To books and music and film. To childhood stories and first loves. It was finally starting to feel like you knew each other, rather than just a projection of each other ten years ago that lived in your respective brains.

But it wasn’t long before he noticed the way you seemed to be shrinking every time he saw you. Your smile just a little less genuine, the spark in your eyes dimmed ever so slightly. And he was too afraid to ask you why.

Instead, Robby started showing up outside your building in the mornings, an iced coffee in hand for you.

A few weeks of watching the two of you walk into the ER together, all smiles and laughs, and Abbot couldn’t keep his mouth shut anymore.

“So,” He said as him and Robby were walking through the ER for handoffs, “You gonna tell me about your girlfriend or am I gonna have to torture it out of you?”

Robby gave him a quizzical look, “What are you on about? I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Oh, okay, so you’re just buying iced coffees every morning for anyone these days?”

Robby laughed, “Are you accusing me of being a harlot because I occasionally buy my colleague a coffee?”

“So she’s not your girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Okay. But you’re sleeping with her?”

Robby huffed and shook his head, “No. We’re just friends.”

Jack narrowed his eyes at Robby, “Friends who… Occasionally sleep together?”

“Okay,” Robby sighed, “We’re done with this conversation.”

Robby walked away and Jack scoffed, turning to Dana, “I’m not crazy, right? They’re definitely sleeping together.”

Dana rolled her eyes, “No, actually. She has a boyfriend.”

“Right,” Jack said emphatically, “And the boyfriend is Robby.”

Dana cracked a smirk, “No, you idiot. She’s seeing someone outside the hospital.”

Jack’s eyes widened, “You’re not kidding? With the way they look at each other?” Dana just continued smiling at him, “Alright, well, no one should be surprised if Robby walks in here one day with a black eye.”

“Who’s punching Robby?” You asked, approaching the hub, “What’d he do now? Is it Mohan? Because, I gotta tell ya, I’d pay to see that.”

Jack laughed, “Not Samira, your bo—“

Dana smacked Jack lightly in the stomach, cutting him off, “You eat anything today, kid? You look peaked.”

You frowned, “I just got here. Are you saying I look like shit?”

“There’s donuts in the lounge, sweetheart.”

“Well,” You pushed yourself off the hub, unable to turn down a donut, regardless of Dana’s implications, “Yeah, okay.” And disappeared towards the lounge.

Dana turned back to Jack, who was rubbing his stomach dramatically as if he’d actually been injured, “Could you not cause trouble on my shift? Go home.”

“Fine, fine,” Jack backed away, headed to the lockers, “But you know I’m right.”

Dana watched Robby as he tracked you with his eyes into the staff lounge, “Man, could you at least try to be less obvious?” She said under her breath, shaking her head.

***

The shift hadn’t been so terrible. You hadn’t lost anyone today and had only gotten yelled at by one patient, and she had been high out of her mind so you didn’t really count it. Still, you were in your head. Or, on your phone. Dean had been MIA for a couple of days now and you were supposed to meet him at his place after your shift, but he hadn’t answered any of your texts or calls.

He had been distant lately. This wasn’t the first time he had disappeared for days on end only to show up later and act like it wasn’t a big deal. You were growing tired of it, of the games. You were forty years old now, you thought once you were this old the men would quit playing games. I mean, fuck, he had you, so what was the vanishing act about? What was he trying to prove?

Grabbing your things from your locker and placing your headphones over your ears, you pressed play on your music and began the walk back to your apartment. You turned the music up loud enough to drown out the thoughts that tornado’d around in your head.

Loud enough that you didn’t hear the man who came up behind you and squeezed your shoulder.

You screamed and jumped back– Only to see it was Robby standing there, hands up as he backed away from you, concern all over his face.

“Fuck,” You swore and bent over your knees, trying to catch your breath after tearing off your headphones.

“Sorry,” Robby said softly, “Sorry, I thought you heard me, I’d been calling after you for a while.”

You straightened, “It’s okay.”

“You, um,” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, “You left without me. You usually wait.”

“Oh–I–Sorry–I–” You sighed, frustrated with your stammering, “I’ve been in my head all day, I just…” You sighed, “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Hey,” He lowered his head to force you to meet his eyes, a gentle smile on his face, “It’s okay. What’s going on with you?”

You hesitated and then looked away from him, starting to walk again. He fell into step beside you, patiently waiting.

“Would it be weird to talk about my dating life with you?”

He shook his head, “No. Why would it be weird?”

Right, because he wasn’t attracted to you even a little bit. As he was always so quick to remind you. 

You liked being friends with Robby, but working in the same ER you could no longer deny that you found him very sexy. Especially when he caught a rare diagnosis. Or he very calmly and gently explained a procedure to a resident while alarms were beeping around them and nurses were shouting out vitals.

Even just watching the way he rubbed hand sanitizer into his hands between patients had you imagining his hands in… very inappropriate situations.

And all the while you had to remember that he was not, and would never be, into you like that. And also, you had a boyfriend. A very sexy boyfriend in his own right, though my God, could he answer the fucking phone?

“No reason,” You sighed, “I don’t know, um, Dean’s just been a bit distant lately. He hasn’t answered my calls or texts in a couple of days and we’re supposed to meet up today.”

He nodded, “And you’re thinking…?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know. He’ll probably break up with me soon. Or just ghost me. That’s what they usually do.”

He frowned, “This happens to you often?”

You smirked, “I know. Hard to believe with how charming and likable I am that I can’t keep a man.”

Robby didn’t laugh, though, just kept walking and silently staring ahead. 

You let the silence stretch and fold between you, Robby clearly holding something back, but refusing to acknowledge it.

“You got something to say?” You said, more casually than you felt.

Robby clenched his jaw and let another few moments of silence pass, “No.”

You gave a short laugh, “Okay.” You said, stretching out the word, “I mean, you can say it, whatever it is. We’re all friends here.”

He shook his head, “I just wonder why you keep choosing men who clearly don’t respect you or even like you very much.”

His words stunned you to a stop. He kept walking for a few steps before realizing you stopped and he turned back to face you.

At the look of surprise, and even hurt on your face, he sighed, “Look, I… I didn’t mean that to come out so harsh, I just don’t understand it. I mean, it was clear even ten years ago from what you said about your ex husband that he didn’t give you what you needed. And now you’re with this loser who can’t even be bothered to answer a text.” He ran a hand over his face, “You could probably have any guy you wanted in all of Pittsburgh, but instead you seem to purposely pick men that disappoint you.”

You scoffed and started walking again, “Okay, so it’s my fault that men treat me like shit?”

“Really?” He fell into step beside you again, “That’s what you’re gonna take from what I said?”

“How else am I supposed to take that?”

He scoffed and shook his head, “I just wish you’d see that you deserve better.”

You laughed and slowed to a stop, “Robby, I’m fucking forty years old. I’m divorced. I’m obsessed with my work. I’m an insufferable know-it-all, as you know. I’m not easy to love. I don’t exactly have men breaking down my door to be with me, alright? Dean is… Not perfect. But he’s all I have.” He stared at you with a look you couldn’t quite place, “What?”

He shook his head and looked down at his feet, “Nothing. Nothing. I’m sorry for what I said… It’s not my business.”

You bit your lip, fighting with the tears that seemed to threaten to overflow. And maybe Robby would think that the tears were just because he crossed a line, but it was more than that. There was something so fucking hurtful about this wonderful man in front of you, who had been so clear that he did not want you, making a whole speech about how you deserved better. Had he not ever once considered that good, decent men just did not love you and never had? Going all the way back to your father who would have done anything for a bottle of scotch but couldn’t remember to pick you up from school?

“Hey,” He said gently, stepping closer to you when he noticed your watery eyes, “I’m sorry, okay?”

He dropped his backpack to the ground and pulled you into his arms, “I’m sorry,” He repeated into your hair, arms tightening around you and anchoring you to his chest. He smelt of clean laundry and fresh pine deodorant. You closed your eyes and for a moment, allowed yourself to be comforted. To imagine what it would be like to be loved by someone like him.

Just for a moment.

***

You sat at your kitchen table, leg bouncing, fingernail gnawed between your teeth as you stared at your phone. It was nearly 9PM and still nothing from Dean.

This was ridiculous. You felt like a teenager waiting by the phone all night. You were just going to show up at his apartment, as planned. Maybe his phone was broken. Maybe a family emergency had come up.

But your earlier conversation with Robby was still playing in the back of your mind. Maybe you should just swear off men for good. Get a cat and dedicate yourself entirely to work.

Sighing, you stood and grabbed your car keys from the hook by the door.

***

You had knocked on his apartment door about ten minutes ago, giving up after a couple of tries. You leaned against the wall beside his door, trying yet again to call him, but it was sent to voicemail. You swore as you hung up, and as you did, the elevator at the end of the hall dinged and you heard the doors sliding open.

A feminine laugh floated down the hallway and you ignored it, still looking at your phone, until the laugh was replaced by silence. No walking. No voices.

You looked up and saw Dean, arms wrapped around a blonde that was easily at least a decade younger than you, probably more, mouth gaped open as he stared at you, “What’re you doing here?” He asked eventually.

What were you doing here? Chasing after a man that didn’t want you, just like Robby said. The tears that burned your eyes were not tears of sadness, but anger and humiliation. You sighed and pushed yourself off the wall, “Don’t call me. I’ll drop off your things next week.”

“Baby–”

“Oh, and just a word of warning,” You turned to the blonde, “He’s terrible at eating pussy.” You said, voice full of venom. 

And then you ducked into the stairwell.

***

You had made it back to your apartment building and after turning the ignition off in your car, had begun uncontrollably sobbing, head resting against the steering wheel.

When the crying began to slow to just hiccups, you took out your phone and dialed Robby.

He answered on the second ring, because he was reliable. Unlike any of the men you’d ever been with.

“Hey,” You sniffled, “You were right about Dean. He doesn’t like me… or respect me.”

You heard him breathe for a moment in the silence as he processed what you had said, “Are you crying?” He asked finally.

You laughed and wiped your nose on your sleeve, “Yeah, I know, it’s fucking pathetic. It’s just so fucking typical that he would cheat on me with some hot blonde in her twenties and just, like, think I would never find out! He didn’t even try to hide it. Knew we had plans tonight, and– Or, I don’t know, maybe the plans were so insignificant to him he really forgot. I guess on top of being really goddamn annoying I’m also extremely forgettable.” You lightly banged your forehead against the steering wheel.

“You’re not annoying or forgettable.” He said gently, almost sweetly.

“You’re just saying that because I’m crying and you have to be nice to me.”

You thought you heard a quiet laugh, “I remembered you after two brief encounters ten years ago. Thought about you quite often after both run ins, in fact. I would say that makes you pretty memorable.”

Robby was many things, but you knew him to always, always be honest. And so his words sprung new tears from your eyes. What were you going to do when some perfect woman inevitably fell in love with him and he wouldn’t answer calls like these late at night? When you were spiraling and a fucking mess?

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t dispute the fact that I’m annoying.”

Another short laugh, “You are passionate and assertive and intuitive and very funny. None of which I find annoying.”

Your chest felt warm at his praise, “You said I was an insufferable know-it-all the first time we met.”

He sighed, “I was stupid then. Besides, I didn’t know then that you used your teasing as a shield to keep the attention off yourself.” 

His revelation shocked you into silence and for a moment you just sat there, listening to his breathing. It was scary to be known and your instinct was to lash out, but you instead counted your breaths.

“Are you home?” He asked finally.

“I’m in my car, parked outside my complex.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

You frowned, “What? What do you mean?”

“I started walking over when I heard you crying. Sorry, is that not okay? Should I turn around?”

“No,” You said quickly, too quickly, and you squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment, “No, I mean, you should come. I would… I would like it if you were here.”

“Okay,” He said softly, “I’m gonna hang up now.”

“Okay.” You murmured and waited until the line cut out before you lowered the phone from your ear.

True to his word, Robby strolled into the parking lot just a few minutes later. When he saw you get out of your car and lock it behind you, he quickened his pace until he was in front of you, pulling you into his arms. Much like he had earlier that same day.

And again, you allowed yourself to be coddled. Allowed it when he kept an arm around your shoulders as he led you into your apartment building. Ignored the flutter in your stomach when he pressed a kiss to your hair and told you you deserved better.

A couple of hours later, you’re on the couch, both pleasantly tipsy from the bottle of wine you had opened and the tears had long since dried. Your feet were in his lap and while the two of you talked, his hand had been unconsciously running up and down your leg.

He hadn’t seemed to notice, but you had. 

“Did you say anything to him? When you left?”

You shrugged, “I told him I’d drop off his things.” Then you laughed, “I might have said something sort of awful to the girl though.”

He smirked, “What’d you say?”

You hesitated only a moment, flush building up your neck as you stared at the wine glass in your hand, “I told her that he was terrible at eating pussy.”

There’s a second of silence and then Robby bursts out laughing, “Is it true?”

You chuckled, still looking down at your wine glass, for some reason unable to look at him when talking about this, “Yes. He never made me come.”

Robby’s laughter died out and the hand on your leg stilled, “Never? Not even once?” You shook your head slowly, “How long were you dating?”

“About six months.”

Robby let out a low whistle, “Fuck.”

You nodded, “You’d be shocked the number of grown men who are clueless when it comes to knowing their way around…” You trailed off and cleared your throat, “Anyway, most men are pretty bad at it, in my experience, if they even like it.”

He exhaled heavily through his nose, “I just think maybe you have terrible taste in men.”

This again. You rolled your eyes, “As I said, the pickings are slim. Beggars can’t be choosers. Who would you have me sleep with, hm?”

When you looked up at him he was looking at you intensely. If you didn’t know any better, you would say hungrily. But just as soon as you were starting to wonder what it was he was thinking, the expression was gone and he stood from the couch, tossing your legs to the side.

“I should probably get going. It’s getting late.”

You tried not to seem too disappointed, “Right. Of course.”

You stood and led him to the door, “Thank you for coming,” You said as you opened the door, “You really didn’t have to.”

“I know. I wanted to.”

You smiled and nodded, “That’s what friends are for, right?” You said, self deprecatingly. You hadn’t meant for it to sound sarcastic, but you knew he must have heard it anyway.

He nodded and looked anywhere but at you. He was acting very strange. “Right, yeah. Friends.” 

You frowned, “Michael,” You said finally and his eyes snapped to yours, “Did I… Did I do something to upset you?”

He shook his head and then his eyes fell to your mouth, “No,” He said, gaze never straying from your lips, “I’m just tired.” He insisted.

“Okay,” You said slowly. He was drunk. Whatever was going on in his head right now meant nothing. Maybe he was staring at your mouth or maybe you had something in your teeth.

“Still friends?” You asked softly.

That joke. That stupid fucking decade old joke, still a shared line between the two of you, coiling ever tighter as time went on. And now it was fraying.

His eyes met yours and this time there was no mistaking the hunger in his gaze. You had mere moments to process the fact that Robby was looking at you with raw, unadulterated desire before his hands had grabbed your face and his mouth crashed into yours.

You gasped in surprise, but he was undeterred, his mouth hurriedly exploring yours as he moved you out of the threshold of the door and kicked it shut behind him. Beneath your initial shock, your body reacted. Robby was a man you had pined for on and off for more than a decade, and he was kissing you like you were a fresh stream and he hadn’t had water for so long that he couldn’t remember what it even tasted like. It took little more for the arousal to begin pooling in your stomach, for the ache between your legs to grow and expand.

But then, he licked into your mouth at the same time he lightly pushed you down on the couch and you could feel the way you dripped into your panties.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” He said breathlessly as he crawled over you.

You could only shake your head, watching him above you like this. You were so full of want, you leaned up to kiss him again–

But he pulled back.

“I need to hear you say it.” He said, his voice husky.

You swallowed, “Don’t stop.” You breathed.

It was enough. His mouth latched back onto yours, tongue making dizzying strokes against your own, and you were embarrassed when a whine escaped you. You tried pulling him by the shirt, needing him closer. At the same time, you wiggled your hips down until you felt yourself press against the knee he had slotted between your legs, seeking pressure and friction for your throbbing center.

But Robby pulled away, “I don’t think so.” He said, “Think I want to show you how a real man eats a meal.”

Were you dreaming? You felt like you were dreaming. Because there was no fucking way Michael Robinavitch was towering over you, obvious erection growing in his pants as he tugged your ankle to bring you to the edge of the couch. There was no goddamn way he was lowering himself to his knees in front of you, eyes never leaving yours.

But he was. And he tugged your shorts down over your knees. When you went to wiggle out of your panties, he stopped you, “Not yet.”

Slowly, he kissed and sucked his way from the side of your knee, up your inner thigh, until you were impatiently wriggling beneath his mouth. He said nothing, only wrapped an arm around one of your thighs to still you.

Finally, he turned his attention to your clothed pussy, running a finger down the damp spot at your center and sighing when your back arched.

“You’re so easy to rile,” He murmured, “It’s a mystery he couldn’t make you finish. It’ll probably only take me a couple minutes. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

The pet name went straight to your head, blood pounding in your ears. Your only response was a breathy sigh as he began delicately kissing you over your underwear. He began to apply a bit more pressure and you could feel his hot breath through the flimsy fabric.

When you felt his tongue, still over that fucking fabric, you moaned loudly, frustrated, “Michael.”

You felt the smug fucker smile against you before his fingers slipped under the cloth at your hips, pulling down. You lifted your hips eagerly to allow him to pull them off you.

Mercifully, he didn’t tease you any longer, his mouth was back on you immediately. If you were eager, he was desperate now, shoving his tongue deep in you and lapping up your juices. His hands held your thighs down so firmly when you squirmed, you thought he’d probably leave bruises.

He moved his mouth up to your swollen clit, humming against it as he pushed a finger inside you. You were so tight around his fingers, getting wetter and tighter as you approached your climax. With every flick of his tongue, every stroke of his finger, you felt yourself lose a little more control.

When he added a finger you thought maybe your brain was so overwhelmed with the pleasure it had forgotten to trigger your lungs to breathe. But a moment later, he sucked on your clit just hard enough to send you toppling over the edge and you were gasping for air. 

