#I might do the one block world today

[aquatic-batt]

tempted to make a server on minecraft where I update day by day on tumblr but I also don’t want to spam my main with,, maybe I’ll make a side blog and sometimes retweet stuff here?

[sakuravalelp]

Phantom letters - DPXDC PROMPT

The bats wake up one day to the internet going crazy; people around the world were getting letters from they're diseased loved ones. The reactions are mixed, from people being outraged for the "prank" to people crying in melancholy at getting closure.

All the letters have something in common: They're closed with a green sealing wax that had an stylize DP and the name Phantom beneath it. Posts about the cards were using the # Phantom Letters.

The bats are discussing the viral posts in the cave when Alfred comes holding a basket filled with letters, announcing they were left at the doors. The letters had the sealing wax that they recognize from the posts. Checking the cameras they can see how they glitch before the basket appears.

Alfred starts to distribute the letters that had only one destinatary. Letters from each Thomas and Martha to both Bruce and Alfred. Letters from each John and Mary to Dick. A letter from Catherine to Jason. A letter from the Drake's to Tim, and another one to Bruce.

Once they had calmed down enough from the shock, Alfred proceeded to read the shared recipients. From Thomas and Martha to "The grandchildren we never got to meet." From John and Mary to "the family that took our little Robin in." Letters from Catherine to "My little boys family." The letters were directed to people the deceased didn't get to meet.

As much as the mere existence of the letters tugged at their hearts, they decided to not read them until they verified that the handwriting actually belong to the ones it claimed. They checked each letter, and in the end confirmed the letters were in fact from they're lost love ones.

After much discussion, each person makes the decision to read they're own letters later in private, and they proceed to read the ones that shared recipients out loud. The letter mentioned specifics like names and events that the deceased shouldn't have been able to know, including they're vigilante abilities, which had them pause each time to panic a bit. But what was more interested were certain pieces of the letters that mentioned a Prince Phantom.

"Prince Phantom said to don't mention things past our death, but it wasn't a command, so we're hoping this won't be much of a problem." - John and Mary

"I still can't believe Prince Phantom is letting us do this, but I'm so glad." - Catherine

It finally paints the mystery in a more concerning light when at the end of Thomas and Martha's letter there is a call for help.

"We're sorry for ending the letter on a serious tone, but seeing the kind of job you all get involved in, we wanted to ask: Could you please help Prince Phantom? Phantom had asked us to not give information about this, but he's so young, and has already been hurt so much. Please, check on Amity Park, Illinois."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Meanwhile, team Phantom has decided that they needed to get the news about the GIW out of Amity and ask for help. Two problems:

the GIW blocks any technological attempt made.

People might be afraid to learn that ghosts exist and side with the GIW.

As a way to deal with the public image, Phantom opens a possibility that the death have never had:

"All afterlives are open to write letters to their love ones that are still alive today. Nothing that includes threats, and don't go talking about the anti-ecto acts or Amity Park yet, we're trying to ease people into our existence first. Also, I know you all check on your love ones when the veil is thin, but please keep the things you shouldn't know out of the letters if possible. If you want your letter to be sent in the first batch, make sure to deliver your letter before the week ends."

Letters are a good way to reconnect people with the death, they aren't digital, and the GIW won't be able to intercept letters if they're send through inter-dimensional portals. Two birds in one shot.

[formula-nyoom]

I'm Proud of You

Pairing: Platonic!Grid x Fem!Driver!Reader

Summary: Being the youngest and newest driver to the grid is not an easy adjustment to make and it ends up taking a toll on you. Thankfully some of the other drivers on the grid are there to look out for you.