When he felt your orgasm rip through you, he released your hips, finally allowing you to grind against his mouth. He moaned at the taste of you while you tugged him by the hair closer to you, impossibly closer.

When it was over, he pulled away from you, rising up to kiss your mouth, the taste of you still on his tongue. He kissed his way up your jawline to your ear.

“How was that?” He murmured against the shell of your ear.

You were still seeing stars from the intensity of your orgasm, “How do you think?” You gasped.

You felt him laugh against your neck and then his body pulled away from yours. You mourned the loss immediately, but clenched your fists at your sides to stop yourself from reaching for him.

“Could I use your bathroom to clean up?” He asked.

You frowned and looked to his pants, still clearly tented from his erection, “It’s at the end of the hall, but let me—“

When you reached out to palm him over his pants, he jerked away. Rejection coursed through your veins and instantly, you knew you were flushed with embarrassment. 

“It’s okay,” He said and smiled at you, but it seemed strained, “I just wanted to make you feel good. I’ll be right back.”

He turned and walked towards the bathroom without waiting for your reply. 

You were still half naked on the couch, feeling confused and hurt as the high of your orgasm left you. What kind of guy made you come like that on the first try and then didn’t want you to touch his cock? What sort of fucked up point had he been trying to make?

***

Robby splashed water on his face, washing the remnants of you from his mouth and beard, and then looked at himself in the mirror.

Oh, you’ve done it now, man. He thought, You’ve absolutely fucked it.

He’d ruined everything. One brief lapse of self control and their entire friendship was now set to implode. 

But you had looked so goddamn sad on that couch and when he heard that loser not only had cheated on you, but couldn’t even make you come, it had flipped some primal, animalistic switch in his brain.

Until all he could think about was you coming undone under his mouth while you moaned his name. 

Still friends? You had asked at the door and he couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t say the practiced words and finish the damn joke like he always did. Friends didn’t wonder what the other’s pussy tasted like or what they sounded like when they came.

What was an orgasm between friends? Maybe he could still salvage it. Maybe they could just pretend it never happened. 

He wasn’t prepared to lose you, not when you had just showed up at PTMC after he had spent years thinking about you. Wondering how you were doing. If you were still here or if you had moved away. If someone was finally loving you how you deserved.

The two of you were drunk. It hadn’t meant anything. You would regret it in the morning and he would graciously act like he didn’t know what you were talking about. He’d give you a few days of space and then he’d show up again with an iced coffee and walk you to the hospital. And everything would go back to normal.

It had to. He wouldn’t accept anything else.

***

Robby had left in a rush that night after he came out of the bathroom, giving you a quick hug and a kiss on the forehead as he did.

You were left feeling confused and hurt, that he had rushed out like that after the way he kissed you and touched you. Tasted you like you were a fine wine to be savored. Then turned around and acted like nothing happened. Like he had just done you a favor.

Your thumb hovered over his contact on your phone for a couple days after. You both had four days in a row off of work, a rare blessing. You typed and deleted many texts. And then there was a knock at your door.

Fuck, was he here? Maybe to apologize, to explain why he ran out like that. He was scared, he wanted you, he was in love with you. You felt like a lovesick teen for hoping. 

More likely, he would say it was a mistake and it wouldn’t happen again. And you would accept it even if it broke your heart because you had no other choice. You could either have this much of him or none at all.

But when you opened the door, it wasn’t Robby standing in the hallway with flowers and coffee. 

It was—

“Dean?”

***

Robby was pacing outside your apartment building with your iced coffee in hand. It had been four days since he last saw you. Four days of replaying that night in his head, getting off to the thought of how you felt and tasted. The way you sounded so desperate for him when you moaned his name.

But that was behind him now, he could forget about it if it meant keeping your friendship.

He froze when he heard your building door open and turned to look— It was you. 

You hadn’t noticed him yet, staring at your phone and headphones over your ears. He watched as your lips parted slightly in concentration, tongue darting out to wet them.

He swallowed and averted his eyes. It turned out it wouldn’t be so easy to pretend like nothing had happened. 

He’d keep trying though.

Finally, you looked up and you gave him a confused look as you pushed your headphones off, “Hi,” You said slowly.

He smiled and held out your coffee. Still frowning, you took it, “What are you doing here?” You asked softly as the two of you began the walk to the hospital.

“What do you mean?” He asked, staring ahead. He could feel your eyes burning holes into the side of his face, but he kept his focus ahead of him. It was all easier if he just didn’t look at you. “We do this every morning.”

“Right…” You said slowly and then scoffed when he didn’t say anything further, “Okay. Fine.”

“What do you mean, fine?���

“I mean if you want to act like everything’s fine, like you didn’t get me off on my couch a few nights ago, then okay. I’ll do the same.”

He inhaled deeply through his nose and kept looking ahead, “Okay. Great.” He could hear the irritation in your voice, but he ignored it, “How was the rest of your time off?”

He could feel you staring at him again, and then he thought he noticed you shake your head in his peripheral.

“It was fine.” You said finally, then you cleared your throat, “Actually, Dean showed up with flowers a couple of days ago. Said it was a mistake and begged me to take him back.”

Robby gave a short laugh, “Would’ve paid to see the look on his face when you told him to fuck off.”

You didn’t laugh with him. Didn’t say anything at all, in fact, and he felt his stomach twist with dread, “You did tell him to fuck off, didn’t you?” He asked quietly.

Still, you said nothing. Finally, he turned to look at you, but you were staring intently ahead. The tips of your ears red with what he assumed was embarrassment. Perhaps shame.

He scoffed, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“The last thing I need right now is you on your high horse–”

“Do you have no goddamn self respect, is that it?” He spat, voice rising, “You chase after men who hate you because you hate yourself?”

You stopped walking then, your whole face flushed with either anger or embarrassment, maybe both. 

“You have no fucking right to talk about the men I’ve been with when you behaved just like all the rest the other night!”

“Me?” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, “What are you even talking about?”

“You fucking ran out of my apartment, leaving me half fucked, and acted like it was no big deal. Don’t call. Don’t text. Then you show up at my apartment with a fucking coffee like nothing happened! Like it meant nothing!” Tears of frustration pricked your eyes, “At least with Dean I know what I’m getting, with you… it’s… it’s hot and cold and I never know what the fuck you’re thinking or what you want–”

“I want to be friends.” He said quickly, “I want to be your friend, I want you to be happy.”

You nodded and looked up towards the trees, willing the tears back into your eyes, “Right. Friends. Friends don’t lead each other on.” You said, lip curled, and then you continued your walk to the hospital.

He stared after you, stunned, and then jogged to catch up to you, “I told you from the beginning you weren’t my type–”

You were drowning. It would have been kinder for him to have tied a weight to your foot and shoved you in the river.

You turned and placed your empty hand on his chest and shoved, “Fuck. You.” He was much larger than you and you had a coffee in your other hand so he remained sturdy, though he fell back a step. Tears were streaming down your cheeks now, “We’re not fucking friends. We’re not anything.” You shoved the iced coffee back into his hand, “Just leave me alone, okay?”

Robby stared after you as you stormed off, jaw clenched and melted iced coffee in his hand.

***

Jack and Dana watched as you stormed into the ER, face red and splotchy. Your cheeks shined with tears under the fluorescent glow of the lights above. Robby strode in only moments later, a melted iced coffee in his hand that he tossed in the trash by the entrance as he walked over to the hub.

You were rushing around after stopping at the lockers, draping a stethoscope around your neck as you ambled right into Robby’s path, causing the both of you to stop short to avoid a collision. Jack and Dana watched as the two of you stared each other down for a few seconds, tension palpable, before you stormed off again. Robby stared after you for a moment before running a hand down his face.

Jack and Dana exchanged a look before Jack stepped to Robby and clapped a hand on his back, “Hey man, why don’t we get some air?”

Robby sighed, “I just got here, Jack.”

“And yet you already look like you’ve been through the ringer, so humor me.” He said and steered the other man by the shoulders to the stairs.

Once on the roof, Robby leaned over the railing and Jack joined him, his eyes roving over Robby, “What happened?”

Robby sighed, “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, man, what’s going on with you and Y/N? You ran after her at the end of the last shift. Now you walk in separately and if looks could kill, my friend, you’d be six feet under right now.”

He shrugged, “I fucked up. Crossed a line I shouldn’t have. I hurt her without meaning to. Now she wants nothing to do with me.” He looked at Jack and smirked, “That’s it.”

“So what’re you gonna do about it?” Jack asked, turning his attention back to the Pittsburgh skyline.

He laughed, “Nothing. She told me to leave her alone, so that's what I’ll do.”

Jack shook his head, “I don’t buy it.” Robby looked at him incredulously. “The two of you have been drawn to each other like magnets over the last, what, ten years? And you’re just gonna let her walk away?”

Robby smirked, “I already told you, it’s not like that with her. We’re just friends.”

“What line did you cross, then, huh?” Robby didn’t answer, jaw clenched as he avoided Jack’s stare, “I’ve seen the way you look at her, man,” Jack shook his head, “It’s not friendly.”

Robby was terrified that Jack may be right. That all this time he had been convincing himself you were just a friend, he had been falling for you instead. He knew the way the staff talked, not just Jack. Again and again, he dismissed them as rumors, a bit of lightness to keep everyone’s head above water. But what if there had been truth to it?

He had been so scared of losing your friendship he didn’t stop to think that the reason he was so scared was because maybe he cared for you more than just as a friend.

And if that was true, he had wasted so much time and energy fighting against it only to lose the war anyway.

Robby rubbed at his beard and shook his head, “Well, it really doesn’t matter because I fucked it, so.” He pushed himself off the railing and started walking towards the door that led back to the Pitt, “I should get back down there. Go home.”

Alone on the roof, Jack heaved a sigh, “I should really be getting paid extra for these free therapy sessions.” He murmured to himself before he walked back to the door.

***

For weeks, Robby tortured himself by reliving your last conversation in his head. The realization that you were hurting and he was the reason, it made him feel sick at times. In addition to that, after his conversation with Jack on the roof, he realized too late that he was in love with you. He thought about telling you many times, but it was so clear you wanted nothing to do with him, he thought it would probably just hurt you more.

The one time he had followed you out of the ER at the end of the shift intent on finally telling you, he had walked out to see your arms twined around Dean’s neck, your mouth smiling into his. His stomach had twisted and he could hear the blood pumping in his ears. It was wrong, it felt all wrong seeing you wrapped around him like that. He knew he had fucked up his chance with you, but it hurt worse that his fuck up had pushed you back into Dean’s arms.

 He did his best to stay out of your way, but it was difficult. Since you were an attending yourself, he didn’t need to be involved in all of your cases, but there were times when you begrudgingly asked for a consult. Or a really rough trauma came in and it was all hands on deck.

It was uncomfortable for everyone on those cases. The unresolved tension between you two acted like a whirlpool, extending out and dragging unwilling participants to the center. You would bicker over treatment plans or silently glare at each other over patients.

Once, when he had walked in to you performing a thoracostomy with a warm water lavage, he thought he might fire you from how frustrated he was.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Hypothermic drowning victim, troponin levels suggested there was a cardiac event, I’m clearing the clots and rewarming with warm saline.” You said calmly without looking up from the patient.

“Did you consult cardio?”

“There wasn’t time.”

“You could have at least fucking called me.”

You looked up at that, and then back down, “He’s back to sinus and at normal temp.” You said and began to deglove, “I’m not going to apologize for saving a patient.”

He followed after you as you walked back to central, “You and I both know you’re supposed to call in your chief attending for approval whenever you want to do some crazy procedure that is outside the standard of care–”

“It wasn’t outside of the standard–”

“You’re not a fucking cardio attending,” He said, louder than he meant to. Others turned to stare at the two of you, “Look,” He said, lowering his voice, “You can hate me all you like, but we have to work together when we’re here. And that means,” You had rolled your eyes here and he had to move his head to force eye contact with you, “That you consult me before you do anything that is considered outside the norm. Got it?”

You sighed, “Loud and clear, boss. Can I go now?”

He stared at you a moment longer and his eyes fell to your mouth. He hadn’t meant to stare, to recall the way your mouth felt against his or how soft and pliant your lower lip was when he pulled at it with his teeth, but that’s what he found himself doing.

And you noticed. He watched as your frown deepened and you turned, walking away before he could say anything else.

“Fuck,” He murmured to himself and laced his hands behind his neck. 

“You okay, Cap?” Dana asked as Robby trudged over to the hub, leaning over on his forearms.

“Just peachy.” He sighed.

“You coming out tonight? It’s Princess’s birthday. Everyone’s going to Monterey’s.”

“Everyone?”

Dana smirked knowingly, “Yes, I heard she’ll be there too.”

He shook his head slowly, “Then, no. I will not be going.”

She sighed, “The two of you cannot keep going like this. If for no other reason than it’s starting to affect your work. Time to put your big boy pants on and face… whatever the fuck is going on with you.”

“What do you want me to do, huh? She wants nothing to do with me. Should I lock us in a room together and force her to talk to me?”

Dana shrugged, “Maybe, if you think that’ll work.” Robby shook his head and looked away, “Come out tonight.” Dana said, “There’s nothing a drink or two can’t fix.”

***

It was 8:30 when you walked into Monterey's, having gone home to change. You hated going out in scrubs, it felt wrong somehow.

You spotted Robby almost immediately where he stood near Dana, but pretended you hadn’t noticed him as you headed to the bar. 

It didn’t seem to matter though, because he was next to you two minutes later as you waited for the bartender to return with your drink.

“Could we talk?” He asked.

Your eyes flitted up to his and you found yourself momentarily distracted by how beautiful he was. The freckles, the crinkles at his eyes. You had had to work very hard not to notice the last few weeks. 

You turned back to the bar, “I’m waiting for my drink.”

“I can wait.” He said immediately.

You drummed your fingers against the bar top, “If this is about earlier–”

“It’s not about work.”

You swallowed, “Well, what, then?”

He didn’t say anything, eyes following the bartender as he made your drink. Once the drink was in your hand, he began walking, gesturing for you to follow as he led you outside.

It was quiet out here. The Sun just barely peeking over the skyline, a faint orange glow illuminating everything. You felt claustrophobic as he led you down an alley on the side of the building. It had felt like forever since the last time you’d been alone together.

He came to a stop and turned to you, clearing his throat, “How are you?” He asked softly.

You sighed, “Robby, I don’t–This is unnecessary–”

“Look, I know I fucked up. I think about it every day. But I can’t–”

“So you regret it then? What we did?” Your voice broke as you said it. There were so many layers to how hurt you still felt after everything with Robby. It was difficult to untangle most of the time, so you had just buried it. But standing here with him so close, you could feel it all clawing to the surface, demanding your attention.

“No.” He said firmly, “No, I don’t. I regret the way I handled it.”

You took a sip of your drink and looked away from him, “I see. So you just wish you had maybe let me down easier, then? Is that it?”

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, “This isn’t coming out right. I’m so fucking bad at this.”

You scoffed, “I’m just gonna go back inside, okay? We’re good, I promise, I will make sure to consult you–”

“I love you.” He blurted out, and you froze. “I’m in love with you. I’ve probably loved you a little bit from the moment I met you.”

For a second you just stared at him, the only sound was the sound of each other’s breathing. 

Then, your eyes watered and you inhaled a shaky breath, “Don’t do this.” It came out breathless, a desperate plea, “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” He reached out, grabbing your free hand to keep you from running.

You were shaking your head, turning to leave, then turning back when his hand tightened around yours, “You’re just lonely, you don’t want me.”

He tugged you by the hand until you were just inches from him, “I do,” He said nodding, “I love you. And I can say it as many times as you need me to to believe it.”

You swallowed, “You said just a few weeks ago that I wasn’t your type and you’ve been saying it for ten years.”

He shook his head, eyes roving over your face until they settled on your mouth, “We were both there the night I kissed you. Do you really believe that?”

Not really, no. You could still feel the urgency of his tongue in your mouth. You could still hear his reverent sighs at the sight of you naked. Still, he had pushed you away, left you alone and rejected.

Your chin wobbled, “Michael.”

His name came out in a broken plea. You weren’t sure what exactly you were begging for. For him not to mean it or for him to mean it. 

He laced his free hand through the hair at the back of your neck, “Don’t be scared, okay? I’ve got you this time. I promise. I was stupid, I was so afraid of losing you as a friend I ignored the way I really felt.”

You rested your forehead against his, closing your eyes. You wanted to believe him, but you were afraid, too. Afraid he’d change his mind, like all the rest. Leave you more broken than when he found you. 

“I love you,” He whispered and pulled back to kiss your forehead, “I love you,” He repeated, pressing a kiss to your cheek. And he went on like that, kissing your face all over as he repeated those three words and you felt like your chest was being cracked open. If he reached in to pull your heart out, to hold it, still beating in his hand, you’d probably let him take it. You’d let him do anything he wanted if you could just stay in this moment.

Until you couldn’t take it anymore and you caught his mouth with yours. He pushed you into the brick wall behind you, careful to place his hand between your head and the hard stone. The single act of tenderness had tears springing to your eyes again and you felt so fucking pathetic that you kissed him harder, desperate to drown out the feeling.

He moaned when you pulled gently at his lip with your teeth and the sound had the muscles coiling low in your belly, heat accumulating with every new taste and touch and sound.

Mouth still on yours, he frantically unbuttoned your jeans and shoved his hand down between your legs. You whimpered when he dipped a finger just barely into your entrance, his sigh in your ear sounded like relief. Like he had been dying to touch you like this for weeks and weeks, and finally he was saved.

When he pushed his finger fully inside you, you cried out and he covered your mouth with his own to stifle it.

“Robby,” You sighed as he stroked your walls, thumb coming up to rub dizzying circles around your clit, “We… We shouldn’t… I haven’t—I’m still with De—“

“I know you were not about to say another man’s name when I'm knuckle deep inside you, right, sweetheart? You wouldn’t do that, would you?” He added a finger and you would’ve folded if it weren’t for his body pressed to yours, keeping you steady, “You feel so fucking good wrapped around my fingers like this. You gonna come nice and quiet in my hand so no one hears you?”

God, no one else had this effect on you. No one else could talk to you like this, make you soft and malleable like warm putty. It drove you insane. He drove you to the fucking brink and you knew you would still come back and beg for more. He made you insatiable.