A/N: Was going to wait till Saturday to post this, but I had a shit day today so I decided to post it now. Hope you enjoy!

~~~

No one really knew what Mercedes was thinking when they announced that they were signing you, an F2 rookie who placed 6th in the Formula 2 Championship, as the one to take the 2nd Mercedes seat. Everyone expected you to be named a reserve driver, so that you could prepare for the jump to F1. Yet here you were, jumping straight into the deep end. Even after you heard the news that you would be racing in Formula One, you were left more with shock and confusion rather than excitement. 

Sure, you had done a couple of test drives for Mercedes and had participated in an F1 practice session or two, but you didn’t think that was enough to put you in contention for a Formula One seat. 

But the media thought otherwise, and so did Mercedes. 

Both your friends and family tried to reassure you that you were good enough to race in Formula One, and you had seen countless interviews of Toto Wolf saying that he had made the right decision in signing you.

But none of that could take away the fact that all eyes were now on you. 

The first female to race in Formula One, and now the youngest on the grid.

The season hadn’t even started and yet you felt like Atlas holding the world weight of pressure that was placed upon your shoulders. You now have something to prove. And everyone was waiting for you to either fly or fall.

Maybe that’s why you couldn’t find the courage to cross the turnstile that led into the paddock during the first race weekend of the season. Crossing over would make everything real. And you would be doing it alone, as both your family and your manager weren't able to get to the track till later in the day. 

“Did you forget your badge on the first day?” A voice said from behind you. You turned to see Charles and Pierre.

 “You can just jump over the gate. Yuki does it all the time.” Pierre said. 

 “No, I have my badge…I’m just nervous to enter the paddock.” You said, motioning with your head to the turnstiles.

 “What makes you so nervous?” Charles asked.

“There’s a lot of people. And cameras. And people with cameras. I feel like I’m gonna get swarmed as soon as my foot crosses the entrance.” You said.

 “You’re not wrong. The media doesn’t really know the definition of personal space.” Charles said, taking a sip of his coffee. “If you want, I can act as a buffer and draw the attention away while Pierre helps you get past.”

 “Would that work? I just want to get to the Mercedes hospitality.”

“Oh trust me, the media loves Charles. They’ll be too focused on getting pictures of him to see us walk by.” Pierre said. You looked back at the people past the entrance and there seemed to be more than when you last looked. 

 “Well…if you’re sure it will work then we might as well try.” You said. Charles smiled and gave you a nod. He then took the sunglasses that were hanging on his hat and put them on before entering the paddock. Immediately, the people that had cameras flocked to Charles and started to take his picture as he tried to walk through the paddock. You and Pierre waited a couple moments to build enough distance between you and Charles before the two of you entered the paddock. You clutched the straps of your bag tightly, expecting the nearby paparazzi to turn around and immediately start taking pictures of you and Pierre, but they were too focused on Charles.  

Pierre’s hand hovered over your shoulder as he tried to block you from most of the cameras while guiding you through the paddock. While the two of you managed to pass Charles without getting noticed, you couldn’t help but feel a bit claustrophobic, seeing Charles surrounded by so many people trying to take his picture. Eventually, you and Pierre managed to make it to the Mercedes hospitality building.

“Is it always going to be like this?” You asked Pierre.

 “Unfortunately, yes. Especially since you’re the newest on the grid. I recommend you invest in a good pair of sunglasses. But I’m proud of you for getting past your first swarm of paparazzi.” Pierre said, ruffling your hair. You laughed and swatted his hand away as Charles walked up to the two of you.

 “Whew! Thank god Lewis walked in. I felt like those reporters and paparazzi would never leave.” Charles said.

 “Sorry for making you go through that.” You said, feeling a bit guilty. 

“Pas de soucis. I’m used to it and know how to handle them. Though I will advise that you never enter the paddock by yourself. The reporters are like vultures.” Charles said. “Anyway, we will see you at the press conference, no?”

 “Yep. I’ll see you there.” You said. Charles patted your shoulder before him and Pierre headed to their own team's hospitality. 

~~~

You were beginning to hate the press conferences that you had to go to. Any question that was directed towards you involved your performance on track, or lack thereof as some reporters like to put it. You were getting tired of having to answer questions that made you feel like a failure.

“This question is for (Y/N). We’re now five races into the season and you’ve been continuously out qualified and out placed by your teammate, George? Is there a certain struggle that you’re having with the car that may be the cause of this?”

If you could walk away from this question, you would. But instead you stayed in your seat and picked up the microphone next to you. Damn Mercedes PR training.

 “There’s still some learning with the car. The engineers have said that the car isn’t up to the standards they want it to be, so I am struggling a bit on track.” You said, giving your best PR approved answer that you could manage.

“But would it be safe to say that you are under performing at Mercedes in comparison to your teammate?” The reporter asked. You tried to steal your expression and act like the comment didn’t bother you.

 “What kind of question is that?” It wasn’t you that asked it, but Lando, who was sitting to your right. You looked at him with some confusion. So did the reporter.

“Is there something you would like to add, Lando?”

“Yea. You can’t say she’s underperforming when she’s a rookie that has only completed five races.” Lando said, an upset expression clear on his face. The reporter cleared his throat.

 “I’m just saying, some have doubts that Mercedes were too hasty in signing an F2 rookie and I wanted to know if that was being reflected in (Y/N)’s driving.” The reporter said, trying to control the situation

 “I think we already know your opinion on Mercedes' decision based on the questions you ask.” Carlos said, who was sitting next to Lando. “I agree with Lando that it’s unfair to judge (Y/N) based on her first five races.”

 “I’d say she’s actually doing pretty good for a rookie, considering she’s been able to score points in two out of the 5 races she’s done so far.” Lando said.

 “Much more than you have ever done.” Carlos said to the reporter. You tried to hide the smile that was slowly forming on your face but inevitably failed as you picked your microphone back up.

“To my two fellow drivers points, I think you’re discounting me too early. I will admit that there is still a learning curve and with the continuous upgrades that Mercedes keeps bringing to the car, I am constantly having to adjust to all the new additions while also trying to get used to driving a Formula One car every other weekend.” You said, making direct eye contact with the reporter. “But I will eventually get used to the car. And when I do, I think I will be able to match George and possibly start out qualifying.”

That seemed to silence the reporter, as he sat back down. It also seemed to signify the end of the press conference as reporters started to pack their things and you and the other drivers sitting on the couch with you got up and left the room.

“Mate, I’m so proud of you and how you handled that reporter.” Lando said once you were out of the room. He placed his hand on your shoulder and pulled you into a side hug.

 “I was ready to walk out of the press conference when I heard that question. Why do these reporters always have to compare me to George?”

 “Because that's what they do. All of us get compared to our teammates because our teammates are seen as our biggest competition.” Carlos said. “You’re gonna get it more because you’re new.”

“Just remember that you can refuse to answer any questions that make you uncomfortable.” Lando said. 

 “Even the sexist ones?” You asked. Carlos and Lando nodded their heads.

“Especially the sexist ones.” Carlos said.