When you didn’t immediately answer him, his hand stilled and you whined, shimmying your hips against his hand.

“You can be quiet, can’t you?” He dragged his teeth down the column of your throat, sending chills down your spine.

“Yes.” You sighed, “Whatever you want.”

You felt his smirk against your skin and his fingers started stroking you again. You had to stifle the moans that fought to climb up your throat as he pushed you closer and closer to climax.

“There you go,” He said, pressing tender kisses to the side of your face, “So close, I can feel you. Be a good girl and come for me, yeah?”

His praise sent shockwaves through your body and to quiet yourself and prevent yourself from crying out, you bit down on his shoulder.

“Did so good for me,” He murmured, pulling his hand out and re-buttoning your jeans for you as you fought the daze of your orgasm. He kissed your head and grabbed your hand, “Come on, follow me.”

“Where are we going?”

“To my place.”

“Oh— What about Princess?”

“She’ll forgive us once the rumors spread about why we left together.”

You fought the smirk on your face, “Dean is expecting me later—“

Robby turned to look at you, “Fuck Dean, alright? Let him wait up for you and wonder where you are for once. It’s more than that jackass deserves.” He started tugging you by the hand again and you found you didn’t want to argue.

You knew it was wrong, to punish Dean the way he had hurt you, but in truth, you didn’t think he’d care much when you didn’t turn up tonight. You wouldn’t tell Robby this for fear he’d show up at Dean’s apartment intent on fist fighting him, but you knew he’d continued cheating on you the last few weeks. 

It didn’t hurt as much as it had the first time you found out. Probably because you had been hung up on Robby. 

You’d break it off with Dean tomorrow. Right now, you just wanted to let Robby have his way with you.

***

Finally seeing Robby naked for the first time felt as close to a religious experience as you thought you would ever experience. In his bed, you were kissing every freckle, every scar, every tattoo you could reach while your hand was between his legs, stroking his erection.

He looked wrecked and love drunk as you worked him. Your lower lip caught between your teeth as you learned what touches had him moaning, which had him gasping for air, and which had his eyes rolling all the way back in his head. 

It wasn’t long before he tore your hand off him and pinned it above your head, pushing his tip teasingly to your dripping core, “That’s enough of that, I think.” He said, broken voice betraying just how close to the edge you had brought him.

Quickly, you watched as he ripped open a condom and pulled it onto himself. Wasting no time, he gripped your hips and dragged you underneath him before pushing himself inside you. The stretch had you gasping, but he bent his forehead to yours, kissed you through it as he pushed into you. Every thrust was slow and achingly tender. His eyes rarely left yours, only to occasionally bury his face into your neck.

Anytime you suggested a different position, he shot you down, “No, no,” He’d repeat, your legs locked around his hips, “Just like this,” He’d pant, “Want you underneath me just like this.”

When he finished, you muffled his moans with your mouth, thrusting your hips up into his when the intensity of his orgasm had him unable to keep moving through the aftershocks.

Afterwards, you stared up at the ceiling fan, your head resting on his chest.

“I love you, by the way.” You murmured when you could feel yourself drifting into sleep, “Don’t know if I ever said.”

He kissed your hair and dusted his fingers over your shoulder, “You didn’t have to.”

***

2024

It was cool and cloudy in San Diego that morning. You fiddled with the ring on your finger as you stood backstage at the annual American Academy of Emergency Medicine conference. 

Michael stood behind you, hands rubbing reassuring circles into your shoulders, “You’re gonna do so good, baby. Nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not worried, I could do this talk in my sleep,” You smirked, “I’m just thinking about the first time I saw you here, when you did your talk.”

He laughed behind you, “Well, it wasn’t here.”

“You know what I mean.” You said and covered one of his hands with yours.

“Yeah,” He said, “If I had known my future wife was in the audience I would’ve picked a better shirt.”

Your grin spread across your face as you looked down at the engagement ring on your finger, “And I probably wouldn’t have worn booty shorts to the airport, but hindsight is 20/20.”

He hummed and then your name was being announced, a brief intro given, and then Michael kissed you quickly before gently pushing you towards the stage.

Later, in your hotel room, the both of you were drunk and sprawled out on the bed. Your head rested on his stomach and he had an arm draped across your chest.

He picked up your left hand and inspected it, “I love seeing this on your finger. Probably should’ve proposed the first time I brought you home.”

You smirked, but there was a nagging thought in the back of your head. One that had been there since he got down on one knee.

“What’s wrong?” Robby asked, even drunk he was ever perceptive of your mood changes.

“Nothing.” You said quickly, “Everything’s perfect.”

He let a moment of silence pass, twisting the ring on your finger between his thumb and forefinger, “You know you can tell me anything, right? Nothing’s too scary or too much.”

You did know, but it didn’t stop your brain from convincing you otherwise. Eventually you swallowed and lifted yourself onto your knees so you could turn to face him.

“Do you ever think about the rate of divorce among emergency medicine doctors?”

He frowned, “Not particularly, no. But I gather you do?”

“I just—“ You sighed, “I love you, obviously, so much. But I—I wonder sometimes if… If getting married just invites the possibility of breaking this. And… And what we have is really good and I don’t—“

“Hey,” He sat up, “Slow down.” He paused, “How long have you been thinking about this?”

You sighed, “I don’t know, since you proposed, probably?”

He raised his eyebrows, “Right, okay.”

You deflated, “You’re mad.”

He shook his head, “Not mad. I just wish you would’ve told me sooner.”

“I’m sorry.” You could feel your abandonment fears dusting themselves off in your head. You had never felt as secure as you had with Robby. You had felt loved and safe from day one. Your fears that he would leave again, he proved over and over were unfounded. No one had ever shown up for you like this. And that made the prospect of losing him even scarier.

“Tell me more about it.” He said, “Your fears.”

You sighed, “I—It’s okay, we don’t have to. I want to marry you, I do.”

“I don’t doubt that, honey.” He said gently and wrapped his arms around you so he could pull you to his chest, “But we should still talk it through.”

You swallowed, “If the rate of divorce for ER doctors is so high, does the rate double when it’s two ER doctors instead of just one?”

He’s quiet a moment as he mulled it over, “You ever think that maybe an ER doctor marrying another ER doctor lowers the rate of divorce, rather than increasing it?”

“How do you figure that?”

“Both people understand the crazy schedule and the difficulties of the job. And if you’re like us and work in the same ER, you see each other day in and day out, even with that crazy schedule. Being colleagues probably increases healthy communication and conflict resolution outside the ER.”

Already, you felt soothed, “I didn’t think about it like that.”

“Well I have even more compelling evidence for you.”

You smirked, “What’s that?”

“None of those ER doctors that got divorced were married to me.”

You laughed and turned in his arms so you could kiss him, “I love you.” 

After a moment, you pulled away from him slightly, gears turning in your head, “How long of a drive is it to Las Vegas?”

Robby stared at you blankly until his brain began to catch up, “You’re serious?” He asked, his voice breathless.

You nodded, “I want to be your wife. Right now.”

His laugh was high and unbelieving as he ran a hand through his hair, “What about our friends and family—?”

“We can have a real wedding. Maybe a year from now, we do the whole thing right, renew our vows. But I don’t want to wait that long to be yours.”

He smiled, “You’re already mine.”

You raised your eyebrows, “Not legally. Besides, don’t you think there’s something really romantic about getting married in secret, just the two of us?”

After a moment of searching your face, probably trying to make sure this wasn’t some sort of mental break, he nodded, “Okay.” He laughed and shook his head, “Let’s get married.”

***

“The only car we have left is a manual.” The woman running the rental counter had bleached waves and thick black eyeliner. She chewed gum as she spoke, “Can either of you drive a manual?”

“Sorry,” Robby said, grin already spreading across his face as he squeezed your hand, “There’s no automatics left, is that… Did I hear you correctly? Only a manual?”

The woman narrowed her eyes at Robby. To her, he probably seemed insane, “Look, can you drive a manual or not?”

He looked back at you, then, smiling and shaking his head, “Yeah, we can both drive stick.”

The two of you had walked out of the rental store, giggling and swinging your hands between each other like children. 

It was a five hour drive, so you bought donuts and coffees. Once in the car, you propped your feet up on the dash and stared over at Robby, who was reacquainting himself with a manual.

“You sure you remember how to drive stick?” You asked, mouth half full of donut.

He glared over at you, but couldn’t resist breaking into a smile anyway, “It’s like riding a bike.”

Placing his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, he started the car and began backing out of the parking lot. As he peeled out and fiddled with the radio, you rolled the windows down and were surprised when tears pricked your eyes when you looked back over at him.

You thought about all the heartbreak and lonely nights the last eleven years. The times you thought you’d be alone forever, or worse, stuck in a relationship with someone who didn’t want you. You mulled over all the nights you had allowed yourself to dream about that doctor you met in Florida. A fifteen hour drive that seemed to have rearranged all the planets and constellations of your life. 

He had been your north star over the last decade, always seeming to guide you back to where you were supposed to be. Which was here. In this car. Windows down as you sang along to the radio. His hand held yours as it rested on top of the gear shift. Taking you to your wedding. Taking you home.

[kesujo]

Compensation

Happy Birthday Taeyeon!! :D

Word count: 9k

The positives of being selected as Taeyeon’s partner for a two-person performance for her upcoming concert tour: you know your talent is being recognized, you get to perform in front of tens of thousands of people, you get to do a two-person performance with Taeyeon, and most of all, you get to have these one-on-one sessions with the beautiful, talented, sexy KPop star.

You don’t know why she chose to wear the shirt she was wearing, what essentially amounts to a normal white T-Shirt that comes up short on her right side, baring that half of her stomach, but you are thankful for the pleasant feast for your eyes. What makes the window into her abs an even more mouth-watering sight is when, occasionally, her pink sweatpants slide down her slim waist and reveal what look to be upper hem of the black underwear she’s wearing.

The negatives of being selected as Taeyeon’s partner for a two-person performance for her upcoming concert tour: an added amount of pressure to be perfect, potential for backlash and hate comments from obsessive jealous fans, additional nerves from having to perform such risqué moves with such an alluring woman, and worst of all, how terrible you feel for keeping Taeyeon so late because of all the mistakes you are making during this practice session. It’s eating at you so much that not even the sight of the top part of Taeyeon’s black underwear, even more visible than before, can rejuvenate you.

While you’re beating yourself up every time you have to stop and correct your mistakes, even the ones you’ve made already, Taeyeon remains patient. You honestly feel Taeyeon is completely justified in yelling at you; in fact, you are sure that if the choreographer for the dance was able to make it, she would be chewing you out. You can see the exhaustion on Taeyeon’s face, too: at the beginning of the session, she greeted you with a warm smile and a voice full of energy. Now, the rate of her breathing can be seen in the visible rise and fall of her chest, sweat from her forehead glistening off the pale light of the studio, her lips permanently parted to help her catch her breath.

The only credit you’ll give yourself is that this is the first time you’ve done a two-person performance with such a high-profile partner, and one that’s as damn attractive as Kim Taeyeon is. However soft her skin appears in pictures, however well-defined her curves have seemed to have developed in the last decade or so, it all is amplified by a thousand while in her presence, while your hands are tightly clasping her hands, her arms, or occasionally, her exposed waist. Normally, you might’ve thanked the Lord for giving you this chance to be so up-and-personal with an idol you’ve admired for so long, but today, it only serves as a distraction and further frustration towards yourself.

“Five-minute break?”

“I can keep going.”

“Well, I need a break.”

“Oh.” You feel yourself flush a little. “Er, yeah, sure.”

She offers you a small smile before turning around, heading to her bag leaning against the wall of the practice room. You try not to stare too hard at her retreating figure, but the view of her thin waist that curves outward to her rather shapely romp is so captivating that, when she reaches her bag, you’re barely able to snap your eyes back onto yourself.

There is no time to rest. Sure, Taeyeon still looks incredibly good despite being so clearly fatigued—in fact, she’s a different kind of attractive with her slightly disheveled appearance—but seeing it is what keeps you rooted in place. Taeyeon has earned the right to rest; you, on the other hand, have not.

As you begin practicing again, your attention fades away from Taeyeon and towards fighting against the sluggishness your limbs from hours of repetition and intense physical activity. By yourself, you feel better about nailing the steps and movements, but hearing the music in your head as you dance is different than dancing with the music actually playing which is different than dancing with the music and in tandem with Taeyeon.

Pound the movements into your muscles. Do them again and again and again until your limbs shift into place on their own after each step.

“Kaiser, you should take a break too.”

You shake your head. “It’s ok, I’m fine.”

She frowns, the beckoning motion of her hand catching the corners of your peripheral vision. “Come! Let’s watch the choreography video again together.”

Hearing that causes you to stop. “Yeah. Sure.”

You aren’t being lazy. Watching the choreography video again is a productive use of your time; maybe you can glean something from this viewing, or maybe Taeyeon can point out something that will help you.

Math, science, literature, English, all of them are subjects you never really understand. Dancing, however, is different. In school, even with tutoring, your test scores were never any good, but with dancing, everything makes sense. Learning choreographies, even the more intense, complex ones, has always come pretty naturally to you. No challenge you ever faced was something a night’s sleep couldn’t fix. You figured doing a two-person choreography wouldn’t be much of an issue, not that you were ever going to turn down a chance to be performing alongside Taeyeon.

What you hadn’t anticipated is how different two-person choreographies are compared to both group choreographies and solo ones: the important part of group choreographies is to flow with the entire group, and make sure the unit as a whole look as one, while solo choreographies allow for more freedom and freestyling but also greater attention to detail, as any mistake will be easily noticeable as the focal or sole performer. A two-person choreography seems to mix the most challenging parts of both types: it requires the attention to detail of a solo performance while also demanding the conformity of a group performance. Being one of two performers, not only will your mistakes be noticeable, but it will also mess up the flow of your partner; additionally, you needed to pay close attention to your partner, especially since the main attraction is Taeyeon, meaning it’s also on you if she decides to improvise a little bit or happens to make a mistake, meaning you need to know the choreography better than Taeyeon, and also, since she’s the singer and focal point for the audience, you need to make sure that everything you do makes her shine, and also…

“Are you ok? Do you need more water? I brought an extra, if you want it,” Taeyeon turns to the side, reaching into her bag and pulling out another plastic bottle.

You start to shake your head, but having her just about pushing the bottle in your hand gives you no choice but to accept it. “Thank you, Ms. Taeyeon.”

Hearing that, the idol lets out a chuckle. “Still insisting on using honorifics?”

You hang your head. “Sorry, I’m just … it doesn’t feel right to say … to do otherwise.”

“No, it’s ok! Try it. ‘Taeyeon’.”

You can feel her expectant gaze, and with how close she is to you, you can only hope the flush on your cheeks isn’t too obvious. “Um … er, ok, Taeyeon.”

Her face lights up. “Yeah! See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

This is just her being nice. She doesn’t mean anything further by it. You’ve read somewhere that people tend to overestimate how attracted someone is to you the more attractive you perceive the other person to be. You’ve heard stories from your dancer friends that Taeyeon is among the kinder idols in the industry, but experiencing it first hand, could you even be faulted for getting the wrong idea?

After watching the demo through, you’re ready to get back up, but Taeyeon motions for you to stay seated. Confused, thinking she perhaps wants to watch the video again, you sit back down, but instead, she says, “You’re still sweating so much, drink some more water, you hardly touched it.”

“Ah,” you feel like you can’t even drink water normally though, especially when she’s so close and when she’s watching you so intently. And, sure enough, the swig of water you take spills the water all around your mouth, down the sides of your face, and directly onto your shirt. “Mmm—!” you quickly put the water bottle down, using your free hand to wipe your face while you swallow the water, “—ah, sh—…”

Your embarrassment peaks higher when Taeyeon lets out a small giggle. “No need to rush, I’m not going to confiscate the water bottle I gave you.”

“Ah, right, sorry…”

Taeyeon silently lets you clean up and then stands up when you’re done. “Ok. Ready?”

You internally take a deep breath and nod. Get your shit together. There’s no time to be all shy and red-faced like some lovestruck maiden. You have work to do. A lot of work. “Yeah.”

The two more hours of practice you two manage to get in are a bit more productive, but it’s still mostly you making mistakes, you fumbling and missing the beat and incorrect hand placements and footwork. Taeyeon, with her infinite patience, doesn’t complain, remaining understanding up until she decides to call it, citing it being past midnight already.

As you pack up, you can still see how heavily Taeyeon is breathing, and from how sluggish her movements are as she packs up, your guilt starts to consume you even more than it already has.

“Get home quickly and get some good sleep, ok?”

It’s those well wishes, that you don’t even feel you deserve, that push you to say, “Taeyeon, um…” she turns around, a smile on her albeit weary face, “…I’m so sorry for today. I just kept messing up and wasting your time, and now, because of me, you’re going home so late…”

“Oh no! No need to apologize! I made a lot of mistakes too!”

It’s funny that she says that because you honestly can’t recall a single mistake that Taeyeon did. Is it because you were too consumed with your own mistakes to notice Taeyeon’s, or is she just saying that to be nice? In your mind, at least, the answer is pretty clear. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? One of my friends works at a spa with really good reviews, I can ask them to give you a really nice discount, or maybe I can treat you to a meal, or…”

You trail off when you see Taeyeon pursing her lips, clearly pondering something. You let her think for a second, but the second becomes ten, which becomes thirty, which becomes a minute, and while you’re hesitant to interrupt her thought process, the silence is starting to eat at you. “…did you think of something?”

“Hm?” Taeyeon’s attention shifts back to you. “Oh! No, sorry. I was just … you really don’t need to think like that, Kaiser. It was good practice for me too, and a good workout! I’ve been staying at home too much these days.”

“What were you thinking about? I want to help, in any way possible.” Taeyeon seems a bit hesitant, so you push further. “Please. It’ll make me feel better.” Wait… “Sorry, that makes it sound like I’m being selfish, but I really do want to make it up to you.”

“It…” Taeyeon trails off again, but this time, the silence doesn’t last longer than ten seconds. “…if you really insist, then…”

“I do. I insist.”

“…then, maybe, there is something you can help me with?”

“Of course! Anything!”

Taeyeon sets her bag back down, and while you’re questioning what she’s doing, walking back to the center of the room, she indicates for you to follow her.

Well, it’s not like it matters what she wants me to help her with.

So, you also set your bag down and follow her, stopping a few steps short of the idol, who is situated in the middle of the room.

“These days, I’ve been so busy, I’ve hardly had any time to myself.”

“Oh…” You only become more confused. Does she want you to cheer her on? You, who is essentially a stranger to her? “…I’m sorry to hear that. That must be rough.” Does she want you to pay her back by being her friend? Because that’s ‘payment’ you are more than willing to offer.

“It’s ok. It’s maybe a good thing, since I’m usually at home, by myself, whenever I don’t have any work.”

Just when you think you’re starting to understand things, Taeyeon throws you this curveball that lands you squarely back on square one. “Oh. I see.” You’re absolutely stumped. You want to be empathetic, but it doesn’t seem like she is seeking it.  You thought she might’ve been seeking companionship, but that doesn’t seem to be exactly right, either. Or maybe it still is? “Um, well, that’s…” it didn’t sound like that, though. Unless Taeyeon usually pokes fun at herself like this as a kind of coping mechanism for her loneliness? Should you play along? Is that too impolite?

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be so obtuse. What I’m trying to say, is that it’s usually hard for me to find time to meet people when I’m busy, and when I’m not, it’s hard to find motivation.”

Oh, so she is asking for companionship. But then … why not someone else? Namely, someone of her gender? “That sounds really lonely.” You don’t want to overstep your boundaries though. If it happens that you’re wrong and you offer to be friends with Taeyeon, whom you have only met sparingly over the last two weeks, the last thing you want to do is for her to be uncomfortable with your advances and start to have second thoughts about this partnership.

“It is…” her eyes slowly drift to you, and for some reason, a chill runs up your spine. Why that is, you’re unsure, “…so, I was hoping that you could help me with that.”

Was this real? Was Kim Taeyeon—the Kim Taeyeon, industry legend, globally famous, withstanding the test of time by routinely being noted as among the most popular female idols even now, asking for your companionship?

Wow … how jealous must her fans be? How jealous must your fellow dancer friends be? You’ve heard many stories, good and bad, from people in your industry about their interesting or unique interaction with various idols, but very rarely do you hear stories about idols seeking companionship from their backup dancers as Taeyeon is. All that hard work, all that—

“It’s been so long since I’ve had my pussy stretched out properly, after all.”

—hard work, years of practicing, years of dedication to your craft, making connections and climbing the lad—

Wait.

“Do you think you can do that for me?”

Wait.

“W—”

Taeyeon is looking at you through the mirror without a hint of irony. You don’t know what to feel; in fact, you don’t even know if you’re feeling anything. Your whole face is on fire, and there’s a painful tightness in your chest that you realize a few seconds into staring dumbly at Taeyeon is your heart beating at an unhealthily, unnaturally fast rate.

“—W-W-Wha—…um, u-uh, what did—what did you—”

“It’s ok, Kaiser.” The stage name you chose all those years ago has, regrettably, stuck, but too many people know you by the name. So, as much as the name invokes memories of your younger years, when you were obsessed with the German culture and aesthetic and thought it would be cool to be referred to as an ‘emperor’, as in an ‘emperor of dance’, you try to not let it bother you so much. All those years it pestered you, until now, when the name rolling of Taeyeon’s tongue sends another shiver up your spine. Why does it sound so fucking sexy when Taeyeon says it? “This isn’t a test. You were asking if you could help me in any way, right?”

Ok, now you truly can’t believe what’s happening.

Although rare, you have, in fact, heard of some dancers befriending idols, or at least getting on friendly terms with them. So, in a way, while you never would’ve ever expected it to happen to you, befriending an idol is something that is actually something that is possible to happen in reality.

This? Whatever this is. This—this, all of this, any, or, even the slightest bit, the slightest hint of this. None of this happens in real life.

“Unless … you don’t want to?”

“N-No!”

It’s because you’re a man of your word. You decided you would help Taeyeon in any way she wanted it, and aren’t one to turn away in the face of this … this unfathomable request. That’s what you want to tell yourself, but your cock straining against your boxers and your pants is telling you something else entirely.

“Great!” Taeyeon beams at you through the mirror, then turns to face you. You can barely bring yourself to meet her gaze though; one second your eyes are locked, and the next, it’s looking at your shoes. Her smile is too luminescent, her beauty too blinding, that you can’t even look her in the eye. You tell yourself this, trying to pretend like you aren’t some dumb, lovestruck maiden who was just serenaded a confession to by her long-time crush. “Then, do you want to start by stripping me?”

“…may I?”

This time, when you lift your gaze to meet Taeyeon’s, she smiles at you with a bewildered kind of smile that makes you feel dumb but is so pretty that you forget that shame real quick. “Yes. Please, by all means.”

She doesn’t flinch in the slightest as you approach, and in fact seems to welcome you by the way she starts lifting her arms as you close in on her.

This is really happening. She really does want me to strip her. She’s not reacting negatively, she’s not pulling away last second…

Every step you take towards her is another bit of confidence you receive, and when you’re situated right in front of her, you swear you can feel something change. Her breath feels ever so slightly heavier, her chest is heaving ever so slightly more, the corners of her lips curl further up—something, something about Taeyeon feels impatient, like a hungry hyena eyeing a lion feasting on its prey, waiting for it to finish so that it can devour the remains of the carcass.

When your fingers curl around the bottom hem of her shirt, your knuckles brush against her abs, but Taeyeon doesn’t flinch. In fact, she begins lifting her chin, in preparation for you to lift the piece of clothing off her head.

Fuck, her skin is so soft.

What is it gonna feel like against mine?

When it’s sticky and glimmering with sweat, how sexy is she gonna look?

Not wanting to keep her waiting, you pull the shirt over her head and let it gently fall to your side. She’s wearing a grey bra underneath, a fact that takes a whole minute to internalize, as your eyes are too busy taking something else in.

“Are my boobs that pretty?”

“Oh.” Busted. The good news is that Taeyeon doesn’t seem to care much. “Sorry.”

Taeyeon laughs. “What for?” She carries the same, bewildered smile on her face, one that is equally amused and intrigued. “Do you want to take this off too, or should—”

“I’ll do it.”

There’s something about the conviction in your voice that takes Taeyeon aback. Being in the industry for so long, having worked with so many people, and having been fairly well-known for as many years as she has, Taeyeon has of course had her fair share of experiences in which the people she’s working with are starstruck by her. While it’s quite cute to see someone so much bigger than her acting so reserved, like a lost little puppy, it’s only the actions that are cute; your body, on the other hand, is anything but. Being in such close proximity to you, being bathed in your body heat and, most of all, feeling your well-defined arms and chest in her hands is the ultimate reason why Taeyeon decided to overlook that small personality quirk. And, when you so deliciously offered yourself to her on a silver platter, Taeyeon really had no choice but to pounce. Would the starstruck, fanboyish behavior remain even when her body is pressed against yours, and your cock is buried deep inside her swelteringly hot cunt? Even if it is, Taeyeon figured she needed you enough that she wouldn’t mind it.

But now, seeing your confidence start to rise, Taeyeon can start to feel her knees becoming weak.

“Hmm…”

What you interpret as a hum of content, from finally being freed of the restrictive undergarment cupping her boobs, is actually an anticipatory hum of arousal. And, as you take a moment to marvel at the sight of Taeyeon’s bare breasts, supple and soft and somehow a shade paler than the rest of her skin, contrasted by the light almond color of her areola with a pair of gradually hardening nipples at the center, Taeyeon’s mind is racing with all sorts of possibilities.

When she proposed this, Taeyeon figured she would have to take the lead and was ultimately fine with that. While Taeyeon doesn’t love taking the lead, she’s so horny that she’s willing to do anything. The realization that, maybe, she can let herself just be dominated by you is dampening her panties with more than just sweat.

“Can I…?”

Taeyeon gives you an encouraging nod, and suddenly, your hands are all over them. As expected, your hands are just barely enough to cover its entire surface area, and as your fingers sink into the soft, plush texture of her tits, Taeyeon lets out a sigh.

“Ooh…”

Every passing moment, the smile and the nod and the pleased hum and now the contented sigh, everything is invigorating and emboldening you more, and as you feel Taeyeon respond positively to the massaging and kneading motions of your hands, you sink deeper into the phenomenon that is Kim Taeyeon.

“…god, it’s so soft…”

“Are you going to play with my boobs all day,” Taeyeon’s voice is notably deeper and huskier, and seeing her eyes clouded with lust sends a shiver down your spine, “or are you going to take off the rest of my clothes, babe?”

Taeyeon is seriously a work of art. It seems so effortless, the sexiness she oozes, and it’s so natural that you wonder how intentional it all is. The way she confidently bared her half-exposed midriff and the straightlaced expression that accompanied the filthy words that left her mouth, the unabashed way she sighs and how openly she indulges in your touch, it was all getting to your head already, but that word?

She says it so casually, too. Like, it’s an everyday occurrence, and, for a brief moment, you indulge in a fantasy in which you’re satisfying the needs of your insatiable girlfriend. It’s a comfortable dream, and the way she just melts at your touch, the wistful look in her eyes, the soft parting of her strawberry lips, her drawn-together eyebrows, you can almost believe that this is the tenth, twentieth time you’ve done this to her. But, in reality, you know that none of that is true.

Fuck, she’s going to be the death of me.

Taeyeon doesn’t even know it, but you’re already completely bound in her charm. Her endless patience, her bottomless kindness, paired together with the brazen nature of her proposal and the shameless way she expresses her enjoyment of your fingers, now circling her areola and lightly pinching her nipples, it’s simply inevitable. You’re trapped, but you don’t know if you even want to escape.

“Sorry, but, it’s just that, your boobs too beautiful, Taeyeon.”

“…and I’m glad you think that, but…” your eyes meet Taeyeon’s, and this time, her smile contains within it a considerably greater amount of lust, “…I was hoping you would be playing with another part of my body by now.”

It feels like Taeyeon must have some kind of mind-control over you, with how easily and freely manipulates your emotions. What’s more, you’re 100% sure Taeyeon doesn’t mean to do it either; all she’s doing is telling you what she’s feeling, what she wants from you, but that’s all it takes for you to fall head-over-heels in line with her demands, like a well-trained police dog. And, what’s more, hearing and seeing her growing lust in response to your hands and your skills and just you grows your confidence that much more.

“Then, let me grant your wish.”

Taeyeon broke out into a smile. “Oh, you’re quoting my own song to me?”

Your own lips curl into a smile. “Busted.” Your fingers curl around her pink sweatpants and black underwear and give them a firm, downward tug, sending them tumbling down her legs. Even before they pool at her feet, your eyes are magnetized onto the small patch of hair covering her privates; you can tell that it’s been perhaps a few days since she last shaved, but you can also tell she takes good care of her hair down there.

Her milky-white legs, her slim waist, her taut stomach, her supple breasts, and the thing that you can’t rip your eyes off is that small patch of pubic hair. Seeing Taeyeon’s tits and feeling it in your hands is more than enough to cause a tightness in your pants, but the thing is, Taeyeon has been no stranger to showing off her rather impressive rack. The number of people who have seen her full, bare boobs are probably not very many, especially those Taeyeon consider potential sexual partners, but form-hugging outfits, photos taken from certain angles, even her nipples are something that one can more or less make out from various pictures floating around on the internet. This, however: the little bit of slightly-unkempt pubic hair covering the intersection of her legs, does not fit into any of those categories. Unlike her tits, which she has given her fans many views of at least partially, this is something far more intimate, far more hidden away and thus, why you find yourself getting so, so incredibly turned on from the sight of.

So you tell yourself. It’s because of that, and definitely not because you’re some pervert.

“I hope you don’t mind a bit of hair.”

You can tell there’s some embarrassment in Taeyeon’s voice in the way it holds a bit of laughter, but you’re much too horny to care. “It’s sexy.”

“Is it?”

You nod, your right hand gently running over the hair. Taeyeon gasps at an almost imperceptibly quiet volume, that you might’ve otherwise missed if her lips weren’t so close to your ears. “Yeah…” Feeling her shiver at your touch emboldens your every move, and hearing a louder gasp as the pressure of your fingers against her crotch increases pushes you to finally say, “…and look, you’re so wet, too.”

“Ooh, god…”

Fuck. Everything about her, from the way she melts at your touch to her sexy groans to her svelte body screaming its desire—or rather, it’s need—for your touch, for you, turns you on more and more. Currently, you’re focused on the gradual movement of your hand, from the patch of pubic hair to further down south, but in the back of your mind, you’re fantasizing about ripping your pants off and shoving yourself all at once inside the idol’s tight core.

“God, you’re so sexy, Taeyeon.” When your fingers finally make it to her wet folds, your own anticipation also comes to a head when they make first contact with the damp, slightly sticky skin.

“Oo-Ooh!” Taeyeon’s moan drowns out yours, shuddering more noticeably and her legs wobbling a little at the contact. “Y-Yes, god, your fingers…”

Your fingers are now in full contact with her moist slit, each back-and-forth motion fueling the lust of both the idol and yourself. “And it’s even more wet down here.”

“Fffuuck, Kaiser…”

“Is this what you wanted?” You’re not even sure where this comes from, but feeling Taeyeon shudder as your breath tickles her ear empowers you to continue, “Is this the part of your body you were hoping I would be playing with by now?”

“Y-Yes, yes, your fingers feel so good, Kaiser.”

Hearing the glowing response is the final bit of confidence you need Taeyeon to give you to give you the reassurance that, in the moment, the two of you are equals. “You’re so desperate. What would your fans think if they saw you, mewling and whimpering like this?”

“Ff—ffuck, fuck,” Taeyeon’s breath hitches as your thumb brushes against the area surrounding her clit. “Th-They, they would be mortified.”

“Wouldn’t they? Then, why are you so wet?”

Taeyeon legs nearly give way when your thumb comes down onto her clit. It’s only thanks to your arms wrapped around her and your legs supporting her legs that she’s able to remain upright. The entire time, your eyes have been trained on Taeyeon, drinking in every bit of the salacious sight before you: just minutes ago, the two of you were practicing your two-person dance choreography, looking into the mirror at yourselves with the purpose of picking out mistakes. This very room, that you’ve seen in various other dance practice videos of Taeyeon and other SM artists, a beacon of dedication and hard work and the SM excellence that is the reason why their artists are always the most popular and in-demand, now serving witness to one of it’s most seasoned and experienced occupants fully naked, red-faced and panting at the work of your fingers buried between her creamy, snowy-white thighs.

“Who-Who’s, who’s fault is that?”

“Hmm?” There’s some mixture of a grin and a confused look on your face. Is she referring the to choreography? Sure, it’s somewhat sensual, but it’s nothing more than what an experienced performer like Taeyeon has done in the past. “Me? What have I done?”

“Y-Your, your body, pressing up against mine, god, it felt so good, I couldn’t help but start wondering what your sweaty, hot body would feel like against mine…”

Fuck.

Is Taeyeon telling the truth? Did she really get so turned on by you during the dance practice that she asked you to fuck her right here and now? Not even wanting to wait to go to somewhere safer and more private, like her apartment or his apartment, but instead asking you to strip her clothes in the very place she was hard at work just minutes ago?

Fuck.

Everything about the encounter thus far seems to be pointing towards Taeyeon telling the truth, and while Taeyeon’s repeated reassurance and reactions bolstered your confidence to the point that you no longer feel bound by the societal hierarchy Taeyeon’s status as an idol enforced upon you, this newly acquired knowledge revs your confidence up to dangerous levels.

“And then, you asked me if I you could help me with anything, and I really did try to hold it in, but when you insisted, I just couldn’t resist…”

So. She doesn’t just want to be fucked, she wants to be utterly and completely fucked, huh?

“The legendary Kim Taeyeon, loved by fans all around the world, and even loved amongst other idols.” By now, Taeyeon’s gasps have transformed into louder moans, her head leaning back into your chest as your fingers continue to work their magic on her hot sex. “Is it her that’s so fucking down bad that she’s asking the man she’s doing a two-person performance with to fuck her?”

“N-No, it’s, it’s just Taeyeon, who needs you so bad right now.”

You’ve done well to draw this out as long as you have, but hearing Taeyeon borderline begging for you is the last straw.

“Really?” Feeling you pull away from her causes Taeyeon to whine, but seeing you throw your shirt off shuts her up real quick. “Since you so nicely asked, why don’t I indulge you in all your dirtiest fantasies?”

“Would you?” Despite everything, Taeyeon still meets your eyes through the mirror and smiles widely at you. When you move to pull off your own sweatpants, her eyes flicker down and she turns around. “Wait.” You stop. “May I?”

Those big, pleading eyes, tilted upwards to meet your eyes, desperate, begging … how can you not oblige?

“Of course.” Taeyeon sinks to her knees, wasting no time in pulling your sweatpants off. “Although, I thought this was supposed to be me paying you back.”

“Oh don’t worry, you are paying me back.” Taeyeon leaves you no room to argue, seeing as she proceeds those words by palming the very noticeable bulge that had formed in your boxers. “You don’t know how much this thing has crossed my mind in the last couple of hours.”

“Fuck, Taeyeon…”

The low moan seems to echo about the spacious practice room, which is shortly joined by a sharp hiss when Taeyeon gives your boxers a firm downward tug, sending the undergarment sliding down your legs. A satisfied, lustful hum erupts from Taeyeon’s throat as her slim fingers wrap around your veinous girth, and when her palm comes into contact with it, you let out another moan. Your eyes stay trained on Taeyeon, who is laser-focused on the pulsating shaft mere inches from her face.

“Hmm, so warm…”

Her second hand comes into contact with your dick, and as it envelops it, her face draws ever closer.

There are so many sexy things about Taeyeon that it only now comes to your attention how alluring her lips are. And, as they naturally part while her hands being slowly pumping your shaft, inching ever closer to your cock, your mind begins to race with all sorts of lascivious thoughts. Those same lips, from which comes the perhaps the most beautiful music in all of K-Pop, soft, pink, luscious, hot, whose breath you can start feeling against your glans, filled not with a melodious sound but instead with your cock, you can’t even begin to fathom, is this really happening, is she really going to—

“Mmm.”