 “Better yet, I’ll answer them for you in the most ridiculous manner so that way they’ll stop asking you questions like that.” Lando said, making you laugh.

~~~

So many more races. Too many races. How does a Formula One driver get through all these races and have a chance to calm down? You were used to things going fast, but lately you just wanted a chance to slow down and breathe. 

That’s how you found yourself sitting on the floor in an empty VIP room, looking out the window at a mostly empty racetrack. Phone in hand. Staring at the clock that displayed the timezone back at home.

2:00AM. Your parents are definitely asleep right now. It’s not a good time to call them, no matter how much you want to. 

You were so focused on staring at your phone, you didn’t notice that Max had walked in.

“Sadly I don’t think drivers count as VIPs at the races they have to participate in.” Max said as he sat down next to you, a Redbull in his hand.

 “It’s the only place that I can find privacy and some peace and quiet.” You said still staring at your phone.

2:01AM.

You turned your phone off and let out a sigh, placing it down next to you.

 “Something the matter?” Max asked. You hesitated. You didn’t want to burden a 3-time World Champion with your upset thoughts, that was for your non-existent therapist. But then again, maybe talking to someone who has been in your position before may make you feel a bit better.

“I haven’t found a good time to call my parents since the start of the season.” You said. “They were able to make it to my first race, which was amazing. I was really glad they could come…but with so many races on the calendar, it’s hard for them to come to all of them, and all the changing time zones makes it hard to find a good time to call them.” You told him. “I miss talking to them.”

Max looked at you, took in how you were hugging your knees. Max sometimes forgets that you're now the youngest driver on the grid. On the track he sees you as competition, but now he sees you as the overwhelmed rookie that you looked like right now.

“I understand what you're feeling. It does get overwhelming a lot of times.” He said. You turned to him.

 “How do you deal with it?”

“No matter what country we are in, I try to find a day or time where I can get the farthest away from being a race car driver. A spot that’s farthest away from the track where I’m not “Max Verstappen, The Red Bull Driver”, but just “Max”.” He said.

 “Don’t you get recognized wherever you go?” You asked

“Absolutely. But being away from the track, even for an hour, makes me less overwhelmed. And in regards to wanting to talk to your parents, yes finding a time to communicate is hard, but sometimes you just have to throw timezones out the window and call your parents. Even if you can only talk to them for five minutes, it’s still five minutes that you get to talk to them.” Max explained. 

You thought about what Max said. It would make you feel a bit guilty, waking your parents up in the middle of the night just because you wanted to talk to them. But at the same time, sometimes they’re the only people that could make you feel better. You looked back down at your phone.

2:05 AM

You’d be ok with just five minutes.

 “I think I’m gonna call my parents.” You said to Max. He smiled and gave you a nod before standing up.

 “I’ll let you have your privacy. But my driver’s room is open if you want to talk about anything except racing.” Max said before leaving the room. You smiled at him before calling your parents.

~~~

Finally you had finished a race with what you thought was a good race result. P6 was your highest placement so far this season and it was something you should be proud of. But even if you thought it was a good result, you knew that people were going to comment that George had gotten P4, placing ahead of you again. To you, it felt like no matter how high you climbed up the grid, if George finished in front of you, your result wasn’t something to be proud of. 

You were knocked out of your thoughts by someone bumping your shoulder. It was Oscar walking alongside you. The fact that he was looking directly at you made you assume the bump was intentional to get your attention.

“Proud of you.” Oscar said. “This was just like that one season of Formula 2 we raced in together.”

You scoffed but smiled.

 “Yea, except I now have the knowledge not to shunt the car into the back of yours.” You said. You spent most of thid race chasing Oscar’s rear wing and were glad that you didn’t do what you had just said.

“That time was an accident. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.” Oscar said. The two of you stopped walking as you got closer to where the podium interviews were taking place. The two of you watched as Charles was getting interviewed about his winning result. 

“So am I gonna see you up on that podium this season?” Oscar asked. You didn’t want to shake your head, but your body acted on instinct. You have been shaking your head a lot these days.

 “That seems unlikely. I haven’t been able to match George’s pace at all and he keeps out qualifying me.” You said. Oscar looked at you confused.

 “What are you on about? You were only 2 seconds off George and that was only because I was in between the two of you.” He said. You sighed.

“Yea but it was still 2 seconds behind George. It doesn’t matter how much time is between the two of us, if I’m behind him that’s all the media is going to care about.” You said. “I’ll never have the pace to pass him.”

“Hey!” Oscar grabbed your shoulders so that you would face him. “You have the pace. You’ve been building it up this whole season. At the start you were what? 10 seconds behind him? Now you’re two. Soon there’s going to be no gap because you’ll be ahead of him at some point. It’s bound to happen.”

Maybe it was the adrenaline finally wearing down, or the fact that Oscar was saying something you had been wanting to hear from your race engineer, or your team princpal, or hell, even it’s something the media should be noticing: that you’re catching up and proving your pace. Oscar’s words were making you feel like you belonged on the grid.

 “You think so?” You asked, needing the confirmation. 

“I know so. Screw what everyone else says.” Oscar said. “Are you proud of your P6?”

 You looked back at your car, then at the car of your teammate’s before your eyes landed back at Charles. You’d be in his spot at some point this season, you just knew it.

 “Yea. I’m proud of myself.”

[latin5mamii]

warm.

warnings: long chapter but i think you like them

genre: fluff, cuddle session

summary:A cuddle session with your needy boyfriend is just more than enough.

author's note:I know i've been inactive these days but with school and everything it's just impossible😔...but here you go this fluffy and comforting one -shot that i hope you'll like! If you have any other fluff idea about Jude or any other player that i write for please let me know!🤍 ( i need to write fluff these days...)Plus please don't ask about the third pic please...