Taeyeon starts with a tentative lick, collecting the bit of precum that had leaked out of your tip. You let out a groan, and your dick pulsates painfully in Taeyeon’s vice grip. “You’re as big as I hoped you’d be.”

“I’m gla—ah, Taeyeon!” Taeyeon interrupts you mid-sentence, taking your glans into her lips and before you can even blink, half of your length has disappeared inside her mouth. You can feel her lips pressing against your shaft, and combined with the mind-blowingly sexy visual of those luscious, strawberry lips stretching around your girth and the feeling of her tongue running along the underside of your dick, you can’t help but let out a groan. “Fuck, god, so warm…”

She’s barely able to take two-thirds of your length, gripping the rest of it with both hands, and pauses to swirl her tongue around your dick before she starts pulling away. She doesn’t let your dick out of her mouth though; as her lips retreat, her hands take its place to smear the saliva her tongue so graciously deposited onto your shaft. Your eyes briefly flicker up to see the back-view of the kneeling Taeyeon before you, her back arched and her cute butt sitting atop her feet as she starts taking your length back into her mouth.

“God, your mouth is so good…”

This time, Taeyeon’s able to fit your entire length inside her mouth, and when she does, she tilts her head to allow her tongue a better angle to slather your length with saliva as she pulls away. Her tongue continues to run up and down your shaft as her head bobs back and forth along your cock, twisting and turning and, with the help of her hands, coats your member with a fine sheen of saliva. It’s only then that she releases you, giving your tip a firm lick for good measure before looking up at you. “How did that—”

You cut Taeyeon off, grabbing her by the arm and hoisting her to a standing position. “Turn around.” Wordlessly, Taeyeon obeys. “Bend over.”

Oh, fuck.

Your domineering commands causes a welling of excitement and arousal to bubble up inside her, and when your hands cup her ass, Taeyeon lets out a sharp gasp, arousal overflowing from every pore of her body. This is what she needs. This is exactly what she needs.

“God, please…”

Her softly muttered words don’t make it to your ears, or perhaps you just aren’t paying attention: your fingers are testing her labia, pushing them apart to see if you can peer deeper inside, but are just met with pitch-black darkness. In the corner of your eyes, you can see Taeyeon’s eyes trained on your reflection on the mirror, her hands resting on her knees to help stabilize them.

“Nice and wet for me?”

Taeyeon nods, smiling as you lift your eyes to meet the reflection of hers. “You have no idea.”

“Then, be a good girl and hold your cute little butt cheeks apart.”

Taeyeon, again, wordlessly obeys. With one hand on your dick and one on her waist, you find yourself needing to angle at a significant downward slope to meet her wet slit, but when it does, Taeyeon lets out another, sharp gasp.

“Fuck…” This time, she mutters at a louder volume, and when push yourself in, it transforms into a sharp, echoey moan. “Fffuck!” The sound of her pleasure bounces off the walls and smothers your own moan, and as your cock buries itself inside the inferno that is Taeyeon’s pussy, the moans from both of you grow louder. “Babe, fuck, it’s stretching me out so much!”

It’s so much hotter than you would’ve imagined, so much wetter than you could’ve thought, and most of all, so damn tight that you’re barely unable to push your entire length inside her before pulling out. That motion sends ripples and shivers down Taeyeon’s spine, and another moan erupts from her lips when you thrust into her again, this time fully hilting her, causing the crisp sound of her ass smacking against your hips to echo about the room with her moans.

“Fuck, so tight.”

“Yes, oh god, yes!” You reach out to grab her arms, pulling her arms backwards to use as handlebars to fuck her with. “Fuck me harder, babe!” You need to stand with considerable distance between your legs, but you barely even care about the slightly awkward stance; your mind is completely comprised of drilling into Taeyeon’s dripping wet cunt. “Yes, please, right there!” The more you drill into her, the more her juices sputter out onto your groin, the wetter the sounds of her ass smacking against you are.

“So much energy, especially after all that dancing.”

“I-I could say the same about you.”

Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see Taeyeon lifting her head, so you likewise rip your eyes away from the hypnotic, swaying motion of her tits to match her gaze. “Always have the energy to get plowed from behind, do you?”

“Only if you have the energy to do the plowing.”

It’s a wonder how Taeyeon can still look as gorgeous as she does, what with how violently you are rocking her body. In fact, her messy, tousled hair, her gently parted lips, her heaving chest, the visual the full-length mirror grants you is an exceedingly sexy version of Taeyeon that not her most salacious, thirst-trap Instagram pictures could hope to capture. Although the intense pressure of Taeyeon’s pussy seems to be working against you, feeling its fleshy, moist walls making way as it forces itself in and clings onto your shaft as you pull it out adds to your energy. Every satisfying smack!, every beautiful moan that tumbles out of Taeyeon’s lips, every time those juicy tits of hers shakes and sways to the rhythm of your hips, every second longer those alluring, lust-filled bed eyes bore into your soul, builds upon the lust filling every fiber of your being and tension building up in your nethers. It’s a hypnotically beautiful sight, watching Taeyeon’s tiny, but sturdy, frame shake as you continue to plow into her, but the more you sustain the awkward half-squatting position you’re doing, the more the burning in your quads takes the forefront of your mind.

“You like watching yourself being fucked like this?”

Taeyeon shamelessly nods. “Yes, it’s so fucking hot.”

“Why don’t we get closer to the mirror, then?”

Taeyeon nods, and you pull out of her. A slight shudder runs up Taeyeon’s spine as a bit more of her juices leak out of her sex, a steady trickling down her legs that you realize has left a tiny puddle on the floor. Taeyeon, seeing you look at the ground, turns around, her eyes also landing on the coalesced evidence of her lust. “Oh. Oops.” Taeyeon doesn’t seem the least bit worried, and in fact seems to be a bit turned on at the sight.

“Maybe the janitor will think it’s sweat.”

Taeyeon smiles. “Maybe.”

“Speaking of, when does the janitor usually come around to clean these rooms?”

Taeyeon shrugs. “In an hour or two, or maybe he’s making the round right now.”

The realization gives you pause, but seeing how flippantly Taeyeon turns around and begins walking to the mirror, you figure you shouldn’t care either. If the janitor happens upon the two of you fucking like wild animals, then you had better give him a damn good show.

You join Taeyeon, but quickly find yourself distracted by the soft swaying of Taeyeon’s cute, shapely ass. Again, you’re not sure how intentional it is, and you don’t end up getting to figure that out as, when Taeyeon reaches the mirror and turns around, catching you staring, she simply smiles softly. “I have an idea.”

“Oh?”

“I bet it was hard on your legs to fuck me like that, wasn’t it?”

You chuckle. “A little.”

“Then, why don’t I help you with that?” You look on with curiosity as Taeyeon plants both hands on the reflective surface and slowly starts lifting her left leg. “Help me?” Understanding what she’s trying to do, you quickly close the gap in two strides and catch her leg. “Thanks.” With your help, Taeyeon continues lifting her leg until it’s completely vertical. “That should be better for you.”

“Fuck…”

The impressive feat of flexibility is one thing, but the unobstructed sight of those pussy lips that were so tightly hugging your shaft moments ago causes your dick to twitch. Your lower half is screaming at you to hurry and bury yourself inside her already!, but your brain stops you, taking a moment to take in the beautiful sight, of Taeyeon’s flopping, glistening labia, her own cum trickling out of the pink lips and down her creamy white thighs.

“Do you like it?”

You nod. “It’s so fucking beautiful.”

Taeyeon giggles. “I never thought anyone would call that ‘beautiful’.”

“It is, though.”

“Do you think it’d look even more beautiful with that thick, veiny cock of yours wedged firmly between it?” You don’t need to be goaded any longer; with your left hand keeping Taeyeon’s left leg in place, your right hand guides your cock back into its sweltering abode, and the two of you groan in unison. “Fffuuck…”

“Hmm, yeah, it is quite beautiful like that.”

Your cheeky comment earns a giggle from Taeyeon. “I’m glad you think so.”

“And, I think you’re right.”

“Huh?” Taeyeon’s inquisitive expression quickly turns into shock which then turns into lustful as you pick up right where you left off, this time with renewed vigor. “Oh!”

“I think I can fuck you better like this.” If it weren’t for your legs bracing her right leg and now both hands holding her left leg in place, you’re sure Taeyeon would’ve fallen over already. It doesn’t take much for the faster and stronger strokes to start overwhelming her, every thrust pushing her face closer to the mirror until her cheek is flush with it.

“So much, oh god, so much…!”

“Leave it to Taeyeon, an idol with your caliber of experience, to think of ways to optimize things, including the most optimal way to be plowed into the dance practice room mirror.”

“Fuck, yes, give it to me!”

You find that even the feeling of the tensed calves of her left leg is turning you on. Every part of Taeyeon seems to be designed to arouse you, and the improved position channels that arousal: you still have to spread your legs slightly, but it’s not nearly as bad this time.

“This entire time, you were imagining being pounded into this mirror, taking in my fucking dick, weren’t you?”

“So much, you have no idea how much I needed this…”

“How can you even function as an idol when you’re surrounded so frequently by attractive men?”

Taeyeon shakes her head, or as much as she can with her face pressed against the cool, reflective material. “It-It’s not that, it’s just, it’s just you that made me so horny.”

You weren’t even fishing for compliments; you were just teasing her, saying anything that comes to mind, and hearing this from Taeyeon rebounds your ego from below the floor due to all those mistakes made during dance practice to now, where you’re not sure this room can contain it. With everything that had transpired in the last few minutes, you’re sure the synergy between the two of you has increased; if anything, this ‘compensation’ you’re giving to Taeyeon is going to make working with her easier, going forward.

But those thoughts are fleeting. Right now, you’re concentrated on drilling into Taeyeon, letting her leg rest on your shoulder and trapping it there with both hands, using it as leverage to piston into her faster and more fiercely by the second.

“It’s only my cock that you crave, is that what you’re saying?”

Taeyeon nods again. Her eyes are half-lidded, bits of drool staining the mirror; as an idol, one’s appearance is everything, but at that moment, that doesn’t seem to be a concern of hers. And, even still, Taeyeon still is drop-dead gorgeous, stunningly sexy, and it all makes you fuck her harder and faster.

“Yes! Only your cock, god, it’s so fucking hard inside me!”

“Fuck, Taeyeon…”

The longer your assault on Taeyeon’s pussy continues, the more tightly you hug her leg until you find your face pressed against it. You can also feel Taeyeon’s balance begin to falter, the overabundance of ecstasy turning her knees to jelly, but you can’t help it: your eyes have, once again, drifted to her tits, and seeing them jiggle in tandem with your thrusts causes your left hand to drift away from her legs and to her chest.

“Everything about you is so fucking sexy, I can’t believe it’s me who gets to enjoy this.”

Taeyeon lets out a sharper moan as she feels your fingers rubbing her areola. “F-F-Ffuck, you-you’re, it feels so good, I’m losing my mind, oh my god…” when your fingers close in on those delectable, swollen nipples, they give it a hard squeeze, eliciting a sharp squeal from the idol. “Oh!”

“You like that?”

Taeyeon nods. “Yes! Fffuck!” She lets out another squeal as you give the other nipple a pinch. “Fuck, oh my god, it’s so—nng!” Every time you pinch her nipples, it’s like an electric shock courses throughout her body. They’re so satisfying to squeeze, and the ecstatic reaction drives you even further, so you keep at it. “Fuck! God, I can’t—nng! It’s so much, it’s so much!”

It’s coming, and you’re desperately fighting against it. Just one more second, draw this out for just one more second, let me continue enjoying her pussy just one second longer…

“W-Wait!”

Your eyes snap to Taeyeon, who has opened hers and is looking at you, flustered but also somewhat panicked.

Fuck. What was I about to do? She’s an idol, and I don’t have a condom on. Was I about to—

“I don’t want to finish like this. Let’s go back there,” Taeyeon says, motioning to the pile of clothes in the middle of the room. You comply, pulling out and gently lowering her leg back onto the ground. You’re mostly relieved that Taeyeon intervened, and that it’s not quite over yet, but a small part of you wishes you could’ve came inside her. Taeyeon is an idol, after all, and as un-idol-like as she’s been acting so far, this is the one thing she’d probably always have to keep in her mind.

It doesn’t take a few steps before Taeyeon stumbles a little; you move quickly to grab onto her arms, helping back up, saying, “What’s wrong? Are you ok?”

Taeyeon smiles at you. “Yeah. I guess you just fucked me so hard, my legs feel a little wobbly.”

Your lust balloons inside you, and you can feel your cock twitching, rearing to bury itself back inside Taeyeon. Thinking about extending this for as long as possible is all you can do to stop yourself from grabbing Taeyeon, turning her around, and slamming your cock back inside her until you cum.

“Oh, ok.”

The way Taeyeon continues walking after saying something so fucking salacious, you again wonder if Taeyeon even knows how she’s affecting you.

“Let’s sit down. This way, it’s easy for us both.” You comply, sitting down on the hardwood floor with legs crossed, but before Taeyeon follows, she asks, “Is your phone in the pocket of your pants?” Curious, but too horny to ask why she needs to know, you simply nod, which is apparently all Taeyeon needs to turn around, and, before long, you’re hilting her again. “God, fuck, I can’t believe how much you’re stretching my fucking pussy out…”

“What kind of an idol uses such filthy language?”

“The type of idol that loves the feeling of her pussy being split apart by your nice, thick cock~”

You stretch your legs out, keeping Taeyeon’s legs spread apart with your knees while your feet dig into the hardwood floor of the practice room and your hands on her waist, lifting her up and slamming her back down repeated on your cock. “We should show your fans this performance.” Taeyeon lifts her head, momentarily meeting your eyes through the mirror before falling down onto your hot connection. Taeyeon lets out a whimper, leaning back against you, her hands resting on your upper thighs, trying to hold on as best she can while you buck her up and down your lap.

“G-God, please…”

“Do you think your fans would like that?”

Taeyeon shakes her head, her eyes never leaving the sight of your dick disappearing repeatedly into her sopping wet snatch. “N-No, I, I can’t…”

“But look how much you’re enjoying this.”

“It’s … I, I can’t, but … fuck, I can’t, you’re making me lose my mind…”

Before, all you were doing is holding Taeyeon back: mistake after mistake, fumbling and stumbling over yourself, complicating things for the ever-patient Taeyeon. Now, you two are engaged in a different kind of choreography, and this time, it’s you who is leading.

“God, you feel so good, I can’t believe it…”

“F-Fuck, Taeyeon…” As much as you try to fight it, it’s inevitable. The brief reprieve was just that: brief, and now, your orgasm is knocking at the door. “Taeyeon, I-I’m, I need to pull out—”

“No!”

The sharp tone of Taeyeon’s protest shocks you.

“Don’t you dare pull out!”

What? What if she gets pregnant? That kind of a scandal … am I going to have to father Taeyeon’s children? Or maybe she’s on the pill? Or maybe she would just get an abortion? Would she be able to do something like that privately?

As quickly as these thoughts enter your mind, so too do they exit.

“Fuck…”

In the end, this is what Taeyeon asked you for to compensate for all the extra time and effort your continual mistakes forced her to spend. It doesn’t matter what you think, all of this is for her. And, if she doesn’t want you to pull out, then—

“Fuck, cumming—!”

You repeatedly slam into the deepest parts of her pussy as stream after stream of your seed fills Taeyeon’s womb. “Yes! Fuck, more! Yes! Fill me up!” You swear you’re seeing stars, but your hips continue to ram into the tiny idol, as if on autopilot, the convulsing walls of Taeyeon’s pussy squeezing your cock with the desperation of a parched person squeezing the last drops of water from their water skin. “It’s—It’s so hot! Fffuck…” When your orgasm finally subsides, your grip of her waist loosens, and you lean back, planting your hands on the floor behind you.

“Oh, god…”

“T—…Tae, Taeyeon…”

“Hmm?”

Still trying to catch your breath, you meet Taeyeon’s eyes through the mirror, who you can tell is pretty close to spent as well. “Wh-Why, Why…”

“Oh. For this.” Grabbing sweatpants, she fishes out your iPhone and opens the camera with practiced ease. Before you can process what’s happening, she points your phone’s camera at the mirror, poses cutely for it, and snaps a picture.

“Wha—?!”

“There,” Taeyeon says proudly, opening up the gallery and showing the picture to you: while your shocked expression and her cute smile is visible in the picture, the clear focal point is the creampie that’s leaking out of her hole that’s still stuffed full with your cock, and, incidentally, the cute little patch of slightly damp pubic hair that’s sitting atop it. “Now, you have this for me.”

You stare dumbly at Taeyeon. “I … I don’t understand.”

Taeyeon dismounts you, not caring that your creampie is now leaking onto the floor, and sits facing you. “Remember how I said it was hard for me to meet people?”

“Um…” honestly, you’re still reeling from the mind-blowing orgasm that you have trouble recalling even minutes ago, right before when Taeyeon asked you to fuck her, “…right, yeah.”

“Well, now that you have that picture, if you ever want to meet up with me and I don’t feel like it, I’ll have a harder time saying ‘no’.”

“Wha…” there are so many things wrong with what Taeyeon just said, but chief among them being, “…why would you trust me with this?”

“You’re a good guy. Plus, I definitely don’t want this to be a one-time thing.” Taeyeon is absolutely radiating with beauty, and paired with that blinding smile, it’s hard to imaging this very woman is the same woman who insisted you creampie her just moments ago.

“…well…”

It still doesn’t make sense to you. Nothing about anything in the last however-many-minutes makes any sense to you: the fact that the Kim Taeyeon, adored and sought after by many, asked you to not only fuck her, but cum inside her, the fact that she just took a picture of that creampie on your phone, and that she’s insisting you use it to essentially blackmail her into … what? To fuck more? To just hang out? Was Taeyeon looking for companionship, in the end?

“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. I just…”

“Yeah,” Hearing your response puts a smile back on Taeyeon’s face, “I’ll make sure to message you from time to time.”

“I would love that.”