·　　•　　　·　　　.　　　　　　　　　·　　　.　°　　　★　.　　·　　　 　　　•　·　　°　　　·��.　*✷　✶°　　　*　　　°　•　　　✯　　　　　 •　*　　**　.　　　.°　　°　　°　　　.　　　　.*　.　　　　　　　　

“C’mere,” Jude murmured, his arms open wide, just for you.

You stood in the doorway, watching him sprawled out on the bed, his head propped up on one arm, the other patting the empty spot beside him. His eyes met yours, a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Without a word, you walked over, crawling under the covers next to him. Before you could fully settle in, he was already pulling you close. His arms wrapped snugly around your waist, pulling you against his chest, your legs tangling under the blankets.

“You’re warm,” you mumbled, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, the familiar scent of him immediately soothing.

Jude chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Good, because you’re always cold,” he teased, his fingers tracing slow patterns across your back. “You’re like a little human ice block.”

You laughed softly, nudging him with your knee. “Rude.”

“Just being honest,” he said with a grin, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head. “But lucky for you, I’m always warm, so it works out.”

You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. The two of you settled into a comfortable silence, the kind where no words were needed. His fingers continued their lazy journey along your spine, the rhythm of his breathing steady and soothing.

After a few moments, you felt him shift beneath you, his hand sliding down to your hip as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Missed you today,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

His words were soft, almost like an afterthought, but they made your heart swell. You smiled against his neck, your breath warm against his skin.

“I missed you too,” you murmured back, your voice quiet, almost as if you didn’t want to disturb the peaceful bubble that had formed around the two of you. You shifted a little, resting your head more comfortably against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. It was a rhythm you had grown to love, one that never failed to calm you.

Jude’s arms tightened around you ever so slightly, like he was afraid you might slip away if he didn’t hold on just a little closer. His hand moved up to your hair, fingers threading through the soft strands in gentle strokes. You could feel the quiet affection in his touch—unhurried and patient, the kind that didn’t need words to be understood.

You melted at his touch, leaning into him as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, soft and lingering. There was something about the way Jude kissed you, like he had all the time in the world, like nothing else mattered but the moment you were in.

His lips trailed down to your jawline, leaving a series of gentle kisses that made your heart race just a little faster. You sighed contentedly, your fingers slipping into his curls, twirling the soft strands between your fingertips.

“You always do that,” he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.

“Do what?” you whispered back, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“That,” he breathed, his hand sliding down to your hip, his thumb gently tracing circles through the fabric of your shirt. “You play with my hair when you think I’m asleep.”

You chuckled softly, your fingers stilling for a moment before brushing another curl away from his forehead. “I like the way it feels,” you admitted, your voice quiet, almost shy.

Jude hummed, a deep sound of contentment vibrating through his chest. “I like when you do it,” he whispered, his lips brushing the skin just below your jaw. “Feels nice.”

You smiled against his skin, your fingers continuing their gentle motions. Jude’s thumb sketched lazy circles on your hip, and you could feel his breathing slow, as if he was on the edge of falling asleep. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustling of the sheets and the occasional sigh from him. Your fingers continued their slow dance through his hair, your mind wandering to how easy this felt, being wrapped up in him, his presence always so steady and reassuring.

After a while, Jude’s voice broke the silence again, this time softer, almost like he wasn’t fully awake. “Stay like this… don’t move.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered back, leaning in to press a kiss against his collarbone.

He exhaled softly, his arms tightening just a fraction around you, as if he wanted to keep you even closer than you already were. It was in moments like this that you realized how much he craved the quiet, the stillness.

“I mean it,” he murmured after a beat, his voice low and drowsy. “Don’t want to fall asleep if you’re not here.”

You smiled at his words, feeling the warmth in your chest grow even more. It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like that, but it never failed to tug at your heart. Jude had a way of making the simplest moments feel like they held the entire world. His need for you wasn’t loud or overwhelming, but quiet and steady, like the beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you repeated softly, shifting slightly to tilt your head up to look at him. His eyes were half-closed, his lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks, and his lips were curled into that soft, lazy smile you adored.

He blinked slowly, eyes barely open, but you could still see the glint of affection in them. “Good,” he murmured, his thumb resuming its slow, rhythmic circles on your hip. “Because if you did, I’d have to chase you down.”

A laugh bubbled up from your chest at the thought. “You? Chase someone down? You can barely get out of bed in the morning.”

Jude huffed, his sleepy smile widening into a grin. “I’d chase you for sure. Might take me a while, but I’d get there eventually.”

You giggled, resting your chin on his chest and looking up at him with a playful gleam in your eyes. “Oh yeah? How long do you think it’d take you?”

He squinted as if he were seriously considering the question, his fingers still idly tracing patterns along your back. “Depends on how fast you’re running. If you’re sprinting, maybe an hour. If you’re walking, I’d say… ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes? You think I’m that slow?” You gasped in mock offense, gently poking him in the side.

Jude’s body shook with quiet laughter as he caught your hand and pulled it to his chest, keeping it there. “Nah, it’s not that you’re slow, it’s just that I’d be really motivated. I’d catch you quicker than you think.”

“Oh, so you’d be fast for me?” you teased, your smile widening as you watched the way his eyes crinkled at the edges.

“For you? I’d be unstoppable,” he replied with a sleepy confidence, his free hand moving up to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed over your skin in a way that made your heart skip a beat. “Nothing could keep me from catching you.”