The two of you clean up, and as you leave, you pass by a janitor who is suspiciously avoiding your gaze.

Is that something to worry about…? Surely not, right?

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

You Ask Shoto To Sleep With You | One Shot

Summary: You and Shoto have been friends for years, and you've had feelings for him for quite some time. While catching up over tea, you suggest hooking up. He confesses that he's never had sex before, but would be open to exploring it with you. Turns out, Shoto's a lot less experienced than you originally thought!

Important Notes/TW: All characters are A29+, Shoto is a Pro Hero, Shoto x Reader are close friends, mentions of fingering, nudity and penetrative sex, no actual explicit sex happens in this fic - it's just discussed, MDNI, This is an adult only blog posting mature content

"You want to have sex. With me?" Shoto sounds uncertain, his usual flat tone is infused with a wavelength of emotion you've never heard before.

"Yeah." You say, leaning across the small sticky coffee shop table so you can scoop up his hand into your own. "I do."

"Um." Shoto glances down at your hand. "I don't know what to say."

You release his hand, deflated. "Oh...so are you not interested? I just figured we've been on like ten dates so I thought we could at least discuss it."

"It's not that I'm not interested..." He says slowly, rounding his mouth around the words. "I haven't had sex before. So I wouldn't know what I'm doing."

"Oh." You're surprised by this. Shoto has just turned thirty, and your big thirtieth birthday isn't far behind. You've both been pretty popular on the Pro hero scene for the better part of a decade. Shoto's dated plenty of pretty starlets and pro heroes before you - girls who love the spotlight and look glamorous on magazine covers. You've assumed that he had been intimate with more than a few of them. You're surprised to find that you're wrong. "You've never had sex before? What about...I don't know...oral sex? Or, um, have you had a hand job?"

He shakes his head no, then takes a deep sip from his mug of tea. You glance around you to make sure there aren't any eavesdroppers, but the shop is mercifully empty. The two of you are inconspicuously tucked into a corner beneath a collection of leafy pants.

"I've never really felt comfortable doing those kinds of things with anyone." He takes another gulp from his cup. "But I'd be open to trying it with you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes. I like you as more than a friend, I've known you for a long time, I'm comfortable with you and I'm attracted to you. The last time we kissed, I had an erection afterwards." Something you've always liked about Shoto is his blunt, no-nonsense approach to life. But this is...a lot of information to take in.

"Wow, Sho. I...I feel the same way. I mean - obviously I didn't have an erection after we made out last week, but I was definitely turned on." You say weakly, taking a sip of your own tea as you stare at him with wide eyes.

"So what do we do now?" Shoto reaches out and re-takes your hand. His palm is warm against your own. "I'm free the rest of the afternoon - should we go back to my apartment?" You're surprised by how eager he looks all of a sudden. There's been a shift in the energy - now that you've offered up sex and put it on the table, he seems to be buzzing about it.

Your brain is moving a thousand miles a minute. You take a deep breath and try to approach the situation as you would a work emergency. What would Pro-Hero Y/N do?

Hmm...she would start slow and take small steps forward. Get Shoto comfortable with the various aspects of sex and sexual response and attraction.

"Maybe we start slow. Take off each others clothes. Touch each other. Maybe some hand stuff."

"Hand stuff?" He looks at you blankly.

"I'm assuming you've never fingered someone?"

"No, I have not."

"Alright - so I'll show you what to do there. And I can give you a hand job. You can show me what you like when you touch yourself, and then I'll try to emulate it. With a twist, of course."

He nods excitedly - he's already standing up and shrugging on his coat. He tosses a twenty down on the table to pay for your drinks.

"Well we'd better get going then. I've clearly got a lot to learn." His tone is lower than usual, and before he buttons up his long coat you swear you can see his arousal through his sharp slacks. The image tingles in your brain, shooting electricity straight down to your pussy. Your brain wanders for a moment - wondering what Shoto looks like naked. How his Pro Hero muscles could ripple beneath your gentle touch. How big he might be.

"Okay!" You rise from your chair and he's already behind you, helping you into your jacket. The man wastes no time. His touch lingers on your lower back as you slide your arms into the long sleeves.

You leave the coffee shop, the door jingling behind you as the pair of you step out into the cool winter air. Shoto reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers.

"I'm excited about this." He says, his voice honeyed and smooth. "I promise I'll do my best." The pledge makes your heart skip a beat and your pussy throb. If there's one thing to be said about Shoto Todoroki, it's that he keeps his promises. Also, he's meticulous and thorough in everything he does.

"Maybe we should call a cab." You say, feeling your panties dampen more with each step. "It'll be faster."

"Good idea." He looks down at you, eyes sharp and filled with an emotion you've never seen before. "I want to get you naked as soon as possible."

[visenyaism]

top ten clinically depressed asoiafers

I don’t think anyone ever wrote out the Westerosi DSM but I’ll take a crack at it.

Honorable Mention- Mance Raider and Qhorin Halfhand. We don’t get enough to make a full conclusion because it’s not important to Jon’s story so this is just a vibe but I feel it strongly.

10. Rhaena the Lesbian- like one of two actually great fire and blood characters. Convalescing in Harrenhal for like a decade after her wife left her and her third husband killed all her girlfriends plus she was one dead kid and one dead mother down. Kind of epic. Should have survived long enough to be weird and bitter to Jaehaerys’ insane children.

9. Daemon Targaryen- hey speaking of killing yourself in Harrenhal. Him never being happy with what he had or knowing what he wanted beyond getting his big brother to be proud of him so he just had to constantly chase dopamine in the form of insane levels of violence grooming teenagers and getting his cop frat brother employees to like him for money. Chemical imbalance with a body count in the thousands for his last midlife crisis wife leaving teenager grooming riverlands murder suicide bender alone.

8. Rhaegar Targaryen- Hey speaking of making your clinical depression everyone else’s problem at Harrenhal leading to the death of thousands. Why do people keep letting them do this is the question. Could estrogen have saved her is the second realer question

7. Lysa Arryn. Free her.

6. Daeron the Drunken- what if you were HAUNTED by PROPHETIC DREAMS that were only BAD and spelled the death and doom of your ENTIRE FAMILY and you COULDNT ESCAPE THEM except through SUBSTANCES and you were also the HEIR and your DAD was so DISAPPOINTED IN YOU and you had to take your RUDE and disrespectful plucky BABY KING ARTHUR brother to the CIRCUS and he was TEN and BALD and picked up by the hedge knight you DREAMED OF because he is going to INSTIGATE TO THE ETERNAL MISERY OF YOUR FAMILY a little bit on accident because you are DRUNK. NO HOPE. also honorable mention to post-fratricide Maekar who just locks himself in summerhall for years and post-treason court hostage Daemon II Blackfyre. I hope he and Daeron got brunch.

5. Ned Stark- classic flavor original variant Father Depression. Things went wrong for him young that he will never explain to anyone ever and they form a veil that serves as a barrier between him and the world and everyone he loves. Poor Ned.

4. Stannis Baratheon. Never let himself enjoy anything ever. Melancholy from birth. Rude and extremely blunt with everyone. Smiles twice both at Davos. Anorexic. Bald. Who among us has not been there.

3. Alannys Harlaw Greyjoy- finding out that Theon and Asha have an alive mom who is a gothic horror attic wife who never recovered from the loss of her family to the point that she’s still asking when all her dead and missing sons are going to come home to her and then Theon comes home and does not visit her. Actually agonizing for me the reader

2. Jon Connington- I’m about to get real sincere with these last two because Dance was a really good book that hit at a pivotal time for me. Everything he is in the world to do is motivated by this deep and profound grief and repression that simultaneously makes him a worse person (hungry to commit war crimes) and his best self (dives into the river to save Tyrion contracting greyscale in the process, being as loving and supportive of a father to Young Griff as anyone really could possibly be in this series.) The fact that he is such a late-game addition but feels like a missing piece as a character because of the emotional weight he carries is really cool. I love all his chapters. Tried to grasp a star overreached and fell is so powerful.

1. Tyrion Lannister- I adore his dance with dragons chapters where after his big moment of patriarchal catharsis he is suicidal and misanthropic and an alcoholic and hurting himself and others. It is really compelling because sometimes people get worse. And yet this is interspersed with moments where he is confronted with real genuine danger or real genuine joy and he consistently chooses to be kind to others for no material gain. Like comforting Penny during the storm or tackling a Stone Man into the Rhoyne to to save Young Griff’s life. Arguably these moments do not outweigh all of the harm he is actively inflicting, but they do show that he is incorrect about his self concept that he’s a monster and is actually just a deeply hurt person who has been traumatized so profoundly and is struggling as a result of it.

[aenramsden]

The following is not my idea; it was the original brainchild of a friend of mine named Omicron, with help from various others including EarthScorpion, TenfoldShields, @havocfett and ShintheNinja:

So, you know what I want to do one day? Run (or play in) a D&D campaign in which the Big Bad Super Dragon that is fuckoff ancient and unfathomably powerful and whose actions have shaped history and bent the course of nations and had repercussions on the whole culture and society in the region where it's set; the Bonus Special Boss for some endgame optional quest after you defeat the direct BBEG and win the campaign...

... is a white dragon.

To explain this for people not deep into 5e monster lore; D&D dragons are sapient beings, and known for their instincts and tendencies, and whenever you meet an big evil dragon that's really old it's usually this ancient creature of terrible intellect Smaug-ing it up all over the place.

Except white dragons are fucking stupid. Like, they're still capable of speech and thought! They're just… feral, hungry morons. And you almost never see them portrayed as ancient wyrms for that reason; they lack majesty. Critical Role did it, yes, but even then, Vorugal is explicitly the most bestial member of the Chroma Conclave, and the others are the more intelligent planners and long-term threats. An ancient white as a nation-defining endboss, though; not a thug for a smarter master but as the strongest and biggest threat around is just not the sort of thing you tend to see.

Adventurers: "Oh wise Therunax the Munificent, gold dragon of Law and Good, what can you tell us adventurers of the evil dragons which rule this land?" Therunax the Munificent, 500-year old Gold Dragon: "Good adventurers, know this: this land is torn apart by the evil of Tiamat's spawn. The eastern marches are the dwelling of Furinar the Plague-Bringer, black dragoness whose hoard is a thousand sicknesses contained in the body of her tributes. The southern volcanic mountains are the roosting of Angrar the Wrathful, the fiery red dragon, who brings magmatic fury on all who do not worship him. And the northern peaks are home to Face-Biter Mike, the oldest and most powerful of all, of whom I dread to speak." Adventurers: "F-Face-Biter Mike???" Therunax: "Oh yes, verily indeed; two thousand years has Mike lived, and his eyes have seen the rise and fall of five empires, and a hundred and score champions have sought to slay him; and each and every one he bit their fucking face off."

Like... I want to see a campaign where Face-Biter Mike is genuinely the most powerful dragon in the region, if not the entire world. Where sometimes he descends on a city to grab himself some meatsicles and causes a localised ice age by the beat of his vast wings and the frigid wastes of his mighty breath and by the chill his mere presence brings to everything for miles around him, and everyone just has to deal with that for the next decade. An entire era of civilization comes to an end, an empire falls, tens of thousands starve in the winter, all because Mike wanted a snack. Where his hoard is an unfathomably vast mass of jewels and artefacts and precious stones frozen in an unmelting glacier, except he is a nouveau riche idiot with fuckall appraising skill, so half of his hoard is coloured glass or worthless knicknacks, and he doesn't give a shit.

"Your Draconic Majesty, this crown is… It's pyrite." "Yeah, well, it's brighter than this dusty old thing made out of real gold, it's my new best treasure. Throw the other one away." "…throw the Burnished Tiara of Bahamut, forged in the First Age of Man, your majesty???" "See? I can't even remember its fucking name." "But my lord-" "DO YOU WANT TO BE A MEATSICLE" "…I will fetch a trash bag, your majesty."

But at the same time, he's not stupid, he's just simple, and in some ways that makes him more dangerous than the usual kinds of scheming Big Bad you see in these things, while simultaneously justifying why Orcus remains on his throne (because he's lazy). Face-Biter Mike doesn't make convoluted plans or run labyrinthine schemes; he just has a talent for violence and a pragmatic, straightforward approach to turning any kind of problem he struggles with into a problem that can be resolved with violence. Face-Biter Mike has one talent and it's horrifying physical power, so his approach to any complicated problem is "how do I turn this into a situation where I can fly down and bite this dude's face off?" with absolutely no regard for the collateral damage or consequences of doing so, because those are also things he can turn into face-bitable problems.

"My lord, the dread necromancer Nikodemion is using his undead dragons to attempt a conquest of the eastern kingdom; his agents are everywhere, his plans are centuries in the making, what can we do against such a mastermind?" "I'm gonna fly over the capital and eat the eastern king." "M-my lord???" "The kingdom will collapse without leadership, Nikodemion will win his war, he'll take the capital and crown himself king." "And that helps us… how?" "Once he does I'll fly over to the capital and eat him." "…" "This is why you advisors all suck. You're all about convoluted plans when the only thing I need to win is know where my enemy is so I can fly down there and eat him. Stop overthinking things."

And, like, yeah, it's a simplistic plan, but when you're several hundred tons of nigh invincible magical death, you don't need brilliant strategy; the smartest way to win a war is, in this case, the simplest. He's not even all that clever at figuring out the consequences of face-biting, he's just memorised the common consequences of doing so.

(If you want to go all in on Mike being the major mover and shaker in the region; Nikodemion only even has a pet zombie dragon because Mike killed the last dragon to show up and contest his turf but wasn't going to eat a whole dragon by himself. Nikodemion got to stick around and amass that much power because Mike ate the Hero of the Realm while he was adventuring because he figured the Hero would come and try to slay him at some point. Nikodemion got started because Mike ate half the leadership of the Academy of High Magic who typically keep evil wizards and necromancers in check. And then eventually this product of Mike's casual, careless actions becomes a big enough problem to bother Mike personally, at which point Mike eats him too.)

He doesn't even really fail upwards, either! He is regularly reduced to nothing but the glacier he stores his hoard in, but he's Face-Biter Mike so nobody wants to commit to actually ending him forever lest they get their faces bitten the fuck off. And his hoard's in a huge-ass magical glacier so nobody can get to it without running into the Invading Russia problem; it's hard to wage war when everything is frozen over and you're both starving and freezing to death. Once he's been beaten back to his central lair and has lost all his holdings… I mean, he's still a problem, but he's a far away problem. So he loses his assets and spends a decade in a cave brooding it up while no one dares risk trying to actually kill him, and then a generation or two later he flies down to a kobold colony and gets himself some minions, or a dragon-worshipping mage comes to offer his service against a pittance from his hoard, or a particularly stupid cult starts thinking they can get in good with him and leech off his power, and then he's (hah) snowballing again.

He's also got a very… well, the kind of weird Charisma that Grineer bosses do. Like Sargas Ruk, who's a malformed idiot, but oddly charismatic. As he's a dragon, that makes him a natural sorcerer and thus Charisma is all he needs. He's pretty relaxed when he isn't in a face-biting mood, and he's kind of infectiously optimistic, because his life has taught him that he will succeed as long as he perseveres. So he just believes it.

And sometimes that's really refreshing to work for, as an evil minion of darkness! It's like, you're coming to your Evil Dragon Lord with terrible news; you've worked for evil overlords before, you know how it goes. You fall to your knees weeping and tell him that you've failed to seize the incredibly powerful magical artifact, you think your life is forfeit. And he's just like "Eh, it's okay, these things are all over the place. Better luck next time. You remember the guy who took it, right?" and you go "Y-yes, oh great lord!" and he's like "Sweet tell me his name later and I'll grab it" and then eats a frozen adventurer he kept around as a snack.

His followers tend to quickly realise that if they fail him, bringing some temple's silver or a sack of brightly coloured beads or a couple of dead cows means he's super forgiving because at least he's got something out of the day. "Oh boy, cows? It's been forever since I had those, ever since the Orc Steppe Nomads took over it's all about goats and onions. Today is a good day." He's a master of delegation by dragon standards, in that he just tells you "Just go get it done, I don't care how" rather than micromanaging you and constantly appearing as an image in smoke or taking over your campfire.

The key part of Face-Biter Mike as a threat to players (because he exists in the context of a D&D campaign) works well in that you can rely on several known quantities:

He will not pull sneaky shit that you don't see coming

He will not make convoluted plans that you must work to unravel

He will consistently attempt to come down and wreck you personally if he finds the opportunity and you are a threat to him

You cannot fight him head-on (at least not until the last leg of the campaign, and ideally as an optional boss rather than mandatory)

So as long as you are good at staying under the radar, thwarting his minions (whom he gives broad orders to with almost zero oversight) and not putting yourself in face-biting range, you can deal with him. If you succeed, it won't be the first time Mike has lost his assets and had to go brood in his glacier for a decade or two before rebuilding. It happens; he can deal with it. And that's a win for you within the context of a single campaign, so take the win.

And if you're not going to use him as an enemy, he works pretty well as a quest-giver, too! The costs for failure are obvious and straightforward, and "do whatever, just get me mine" means that players have a lot of freedom in accomplishing their goals. As far as evil overlords go he is actually one of the least dangerous to work for; his pride is relatively subdued by draconic standards, his goals are simple and typically achievable, and he is easily pleased.

(There's also a good chance he is the forefather of any draconic sorcerer in your party, because Face Biter Mike is a deadbeat dad.)

[dropkickers]

For younger fans, who arrived at the party late and missed the fun part, a core appeal of this team even as its on-ice performance has become increasingly maddening has been the compelling interpersonal dynamic between its players, namely Crosby and Malkin. The contrast of Crosby’s stoicism and quiet decency with Malkin’s goofiness and heart-on-sleeve emotion combined with their improbable two-decade partnership — intact because of hours-long pleading phone calls on the eve of 2022’s free agency period — is the defining dynamic of the franchise since 2005.