You felt a soft blush rise to your cheeks at his words, and you buried your face back into the crook of his neck to hide it. Jude always knew how to say the right thing, even when he was half-asleep. It wasn’t fair.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumbled into his skin, your lips brushing against his collarbone.

“And you love it,” he teased, his voice low and warm.

You smiled against his neck. “Maybe.”

“Not maybe. Definitely,” he said with a lazy grin, and you could feel the rumble of his laugh in his chest. “You definitely love it.”

You huffed, pretending to be annoyed, but you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face. Jude had a way of getting under your skin, but in the best possible way. He was right—you did love it. You loved the way he teased you, the way he made you laugh, the way he held you like you were something precious. It was all so easy with him, so natural.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, your voice muffled by his neck.

He chuckled, his chest vibrating beneath your cheek. “I know. That’s why I get away with so much.”

You lifted your head just enough to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, so you admit it? You know you get away with stuff?”

Jude gave you an exaggeratedly innocent look, his lips twitching as he tried to suppress a grin. “Who, me? I’m an angel.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “An angel, huh? You’re more like a menace.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as if you’d wounded him. “A menace? That’s harsh. I’m deeply offended.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart swelled at the sight of him being so playful, so at ease. Moments like this, where it was just the two of you tangled up in each other, teasing and laughing, made you realize how lucky you were to have him. He made everything better, even the quiet moments.

“Okay, fine. You’re not a menace,” you conceded, resting your head back on his chest. “But you’re definitely not an angel either.”

“I’ll take that,” Jude murmured, his hand drifting back to your hair, his fingers resuming their gentle strokes. “As long as you’re here, you can call me whatever you want.”

 You didn’t need to say anything else, didn’t need to fill the silence with more teasing or banter. Just being here with him was enough ,more than enough.

·　　•　　　·　　　.　　　　　　　　　·　　　.　°　　　★　.　　·　　　 　　　•　·　　°　　　·☆.　*✷　✶°　　　*　　　°　•　　　✯　　　　　

[mischievousmoony]

hi, ok i have another idea for a fic which again totally up to you to write!! but i had an idea with dad!james and r where their kid is like equally obsessed with their mum as james is with r and one day james decides to prank their kid by saying something bad about the r while their kid is present and the baby just goes off. i feel like you would do an amazing job with this! feel free to ignore too. have a perfectly splendid day!!

-🪷

"the baby just goes off" painted a hilarious picture of an infant yelling at his dad in my mind lmao. ty for the request this warmed my heart to write + special thanks to @moonpascal for chatting a little about kids, gave me the reassurance & inspiration i needed

𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜

⟢ dad!james potter x fem!reader ⊹ 1.1k ⟢ warnings/tags: fluff, dad/husband!james, mom/wife!reader, no use of y/n, no name for the son, idk how to write a child's dialogue tbh son's supposed to sound 4 years old

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

James gladly goes out of his way to mention to anyone who will listen that his little one is unmistakably a Mummy's boy. From family to friends to the poor souls who bag his groceries, James will talk the ear off of anyone he can.

He finds it to be the most endearing thing in the world— the way that your son is as obsessed with you as James is. Always staying close and clinging to you, touching affection radiating from every hug and smile.

Today, as he watches his son run back and forth across the carpet, handing his mother block after block just to see her face light up after each gift, his awe and admiration are insurmountable.

Last night, James surprised you with a pair of earrings that you have been wishing for. When your face lit up upon receiving the little leatherette box, so did your son's. He didn't quite understand why you were so excited about some cube, but since then he's been trying to replicate your excitement with presents of his own.

"Oh my! Another one! Thank you, buddy," you beam, you're gratefulness and delight unwavering as he hands you the sixth block.

Your son giggles, bouncing in his spot as you inspect each side of the little wooden toy, telling him how much you adore the blue penguin painted on one of its faces.

That's another thing that touches James' heart: the tender nurture and care that you bestow upon your son with such unwavering devotion and warmth. It has James convinced that you must be the best mum in the entire world.

He might just melt at the sight of you now, kneeling happily in front of a growing pile of blocks as your son scurries back and forth, adding to your collection. James sits cross-legged to your right, resting his elbow on his knee and laying his head in his hand, watching the two he loves most in the world with hearts in his eyes.

You gasp, as if surprised when handed block number seven. "Oh, this is my favorite one yet. How did you know I love zebras?" you ask, your thumb tracing over the red acrylic paint on the side of the block.

By the time you have twelve, nearly half of his collection, you say, "I have a lot of blocks here, buddy, do you want to give some to Daddy?"

"No!" your son protests immediately, running off to his toy box for the thirteenth time.

You and James both chuckle, exchanging amused glances. Finding your son's reaction hilarious, James’s mischievous side has him dreaming up new ways to push his buttons. Your son thinks the world of you, and James is curious to see what the little guy will do if he claims otherwise.

"Well, what am I gonna do with all of this? Should I..."

You leave your son in suspense for a moment, and his hands hover over his toy box as looks at you, hanging onto your every word in anticipation.

"...build a castle!?"

“Yeah!” your son cheers, scooping three more blocks into his arms, thrilled to supply the bricks for your castle.

James nudges you, a sign of his upcoming playfulness. “You sure about that, bud? Mummy is absolutely rotten at building castles.”

Halfway across the carpet, your son stops in his tracks, glaring at his father as he tries to keep his blocks from falling out of his arms.