It’s also, perhaps unsurprisingly, the basis for tens if not hundreds of thousands of words of fiction. The authors of those stories, whose tendency to take extreme creative liberties with the nature of the relationship has earned the ire and often disgust of more conventional fans, have nonetheless hit on a truth: that what the Penguins are actually doing on the ice is probably the least interesting thing about them at this point.

when a sports writers say your team sucks there’s a reason people write rpf and they’re so valid

[progressglobenews]

[May 17, 2021]

Newsweek:

The largest undercover force the world has ever known is the one created by the Pentagon over the past decade. Some 60,000 people now belong to this secret army, many working under masked identities and in low profile, all part of a broad program called "signature reduction." The force, more than ten times the size of the clandestine elements of the CIA, carries out domestic and foreign assignments, both in military uniforms and under civilian cover, in real life and online, sometimes hiding in private businesses and consultancies, some of them household name companies. The unprecedented shift has placed an ever greater number of soldiers, civilians, and contractors working under false identities, partly as a natural result in the growth of secret special forces but also as an intentional response to the challenges of traveling and operating in an increasingly transparent world. The explosion of Pentagon cyber warfare, moreover, has led to thousands of spies who carry out their day-to-day work in various made-up personas, the very type of nefarious operations the United States decries when Russian and Chinese spies do the same. Newsweek's exclusive report on this secret world is the result of a two-year investigation involving the examination of over 600 resumes and 1,000 job postings, dozens of Freedom of Information Act requests, and scores of interviews with participants and defense decision-makers. What emerges is a window into not just a little-known sector of the American military, but also a completely unregulated practice. No one knows the program's total size, and the explosion of signature reduction has never been examined for its impact on military policies and culture. Congress has never held a hearing on the subject. And yet the military developing this gigantic clandestine force challenges U.S. laws, the Geneva Conventions, the code of military conduct and basic accountability.

[galene-gothic]

SYDNEY SWEENEY’S BATH WATER SOAP, OBJECTIFICATION OF WOMEN, ‘MALE LONELINESS EPIDEMIC’ AND FEMINISM

I believe that most of us are aware of the Hollywood actress Sydney Sweeney selling her bath water soap in collaboration with Doctor Squatch and for those of you who weren’t, you are now. I’ve seen several opinions about it with some believing that she set feminism a thousand years back and others believing that feminists fought for the right of women to be able to choose whatever they want to with their life, and body and so she should not be receiving backlash. There has also been a lot of debate about the acceptance and embracement of female sexuality. I’ll start by saying that in a patriarchal society, there is not a lot that we can do that benefits us as women and girls. Just a few examples that I can give from at the top of my head are as follows:

i) Dad bods are more acceptable than mom bods even though it’s women that give birth

ii) In conservative countries if a heterosexual teenage couple happen to kiss in public, it’s the girl that will get blamed

iii) Men are allowed to age while women are not. We have often seen old men working for decades in the film industry. Suppose you were an actress and happened to be the same age as your co-actor, he could work with you when you’re both young but over the years, you’ll stop getting roles while he will continue getting roles and working with younger, and younger women until he stars with your daughter. Not only that, women will get shamed by the same public that used to desire and lust after them when they were younger simply because they’ve grown older and don’t look the same

iv) Famous women are not even allowed to be pregnant because degenerate men on the internet make comments about how she’s ‘let herself go’ even though she’s literally carrying a baby in her womb

v) Dr. Caitlin Bernard was fined three thousand dollars for providing an abortion to a ten year old girl who was raped in the US in 2022

vi) If you get raped, you’re blamed. If you are abused, you’re blamed. If you get pregnant in a consensual relationship, you’re the one who is blamed and shamed for ‘spreading your legs’ even though the guy was just as engaged in the activity

I, in no way am in favour of shrinking yourself to please others and trying to live up to the unrealistic standards that are set up for women, and young girls. It’s just that with the recent rise of acceptance of female sexuality and hook up culture. I feel the need to put my two cents out there for those of you who care to understand and could use my opinions, and values to develop your own and lead a better life. Both purity culture and hook up culture are incredibly damaging to girls, and women because like I said earlier - in this patriarchal society that we live in, there’s not much that we can do as women that benefits us. Even if we think that it is, it likely isn’t. Men have been objectifying women for ages while simultaneously shaming and denying our sexuality. So yes, there needs to be an acceptance and embracement of female sexuality but when we objectify ourselves, and engage in hook up culture, we are feeding into the same structure that we are trying to break because most men want to be able to objectify and sleep with you with nothing else required of them. In fact, many of them are likely to shame you and discuss you in degrading ways with others because they don’t hold any respect for you. They shouldn’t be and it’s their fault but if we want to attain true freedom, and equality, we need to be able to move with more self and social awareness, not by shrinking but instead by refusing to give into a set system that does not benefit us and instead creating new ones that we remain firm in. I’m so glad that the world has progressed enough for us women to be able to have our own money and choose for ourselves but are we really making the most out of it? There has been a rise in topics such as: choosing celibacy, decentering men, being comfortable alone, not getting married due to societal pressure, having high standards in men and leaving after the first moment of disrespect, disregard, and deceit. The reason ‘male loneliness epidemic’ is even a thing is because we as a society haven’t expected as much of men as we should have so they’re unable to keep up, we still aren’t expecting as much of them as we should.

There still are systems and women who let them slack off but many women are awakening to the fact that they deserve better than mediocrity, and are unwilling to settle for men refusing to change, grow and do better so the entire epidemic is something of their own doing because after a certain age, you are responsible for who you are, what you do, and how you live. There is a misconception that in order to be equal to men, we have to be like them, live like them and in order to have our sexuality accepted, we have to experience, and express sexuality in the way that they do even though it is very objectifying and degrading to us. In fact, if it weren’t for the double standards and hypocrisy, it is degrading in general because while men’s behaviour is normalised, they are not known for respecting themselves. So why do we think like this? Why do we act this way? Why do we unconsciously feel the need to stoop down to their level in order to be equal to them? What are we trying to prove? The entire reason that women were suppressed for centuries was because of the power that we held and still do. They were trying to make us forget our truth, our power and unfortunately, they succeeded. Us, as women, are full of love, our souls are rich, we even have the portal of life in between our legs. There’s nothing to prove, there’s only something to accept and embrace, and that is our power. The best way to go about it is by trying to be as selective with our sexual and romantic partners as possible. Obviously, men are deceitful, people in general are and no matter how well we might vet people out, we might still face hurt, betrayal, and disappointment but it’s important to understand that with the standards that men are held to, it likely had everything to do with them and their lack than anything to do with you, your lack, and your worth. This does not go for cases in which you abuse or disrespect your partner in any way. I encourage girls and women to develop, and maintain high standards for themselves and others, and remain firm in their resolve of not settling for men and giving into a system in which they are endlessly blamed, shamed, and used. I’m not an idealistic person who’s completely out of touch with reality.

I understand that these are deep rooted issues and systems that won’t change just because I wrote this post, and a few girls and women got the message, and started living by it but I think that it is important for girls and women to understand their power as who they naturally are, and be aware of the fact that they do not need to act in low and unfulfilling ways in order to experience equality. We are incredibly powerful as we are but we have been made to forget that so we are trying to experience equality and bring about change by stooping down to their level, and doing the things that they do when it is simply a matter of realisation. We would be able to experience more fulfilment if we simply just accepted our power as we are instead of trying to be equal to them because the truth is, we are already powerful while their ways are incredibly unhealthy, and damaging. This is why, women who are married to men have lower life expectancy and men who are married to women have higher life expectancy. This is also why, women who are single are happy, look good and are healthy while men who are single go around complaining about the ‘male loneliness epidemic’, are bitter, and go around trying to fill some void. Many of them are also unable to maintain healthy and fulfilling relationships when they find them due to the lifestyle that they’ve gotten used to living, due to how empty and lacking they have become as individuals. We have got to raise the bar for humanity by starting from ourselves, by rejecting people who are not good for us, by rejecting the lifestyles that are not acceptable to us, by rejecting the system that harms and oppresses us, and simply just embracing our own desires, needs and power as women. We should not try to live their lifestyle because it is pretty clear that they are not fulfilled. All I’m saying is that it’s about time that we lived up to our own standards and waited for men to meet us there, and become equal to us while simultaneously fighting for our rights socially instead of leaning into their destructive and unhealthy ways. I’m not sure how well I got my point across because I’m no writer but it’s okay if you still want to sleep around and objectify yourself but I need you to ask yourself if this lifestyle is truly what you want, and what you find to be deeply fulfilling for you. Do not hate men, we haven’t met all of them and there might be good ones out there. This post is not supposed to be male slander but we all have to agree and come in terms with the fact that they could be doing better as a collective. Let’s not fall victim to choice feminism and instead understand the deeper repercussions of our actions. Thank you so much for reading and I’m sorry if I was unable to express things as efficiently as I wanted to. Much love and take care 🫶🏻💞.

[alchemistc]

I decided to write it. Thank you all for enabling encouraging me. MCD implied even though I'm still team Not Gonna Happen

read on ao3

grief in two parts

Grief is in two parts. The first is loss. The second is the remaking of life. - Anne Roiphe

Eddie's snores drift in from the hallway.

Tommy's used to the noise of a firehouse full of exhausted men, the noise of a full barracks, he's lived an entire life in close proximity to a minimum of six to ten other people. It's just -

He's not used to it in this context: Evan wrapped carefully around him, still sniffling like he can pretend Tommy hasn't seen him a sobbing, sloppy mess multiple times in the past week alone. Tommy doesn't know why he bothers, except -

Except he's been hiding his delicate underbelly for decades. He's just not used to seeing Evan do it.

He hasn't paid attention to Evan doing it.

God. They'd been so certain they knew each other. And then so sure they didn't.

And now they're in this limbo where they're trying: to learn, to understand, to know, to not fall into those bad habits and the patterns that become a glaringly obvious tell.

Eddie might have a deviated septum, Tommy thinks to himself - wonders if anyone has ever pointed out to him that his snores are kind of concerning - and Evan snorts against Tommy's chest, his lips curving up right under Tommy's nipple, and it's been a week and a half, and there's been so much going on, and Tommy hasn't brought it up because they're mourning, they're figuring things out, they're sleeping in Eddie's old bedroom while Eddie snores on the couch even though Tommy has a perfectly serviceable bed of his own thirty minutes away.

Evan shifts against his leg, and Tommy raises a brow when he repeats the motion, hips circling, pelvis rucking back and forth, the quiet moment of grief switching gears as Evan ruts against Tommy's thigh.

"Evan," Tommy hisses, blinking rapidly when, a moment later, Evan tilts his head to latch on to a nipple. "Jesus Ch-."

"Shh," Evan hums, and tilts his face up to meet Tommy's gaze. Mischievous, devilish, radiant as the sun.

Eddie's snore stutters, volume increasing until the sound stops altogether, and in the dead silence Evan hitches his leg up, rolls his hips, curls his fingers into the bare skin beneath the hem of Tommy's sleep shirt.

"He's still asleep," Evan assures him, and Tommy can't help the tingly feeling along his spine when Evan smirks back at him.

There are a thousand reasons not to. Starting with "sex is always a great distraction for us when we have bigger issues", meandering into "the man you consider a father just sacrificed his life to save mine and we haven't talked about it", landing somewhere around "your relationship with the man snoring down the hall makes the green monster residing in the pit of my stomach loud and angry".

"Evan," he hums again, and watches the furrow between Evan's brow deepen. This, he's learned, is a sign. A sign that Evan Buckley is working his way towards anger, annoyance, outright desperation.

Evan pulls himself loose. Shifts his weight. Turns over to his back, knocks his head against the pillow a few times. "Fine. Whatever."

Tommy feels cold without the weight of Evan against him. Feels cold when confronted with the chill in Evan's gaze before he closes his eyes.

Eddie's snore breaks the silence, and Evan twists to face Tommy again. "Do you just not want to have sex with me?"

It's a stage whisper, at best, and they hadn't bothered to close the bedroom door so there's every chance Eddie could wake up and hear a whole conversation, instead of murmurs behind a door.

They're in Eddie's bedroom. Former bedroom. Whatever.

He wants to believe Evan when he says there isn't anything there, but the problem is even if it's completely platonic from both ends of the equation Tommy still feels like second fiddle. Still feels like he'll never stack up to almost eight years of a friendship forged in blood and sweat. Still feels like the man down the hall could snap his fingers and steal away this tiny sliver of happiness Tommy is trying to allow himself to have.

It doesn't matter if Eddie would. Just that he could.

Tommy opens his mouth. Closes it. Rolls his jaw and fights the urge to bolt.

"Tommy."

Snappish isn't a word Tommy would have used to describe Evan, before. Bratty, maybe, and fully aware of it, but Tommy has always enjoyed that, indulged it, fed into it because oftentimes it ended with one or both of them panting and sated. The tone has changed. He's not playing games, this time around, not dancing around the issue the way both of them had before.

Tommy shifts to face Evan. Thinks about the way his stomach had twisted, earlier tonight, watching Evan and Eddie slide around each other in the kitchen, working as a unit while they recalled fond, bittersweet memories. The annoyance in Evan's eyes snaps, at whatever he sees in Tommy's gaze, the brows furrowing a different way now as he slips a hand across the sheets to slide over Tommy's neck.

"I'm...overwhelmed," Tommy admits, as the space between their faces gets smaller, Evan sliding closer to gap the distance. "You just spent an hour crying, Evan, my mind wasn't really -." He pauses. Forces his hands to unclench, tries not to let the tremor in them be too noticeable as he grabs for a fistful of Evan's basketball shorts to tug him close. "Of course I want to have sex with you," he murmurs, and ignores the way Evans breath hitches, the way his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. "I'm almost never not interested in having sex with you."

Evan's tired, he can tell. Crying about your dead dad for an hour really takes it out of you. He's tired enough that he has to mull the sentence over for a minute, and Tommy considers rewording without any double negatives in the mix. They're not great at communicating.

Sex was always easier.

He doesn't know how to bring that up without pissing Evan off.

"So this is... one of those rare times you don't." It's not quite a question, and there's a bit of a huff to the end of it, like Evan is also badly attempting to keep the peace.

He's in his own head, is what it is. Eddie'd gotten the fun, fond reminiscences, the tearful laughter, and Tommy had been there too, had even told them some stories they'd never heard before.

But Tommy had gotten fried, sad, heartbroken Evan, clutching at Tommy like he was afraid he'd disappear. He'd gotten the full scope of Evan's hurt, anger, loss, and he doesn't quite know what to make of the difference. If there is one. If it even matters who gets which parts of Evan. Not when Tommy wants it all.

(You got both, he reminds himself, and tries to convince himself that was always the case.)

"Feels like I'm taking advantage of the circumstances," Tommy whispers, now that the space between them has dwindled enough to know he'll still be heard that way.

Eddie's snores pick up volume. Maybe it's the couch? That thing isn't exactly the most comfortable to sleep on.

Tommy remembers the Boils debacle, and takes a moment to remind himself how fucking grateful he'd been to see Eddie in the aftermath, when Evan was so stone-cold with grief Tommy hadn't known where to even find a fissure to break him loose.

That's the worst of it. How grateful he feels, knowing Evan's people are here for him. How he can't sort the gratitude from the envy.

Evan sits up, jostling Tommy's arm free, his own hands retreating from Tommy's skin, and Tommy's ninety-three percent certain he's about to leave, but instead he takes two strides to the door. It swings silently on its hinges, snicks closed.

Evan settles back onto the bed in a sitting position, criss cross applesauce with a hand held over his ankle, and Tommy feels exposed, lying in repose.

Which is how he's supposed to feel, he reminds himself. If they want this to work - if Tommy wants this to work - they're both going to have to say and do things that make them feel cracked open and vulnerable.

Closing the door on Eddie was Evan's concession. Tommy should return the favor.

"Everything is - is so messed up," Evan starts. "I don't know how long Eddie is staying, and I don't know what I'm gonna do the first time I walk through the bay doors and Bobby isn't -." His words catch in his throat. More tears well at the corners of his eyes and Tommy wants to reach out, wipe them away, comfort him. "And I don't know where we stand because you're - you're here, and you said some words, and you hold me when I'm sad but you won't - you're not -." He trails off, frustrated. "I can't just drown in grief, Tommy. I need to - I have to -" The noise he makes is so self deprecating Tommy wants to soothe it away. Smash it with a hammer once it's back is turned. "I want to have a life, Tommy. And, yeah, maybe not the most appropriate time to be feeling so freaking horny, but I'm not exactly the picture of mental health on a good day."

The laugh escapes his throat before he can help it. A snort follows, and then a peel of something closer to a giggle, and before Tommy knows it he's in fucking stitches, leaning his weight on his knees in a desperate attempt to calm down, except now Evan is laughing, too, infectious, boisterous, the laugh that had pulled Tommy in, hook line and sinker, over a year ago now.

"It's not -." Evan presses fingers to his eyes, tries to look serious, fails miserably. "It's not like Bobby would expect me to grieve any other way."

That sobers Tommy up in a hurry, because he hasn't found the right time to tell Evan exactly what happened there at the end. And Evan hasn't asked.

Also. He has no fucking clue what Evan means.

"What?"

Evan blinks. Purses his lips. Raises a hand, waits for Tommy to do the same so they can press their palms together. It's new, and Tommy isn't feeling particularly great about its origin, but it's worked to settle them on even ground for a few of the rougher conversations they've had since... Since.

"In the interest of full disclosure, I'm a reformed slut."

Tommy hates the word, hates the joking way the words tip from Evans lips. But. They'd said they wanted to get to know each other, and then spent six months not doing that. He can work on the language later.

"Bobby fired me once," he says, and it's soft, quiet, tinged with a kind of bittersweet amusement that Tommy would spend years trying to understand. "For stealing the ladder to hook up with a girl from a call on a roof."

Tommy blinks. Tommy swallows. Tommy's brow furrows in when he bites his lip.

"I'm - I use sex. I know I do. As a distraction, as a crappy way of trying to communicate my feelings, as a desperate attempt to feel, like... important. It's - I'm better, now, but I know it's still..." He sighs, fingers drifting, sliding to wrap around Tommy's wrist. "I want to be close to you right now, and I'm also sad, and I also really, really want you to put your dick in me."

"You have such a way with words," Tommy jokes, and then pauses when the expression on Evan's face plummets. Honesty. Openness. Vulnerability.

Shit.

"Full disclosure? I'm gonna try everything I can to make you loud. And I have a funny feeling that's gonna piss you off."

It takes him half as long as the last time to figure out what Tommy isn't saying. The head tilt is unexpected. So is the smirk tucked behind his wagging tongue. "Seriously?" he asks, and one hand twists into the fabric at Tommy's knee before it slides up, up.

"I never claimed to be a rational man."

He hasn't claimed to be an insane one, either, but the evidence sure is stacking up.

"But you're still here," Evan points out, and Tommy doesn't have many rational thoughts left - not with Evan's hand still travelling, or the thought of waking Eddie up percolating in Tommy's hindbrain.

Tommy realizes for maybe the first time in a week that he has his own house. That Eddie could have stayed here, and he and Evan could have made it work for a few days somewhere else. Had he ever even thought to suggest it?

"I'm still here," Tommy murmurs, and presses in to catch Evan's bottom lip between his teeth.

---

"Ow."

The banana bounces off the side of his head, wobbles in the air, hits the corner of the counter at an angle and makes an unappealing squished noise as it finds the floor.

Eddie gives him the bitchiest look Tommy's seen a straight man make in years.

(Has to remind himself he's feeding into stereotypes he's been trying to shed his entire fucking life.)

"Seriously?" Eddie asks, and Tommy has the decency to scrounge up a blush at the tips of his ears. Once they'd really gotten into it, Tommy'd sort of forgotten his threat, but clearly he'd made it happen anyway, if the stink eye he's receiving is anything to go by. Tommy shouldn't feel so smug. Maybe one day he'll get over it.

He's trying to decide between contrition he doesn't feel, and a snide comment that will definitely go over Eddie's head, when Evan stomps his way into the kitchen holding the stray sock he's been complaining about no one picking up from behind the bathroom door for four days now. He's got it pinched between forefinger and thumb, held out and away like they're fifteen and he knows exactly what that sock has been used for, when in reality one of them definitely gathered up dirty clothes and just missed it in the dash to get out and allow someone else the lone shower in the place.

Tommy makes a mental note to remind Evan that if they wanted free reign of a bathroom, his is more than serviceable.

"Three days," Evan says, and waves the sock in Eddie's face. If his expression is anything to go by, it doesn't smell like roses. "Three days I've been asking -."

Tommy interrupts, "Four, actually, but babe, that's definitely your sock."

Eddie manages to mouth a teasing 'Babe' back at Tommy while Evan turns a thunderous look on him. "It is not."

He says "not" like there are three syllables in the word, and Tommy has to choke down the urge to smack the hand holding the sock away and press him against the kitchen table for a kiss.

This he knows. This he's familiar with - the argumentative banter that usually led to them being late somewhere. He's glad they haven't lost it entirely. He's glad Evan isn't drowning, like he's been worried he might.

"How would you know, anyway? You been peeking in Eddie's sock drawer?" It's - oh, it's a challenge, a tease, just a slight nudge of a reminder that Evan had been jealous, too. Maybe not for the same reasons, but they've both been there.

"Technically it's a sock section of a duffle bag," Eddie points out, and Tommy would love to throw all caution to the wind and lift Evan up on that fucking counter right now, maybe resolve the jealousy issues with an audience. Eddie seems to realize he's lost both of their focuses. "Yeah, I'm gonna just. Go be somewhere not here."

"Without rinsing your dirty dishes?" Evan asks, and just like that, they're off again.

Christ.

The two of them living together would be a goddamn nightmare.

Tommy settles in to watch them squabble, and wonders if Bobby would consider his promise to take care of Evan satisfied.

[embodiedfutures]

ID 1: Screenshot of a post by @/key48return on Instagram. Background is of a globe with pinpoints of the israeli flag all over North and South America. Title reads in all caps, “israel is involved in oppression all over the world not just in Palestine…” A yellow arrow points right underneath the title. End ID

ID 2: In all caps, “ISRAEL'S INVOLVED IN:

THE RWANDAN GENOCIDE - 1994

ISRAEL EXPORTED SUBSTANTIAL WEAPONS AND ARMS TO THE HUTU MILITIAS WHO MASSACRED OVER 1 MILLION TUTSI CIVILIANS IN RWANDA ACROSS THE DURATION OF 100 DAYS.

WEAPONS USED IN THE GENOCIDE INCLUDED ISRAELI-MADE 5.56MM BULLETS, RIFLES AND GRENADES. THE RWANDAN GENOCIDE IS RECOGNISED AS THE WORST GENOCIDE IN MODERN HISTORY. ISRAEL HAS REPEATEDLY ATTEMPTED TO CONCEAL THEIR ARMS EXPORTS TO RWANDA BEFORE AND DURING THE GENOCIDE, FEARING PROSECUTION.”

Black and white photos below are shown of various Rwandan children in graveyards or in makeshift tents just trying to get by. End ID.

ID 3: In all caps, “ISRAEL'S INVOLVED IN:

APARTHEID SOUTH AFRICA 1948 - 1994

ISRAEL WAS A STAUNCH ALLY TO THE SOUTH AFRICAN APARTHEID REGIME, PROVIDING ANTI-RIOT VEHICLES AND ARMS TO USE AGAINST THE NATIVE BLACK POPULATION, ASSISTING THE REGIME IN CREATING NUCLEAR BOMBS AND ISRAEL ALSO OPPOSED THE GLOBAL EMBARGO AND BOYCOTT OF APARTHEID SOUTH AFRICA.

FOR DECADES, THE ZIONIST FEDERATION IN SOUTH AFRICA HONOURED MEN SUCH AS PERCY YUTAR, WHO PROSECUTED NELSON MANDELA FOR SABOTAGE AND CONSPIRACY AGAINST THE STATE IN 1963 AND SENT HIM TO JAIL FOR LIFE. (FOR WHICH HE SERVED 27 YEARS)”

Black and white photos below showcase a Black man being held in a chokehold by a white man, two Black people on their knees and hands up trying not to get shot, and a sign that reads in english and afrikaans “white area.” End ID.

ID 4: In all caps, “ISRAEL'S INVOLVED IN:

MAYAN GENOCIDE 1960 - 1996

THROUGHOUT THE GUATEMALAN CIVIL WAR FROM 1960-1996, OVER 200,000+ INDIGENOUS MAYANS WERE MURDERED BY STATE FORCES, AND OVER ONE MILLION MORE DISPLACED, IN WHAT IS REFERRED TO TODAY AS THE MAYAN GENOCIDE.

THE GUATEMALAN STATE FORCES RESPONSIBLE WERE ARMED AND TRAINED BY ISRAEL. WHEN THE U.S. GOVERNMENT SUSPENDED MILITARY FUNDING TO THE GUATEMALAN STATE FORCES IN 1977 IN THE MIDST OF THE MAYAN GENOCIDE, ISRAEL GAVE THEM OVER $38 BILLION WORTH OF ARMS TO FILL THE GAP. THE 'GALIL' ASAULT RIFLE, AN ISRAELI-MADE WEAPON, WAS STANDARD ISSUE FOR THE GUATEMALAN ARMY BY 1980, WITH THE STATE OWNED SMALL-ARMS PRODUCTION FACILITY IN ALTA VERAPAZ PRODUCING ITS AMMUNITION UNDER ISRAELI ARMS LICENCES.”

Below are multiple in-color photos of Mayan families mourning, one photo in particular which shows indigenous Mayans carrying a seemingly endless line of coffins off into the distance. End ID.

ID 5: In all caps, “ISRAEL'S INVOLVED IN:

SREBRENICA - 1995

ALSO KNOWN AS THE SREBRENICA GENOCIDE. IN 1995 OVER 8,000+ BOSNIAN MUSLIMS WERE MASSACRED BY SERBIAN ARMY FORCES ARMED AND TRAINED BY ISRAEL. SERBIAN FORCES ETHNICALLY CLEANSED OVER 250,000+ MUSLIMS IN TOTAL ACROSS CROATIA AND BOSNIA.

TENS OF THOUSANDS OF OTHERS WERE WOUNDED, STARVED, WOMEN WERE MASS RAPED AND MANY WERE INCARCERATED IN CONCENTRATION CAMPS. MANY OF THOSE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE GENOCIDE FLED TO ISRAEL, WHERE THEY WERE GRANTED ISRAELI CITIZENSHIP IN ORDER TO AVOID ARREST AND PROSECUTION FOR CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY.”

Once again, the in-color photos below show various peoples mourning. Two of the photos specifically show people reaching their hands out over extremely long lists of just names of people who have died. End ID.

ID 6: In all caps, “ISRAEL'S INVOLVED IN:

TRAINING U.S. POLICE

SINCE 1990, HUNDREDS OF AMERICAN POLICE OFFICERS, INCLUDING AGENTS FROM THE FBI, CIA AND IMMIGRATION AND CUSTOMS ENFORCEMENT (ICE), HAVE EITHER BEEN SENT TO ISRAEL THROUGH POLICE TRAINING EXCHANGES, OR ATTENDED SUMMITS WITHIN THE U.S. THAT WERE SPONSORED BY ISRAELI LOBBY ORGANISATIONS.

THE KNEE-TO-NECK 'RESTRAINT' THAT DEREK CHAUVIN MURDERED GEORGE FLOYD WITH, IS OFTEN USED BY ISRAELI POLICE AND SOLIDERS AGAINST PALESTINIANS.

BLACK LIVES MATTER.”

Photos below are in-color and show various B.L.M. protests. End ID.

ID 7: In all caps, “ISRAEL'S INVOLVED IN:

ARMING INDIA'S VIOLENCE IN KASHMIR

INDIA IS ISRAEL'S LARGEST ARMS CLIENT, MAKING UP OVER 45% OF ISRAEL'S ARMS SALES. BUYING ISRAELI AMMUNITION AND AIR-TO-GROUND MISSILES, ON THE PREMISE THEY HAVE BEEN 'BATTLE-TESTED' ON PALESTINIANS IN GAZA. ISRAEL PROVIDES INDIA WITH THE ARMS INDIA USES TO MILITARILY OCCUPY KASHMIR AND BRUTALISE KASHMIRI'S.

SINCE 1989, OVER 100,000+ KASHMIRIS HAVE BEEN KILLED BY INDIAN FORCES. WITH OVER 7,200+ KASHMIRIS BEING MURDERED IN INDIAN POLICE CUSTODY, OVER 110,000+ KASHMIRI CHILDREN HAVE BEEN ORPHANED, AND MORE THAN 11,000+ KASHMIRI WOMEN HAVE BEEN RAPED BY INDIAN OCCUPATION FORCES. IN ADDITION, OVER 7,000+ UNNAMED MASS GRAVES HAVE BEEN DISCOVERED WITH THOUSANDS OF VICTIMS.”

The photos below show israel and india’s leaders shaking hands and various armed indian soldiers stopping Kashmiris for unnecessary checks. End ID.

ID 8: In all caps, “ISRAEL'S INVOLVED IN:

PINOCHET COUP - CHILE 1973

CIA BACKED DICTATOR, AUGUSTO PINOCHET TOOK OVER CHILE ON SEPTEMBER 11, 1973. OVERTHROWING ITS DEMOCRATICALLY ELECTED PRESIDENT, SALVADOR ALLENDE. THE NEXT DAY HIS FORCES BEGAN KIDNAPPING ANYONE THEY SUSPECTED OF BEING LEFT WING AND PLACED THEM IN CONCENTRATION CAMPS.

PINOCHET'S SECRET POLICE, DINA (DIRECCION DE INTELIGENCIA NACIONAL) RAN THOSE CONCENTRATION CAMPS AND TORTURE CENTRES, AND THEY FREQUENTLY ABDUCTED, 'DISAPPEARED' AND EXECUTED CHILEAN CIVILIANS. ISRAEL TRAINED DINA AND WAS ALSO ONE OF PINOCHET'S MAIN ARMS SUPPLIERS.”

Black and white photos below showcase various scenes of armed DINA officers, with one photo in particular showing them in a tank over bodies on the ground, presumably dead. End ID.

ID 9: In all caps, “ISRAEL'S INVOLVED IN:

ETHNICALLY CLEANSING ARMENIANS - ONGOING

ISRAEL HAS BEEN FUNDING AND ARMING AZERBAIJAN'S MILITARY SINCE 1988, ARMS WHICH HAVE BEEN USED TO KILL ARMENIAN CIVILIANS THROUGHOUT AZERBAIJAN'S ONGOING ETHNIC CLEANSING OF ARTSAKH. THE ISRAELI REGIME SUPPLIES AZERBAIJAN WITH OVER 70% OF ITS MILITARY ARSENAL.

IN ADDITION TO PROVIDING THE ARMS TO KILL ARMENIANS, ISRAEL ALSO REFUSES TO RECOGNISE THE ARMENIAN GENOCIDE, COMMITTED BY THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE (TURKEY) FROM 1914-1923, WHO SYSTEMATICALLY MURDERED OVER 1.5 MILLION ARMENIAN CIVILIANS.”

Photos below show israel and azerbaijan’s leaders shaking hands, azerbaijan’s soldiers menacingly standing in front of someone wrapped in an Armenian flag, and Armenians mourning over a shrine with their flags all around them. End ID.

ID 10: In all caps, “THE PALESTINIAN STRUGGLE FOR FREEDOM IS CONNECTED TO STRUGGLES ALL AROUND THE WORLD.

BECAUSE OPPRESSORS LIKE ISRAEL ARE NOT ONLY UPHOLDING OPPRESSION AGAINST ONE POPULATION, ITS ALWAYS INTERCONNECTED TO OPPRESSING MANY MORE.

FREE PALESTINE.” No photos at the bottom of this slide. End ID.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Israel does not want western publics to be exposed to other, more plausible reasons why Hezbollah has been firing rockets for the past year – or what it would take to make it stop. And the western media are ably assisting Israel in keeping those reasons shielded from view. Hezbollah has repeatedly noted that its rocket fire would stop if Israel withdraws from Gaza and ends the slaughter of tens of thousands of Palestinians there, as it is required to do under international law. In two separate decisions, the International Court of Justice (ICC) has ruled that Israel’s decades-long occupation of the Palestinian territories is illegal and an act of aggression against the Palestinian people that must end, and that a "plausible" case has been made that Israel is committing genocide in Gaza. Though no one at the BBC or elsewhere would ever admit it, Hezbollah is actually much closer to upholding international law than western states like the United States, Germany and Britain, all of whom are helping to arm and sustain Israel’s "plausible" genocide.

27 September 2024

[reasonsforhope]

"Every year, venomous snake bites kill tens of thousands of people globally, and they permanently disable several-hundred thousands more. Now a team says it has developed an antivenom cocktail that works against a diverse collection of venomous snakes using a process that it hopes could lead to a universal antivenom. Here's NPR's Ari Daniel.

ARI DANIEL, BYLINE: Most people try to avoid venomous snakes. Not Tim Friede.

TIM FRIEDE: My claim to fame is getting bit by snakes.

DANIEL: Friede used to hunt garter snakes growing up in Wisconsin. As an adult, his obsession turned to venomous snakes and the harm they cause people globally. He felt the most dramatic way to raise awareness of the issue was to allow himself to be bitten. Right out of the gate, though...

FRIEDE: I was put in ICU after two cobra bites, and I dropped in a coma for four days.

DANIEL: He recovered and got more careful. Friede estimates he's now been bitten some 200 times. His motivation evolved - to see if he could develop immunity to this swirl of toxins so that his body might provide a road map to making a broader kind of antivenom.

For decades, antivenoms have come from the antibodies generated by animals like horses injected with venoms. But Jacob Glanville, the CEO of the biotech company Centivax, he wanted to find a shared molecular site across multiple venom toxins from different snake species that he could target. And rather than using a horse, Glanville figured that a person who'd been repeatedly exposed to lots of different venoms might have antibodies directed against such a site.

JACOB GLANVILLE: I was calling vivariums hoping for a clumsy snake researcher.

DANIEL: And then he found Tim Friede.

FRIEDE: We need your blood. We need your antibodies.

GLANVILLE: If anybody has broken through the problem of getting the immune system to focus, it's this guy, by this repeated stimulation with all these snakes.

FRIEDE: I'm like, wow. Cool.

DANIEL: So Glanville scanned Friede's blood, poring over the troves of antibodies to find those that bound the neurotoxins of multiple snakes.

GLANVILLE: And we found the ultrabroad antibody that had this very remarkable ability to go bind right on the conserved site that the neurotoxin uses to cause paralysis.

DANIEL: In mice, the antibody worked fully against five snakes - the black mamba and a mix of cobras. Next, Glanville and his colleagues added a small molecule that had already been shown to work against some venoms, and they went back to Friede's blood and found a second broad-acting antibody.

GLANVILLE: And that's when we suddenly saw this coherent protection that was happening across this large panel.

DANIEL: This cocktail of three components offered mice complete protection against 13 species and partial protection against six more, representing venomous snakes from Asia, Africa, Australia, North America and more. There are other antivenoms that can neutralize a diverse set of snakes, but this is the first to do so using synthetic antibodies. The results are published in the journal Cell. David Williams is a scientist who evaluates antivenoms for the World Health Organization who wasn't involved in the research.

DAVID WILLIAMS: It's definitely a step in the right direction because it's answering some of the questions we have about how to properly design universal antibodies.

DANIEL: Williams cautions that further developing this cocktail into a truly universal antivenom will inevitably have its challenges, including doing human trials and expanding its coverage to vipers, which make up about half of venomous snakes. Meanwhile, when Tim Friede heard that his antibodies had helped create this new antivenom cocktail, he says he was happy.

FRIEDE: When I do it, I know I'm doing something for humanity and giving back to science.

DANIEL: Friede is now director of herpetology at Centivax, where the team is planning to test their new cocktail in dogs that have been bit by venomous snakes in Australia."

-via NPR, May 4, 2025

--

Note: This is an even bigger deal than the article makes it out to be. For the most part, each species of snake needs a different antivenom.

But acquiring and storing antivenoms for every species of snake in an area is logistically difficult - and expensive. This means that hospitals - especially in developing countries - often don't have many of the antivenoms for snakes in the region on hand, meaning that people often die even if they do make it to medical facilities. A broad-spectrum snakebite antidote would save so many lives.