Stifling a laugh, you press your fingertips to your lips. By now, you’re used to James’ bursts of mischief, and you’re more than happy to sit back and let them play out. Unless you’re an active participant, of course.

You muster up a scandalized gasp as he reaches for your mountain of presents, claiming three blocks in one hand.

“No!” your little one complains, rushing to drop his three in your lap to replace the ones that James stole, “those are Mummy’s!”

“You sure Mummy deserves all these blocks?” James asks, starting to stack them into a tower, “You watch, I’ll build a castle that’ll make her’s look like rubbish.”

Your son hastily makes his way over to his dad, both arms extended as he collides with the tower and sends the blocks flying. "Stop it," he says as he scoops up the nearest block and runs it back over to you, shouting, "Mummy's castles are the best!"

He climbs into your lap, clutching onto the toy tightly as one of your arms wraps around him, and you feel your heart start to melt as you rub soothing circles into his back. You look over your son's head, your eyes sparkling with affection as you meet your husband's tender gaze.

Not having the heart to mess with him for very long, James concedes, "You're right, I'm not being very nice, am I?"

"Nuh-uh!" your son replies, shaking his head with exaggeratedly vigor, the curls he gets from his dad bouncing about.

"What can I do to make it up to her?" James asks, turning the ordeal into a subtle lesson as he dramatically feigns sorrow and despair over his actions.

"'Pologize," your son commands, his head swiveling to look at James expectantly over his shoulder.

James puts on his most sheepish, apologetic smile, looking from his son to you. "I'm very sorry. He's right, your castles are the best. Can you forgive me, love?"

"Aw, of course I forgive you," you say warmly, your amusement manifesting as a wide smile. You lean back so you can get a good view of your son's face when you tell him, "You know, I bet what Daddy really wants is to build a castle with us. I love your presents, bud, but we don't want to leave Daddy out do we?"

He looks down at the block in his little hand. "No," he replies shyly.

"So why don't you ask him to build a castle with us?" You give him a pat on the back before releasing him from your arms. "Go on," you coax.

He steps closer to James, holding the block close to his chest. "We can all build a castle," he offers.

"Yeah?" James' face lights up, and it's not for show. Genuine joy takes over his features as he ruffles your son's hair, responding, "I'd love nothing more, little man."

"But you have to be nice to Mummy!" he demands, his little voice firm and earnest as he looks up at James with wide, serious eyes.

"I promise, I will be on my best behavior," James assures him, his voice sincere as he gives a playful salute. That's enough for your son, because he finally awards James with his very first block, which he accepts with pride.

"Good!" your son cheers, already moving on to the pile of blocks to start stacking them as he proclaims, "Mummy is the best, and we have to show it!"

Your lips part as you suck in a breath, a quiet gasp. Receiving your son's affection never fails to make your heart swell.

You don't feel James' eyes on you, but he's watching— admiring, more like, as he takes in the way that you soften at your son's sweet words. A smitten smile plays at his lips as he agrees, "She is the best, isn't she?"

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[kiesbrainjuice]

hey hey hey 💆����‍♀️ i saw you wrote something about “them reacting to you at your first match as a their gf”(hope it’s understandable 😭😭) with fukurodani so can i request the same but with inarizaki ? particularly with the twins

thank you have a good day ! ♡

—THEM REACTING TO YOU AT YOUR FIRST MATCH AS HIS GIRLFRIEND ! inarizaki

pr : atsumu x fem!reader; osamu x fem!reader; suna x fem!reader; kita x fem!reader

syn : them reacting to you playing volleyball for the first time since you got together

wc : 3.8k

tw : none, just some jealousy and tease ykkk, pure fluff

a/n : sure! i wanted to do it for a long time! anyway i did the twins in particularity :) enjoy reading!

As they entered the bustling gymnasium, the air thick with excitement and the chatter of spectators, he felt a surge of pride. He might not be on the court today, but he was here for something equally important - to support the person who had become such a significant part of his life.

The Inarizaki team made their way to their seats, ... positioning himself for the best view of the court. As they settled in, the atmosphere electric with anticipation, he allowed himself a moment of reflection. He thought about the countless hours of practice you'd put in, the late-night strategy discussions you'd shared, the unwavering determination he'd seen in your eyes. A warmth spread through his chest, a feeling he was still getting used to but cherished nonetheless.

The announcer's voice boomed through the speakers, introducing the teams. Kita leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed on the court entrance. Any moment now, you would step out, ready to show the world what he already knew - that you were a force to be reckoned with, both on and off the court.

ATSUMU MIYA

The gymnasium buzzed with anticipation, its air thick with the scent of excitement and nervous energy. Amidst the sea of spectators, one figure stood out - Atsumu Miya, the talented setter from Inarizaki High. He couldn't contain his enthusiasm, his body practically vibrating with excitement as he perched on the edge of his seat. His honey-brown eyes, usually sharp and calculating on the court, were now wide with childlike wonder.

"There she is! That's her!" Atsumu exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly with emotion. His arm shot out, finger pointing eagerly as you stepped onto the polished wooden court. "Did you see that serve warm-up? She's gonna crush 'em!" 

Atsumu's teammates, seated in a row beside him, exchanged knowing glances and suppressed smiles. They had endured weeks of Atsumu's endless chatter about you, his voice always taking on a dreamy quality when he spoke your name. Now, finally witnessing the object of their setter's affections in person, they couldn't help but be curious.

Osamu, Atsumu's twin brother, leaned back in his seat with a smirk playing on his lips. He ran a hand through his dyed gray hair, a stark contrast to Atsumu's blonde locks. "You've been yammering about her nonstop, 'Tsumu," he drawled. "Time to see if she's as good as ya say."

Atsumu whirled to face his twin, indignation flashing in his eyes. "She ain't just good, you scrub! She's freaking amazing!" he declared, puffing out his chest like a proud peacock. "Watch 'n learn, 'Samu!"

As the shrill whistle pierced the air, signaling the start of the match, all eyes turned to the court. You immediately took center stage, your presence commanding attention. Your serves were nothing short of spectacular - powerful and precise, they cut through the air like missiles, leaving your opponents scrambling. When you spiked, it was with a ferocity that belied your frame, the ball slamming onto the opposite court with resounding force. On defense, you were a wall, your receives steady and your blocks impenetrable.

Atsumu's voice rose above the cacophony of the crowd, his cheers the loudest and most enthusiastic. "That's my girl! Show ‘em what you're made of, [Y/N]!" he shouted, his face flushed with pride and exertion from his constant yelling.

As the match progressed, however, the Inarizaki team couldn't resist the opportunity for some playful banter. Suna Rintarou, known for his deadpan humor, leaned over with a mischievous glint in his usually sleepy eyes. "Damn, Atsumu," he commented, nudging the setter with his elbow, "She's a real catch!"

Atsumu's reaction was instantaneous. His cheeks flamed red, clashing adorably with his blonde hair. He tried to sound nonchalant but failed miserably, his voice coming out squeaky. "Course she is! She's perfect... Got the best setter in Japan teaching her, after all!"

Kita Shinsuke, the team's stoic captain, surprised everyone with a chuckle. His usually stern face softened with amusement as he added, "Careful, Atsumu, he might steal her away from you."

The effect on Atsumu was electric. His eyes narrowed dangerously, a pout forming on his lips as he clutched the armrests of his seat. "Hey! Don't even think about it!" he declared vehemently. "She's mine, you hear?"

Despite the constant teasing from his teammates, Atsumu's focus remained unwaveringly on you. His eyes tracked your every movement on the court, drinking in the sight of you in your element. You were a force of nature - fierce yet graceful, your movements fluid and purposeful. There was no doubt in anyone's mind about your skill and dedication.

"I taught her that move!" Atsumu often retorted when you executed a particularly impressive play, his chest swelling with pride and admiration. "Well, mostly. She's a natural, you know?"

As the match drew to its climactic close, tension mounted in the gymnasium. The scores were tight, but your team had the slight edge. In a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, you leapt high into the air, your arm drawn back like a loaded spring. Time seemed to slow as you connected with the ball, sending it hurtling across the net with a resounding crack. The ball slammed onto the opposite court, untouched by the opposing team's defenders.

The gymnasium erupted into a deafening roar as the final whistle blew, signaling your team's victory. But even amidst the chaos, Atsumu's voice rang out clear and jubilant. He jumped up from his seat, nearly toppling over in his excitement, his fist pumping the air triumphantly. "You did it! That's my girl! Told ya she was the best!"

As the crowd began to disperse, still buzzing with excitement from the match, you made your way over to where Atsumu and his teammates were seated. Your face was flushed from exertion, wisps of hair escaping from your ponytail, but your eyes shone with happiness and pride.

The moment Atsumu saw you approaching, he bounded down the bleachers, taking the steps two at a time in his haste to reach you. Without hesitation, he swept you up into a tight embrace, his strong arms lifting you clean off your feet. You felt the rumble of his laughter against your chest as he spun you around, uncaring of the amused looks from passersby.

"Ya were amazing, [Y/N]!" Atsumu exclaimed, his voice thick with emotion. "Knew you had it in ya! Bet those scrubs didn't know what hit them!"

You laughed, the sound muffled against his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "Thanks, Atsumu," you replied, your heart swelling with affection. "Means a lot that you were here."

As Atsumu set you back on your feet, his teammates approached, each offering their congratulations. Suna stepped forward first, a genuine smile replacing his usual deadpan expression as he offered you a high five. "Great game, [Y/N]," he said, impressed. "You're as impressive as Atsumu said. Maybe even more so."

You returned the high five with a warm smile. "Thanks, Suna. That means a lot coming from you guys."

Osamu grinned, throwing a muscular arm around his twin's shoulder. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he said, "Ya know, [Your Name], with skills like that, we might have to recruit ya."

Atsumu's reaction was immediate and predictable. "Back off, ‘samu!" he protested loudly, pulling you closer to his side possessively. His cheeks puffed out in annoyance, reminiscent of a child protecting his favorite toy. "She's mine, and she's staying right where she is! Go find your own amazing girlfriend if you can!"

Aran Ojiro, the team's powerful wing spiker, let out a deep, rumbling laugh. "Looks like Atsumu's getting protective," he observed, his kind eyes crinkling at the corners. "Can't blame him, though. You're quite the player, [Y/N]."

You felt a blush creeping up your neck at all the attention and praise. Squeezing Atsumu's hand reassuringly, you chuckled. "Don't worry, 'Tsumu, I'm not going' anywhere," you assured him, before adding with a playful wink, "But maybe I'll join a practice or two. Could be fun to spike your sets for a change."

Atsumu's face lit up like a Christmas tree, his grin threatening to split his face in two. His eyes, usually sharp and focused, now shone with unbridled affection and pride. "You're the best, [Y/N]," he declared, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. "Let's go celebrate! I'm buying! Gonna treat my star player right!"

As you walked off the court hand in hand with Atsumu, surrounded by his boisterous teammates, you felt a profound sense of belonging. The victory was sweet, but the knowledge that you had such unwavering support - especially from Atsumu - was even sweeter. 

OSAMU MIYA

The Sendai City Gymnasium hummed with anticipation, its vast interior a cacophony of excited chatter. Amidst the sea of spectators, Miya Osamu sat with uncharacteristic restlessness, his usually calm demeanor betrayed by the slight tapping of his foot. His grey eyes, typically laid-back, now held an intensity that matched his twin's on the volleyball court.

"There she is," Osamu said quietly, a soft smile playing on his lips as you stepped onto the gleaming court, your team's colors vivid against your skin.

Beside him, his twin brother Atsumu leaned forward, honey-brown eyes wide with curiosity. "So that's her, huh? The girl who's got my brother all soft and mushy?"

Osamu's elbow found Atsumu's ribs with practiced ease. "Shut it, ya scrub," he muttered, but there was no real heat in his words. His eyes remained fixed on you, drinking in your pre-game ritual.

Suna, seated on Osamu's other side, smirked. "Never thought I'd see the day Osamu got all worked up over something other than food."

"I'm not worked up," Osamu protested, his calm voice at odds with the slight blush creeping up his neck. "I'm just... supportive."

Atsumu snorted. "Yeah, real supportive. That's why you've been fussing with your hair for the past ten minutes, right?"

Osamu's hand, which had indeed been absently running through his grey locks, dropped to his lap. "I don't fuss," he grumbled.

As the teams gathered for their pre-game huddles, Atsumu's curiosity got the better of him. "So, what's she like on the court? Any good?"

For the first time since arriving, Osamu's eyes left you, turning to his brother with a hint of pride. "She's amazing," he said simply. "Just watch."

The shrill whistle cut through the air, signaling the start of the match. From the very first serve - yours, as it happened - it was clear that Osamu's assessment wasn't just lovestruck bias. Your serve rocketed across the net, leaving the opposing team scrambling.

"Woah," Atsumu breathed, genuinely impressed. "That was-"

"I know," Osamu interrupted, unable to keep the smugness from his voice.

As the match progressed, Osamu's teammates couldn't help but notice the changes in him. The usually stoic middle blocker was on the edge of his seat, grey eyes tracking your every move. When you scored a particularly impressive point, a rare, unguarded grin split his face.

"Look at that," Suna drawled, nudging Atsumu. "I think we've found something Osamu loves more than fatty tuna."

Atsumu snickered. "Nah, that's impossible. But maybe it's a close second."

Osamu ignored them, too focused on the match to rise to their bait. But when you executed a perfect cut shot, threading the ball between two blockers, he couldn't contain himself. "That's my girl!" he shouted, startling those around him with his uncharacteristic volume.

Atsumu's eyebrows shot up. "Wow, 'Samu. I didn't know ya could yell like that."

"Learned from the best," Osamu retorted dryly, earning a laugh from his teammates.

As the match drew to its climactic close, even Atsumu and Suna found themselves caught up in the excitement. The scores were tight, but your team had the edge. In a heart-stopping moment, you leapt high, arm drawn back. The gymnasium seemed to hold its breath as you connected with the ball, sending it hurtling past the opponents' defenses.

The final whistle blew, signaling your team's victory. The crowd erupted, but no one cheered louder than Osamu. He was on his feet in an instant, pumping his fist in the air. "That's it! Ya did it!"

Atsumu stared at his twin in amused disbelief. "Who are you and what have ya done with my brother?"

As the crowd began to disperse, you made your way over to where Osamu and his teammates were seated. Osamu vaulted over the railing, ignoring Kita's reproachful look, and met you halfway. Without hesitation, he swept you up into a tight embrace, spinning you around.

"You were incredible," he murmured, setting you down but keeping his arms around you.

You laughed, flushed with victory and affection. "Thanks for coming, 'Samu. Means a lot."

"Wouldn't have missed it for anything'," he replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Oi, oi," Atsumu called, approaching with the rest of the team. "Don't I get to meet the girl who's turned my brother into a cheerin' softie?"

Osamu rolled his eyes but kept an arm around your waist as he turned to face his team. "Guys, this is [Y/N]. [Y/N], these are the scrubs I put up with."

As introductions were made, Atsumu couldn't resist teasing his twin. "Ya know, [Y/N], if you ever get tired of this guy's cooking, I make a mean-"

"Don't even think about it," Osamu cut in, pulling you closer. "My cooking skills are part of the package deal."

You laughed, leaning into Osamu's side. "Don't worry, 'Samu. You had me at onigiri."

Suna smirked. "Now that's true love."

As the group headed out to celebrate your victory, you found yourself in the middle of the twins' familiar bickering, Osamu's arm a comforting weight around your shoulders.

RINTARO SUNA

The Sendai City Gymnasium buzzed with anticipation, its vast interior filled with excited chatter. Amidst the sea of spectators, Suna Rintarou sat with his usual languid posture, but his typically half-lidded eyes were wide open and alert, fixed intently on the court entrance.

As you stepped onto the gleaming court, your team's colors bold against your skin, a small, genuine smile tugged at Suna's lips - a rare sight that didn't go unnoticed by his teammates.

"Woah, is Suna actually showing emotion?" Atsumu teased, nudging the middle blocker with his elbow.

Suna's expression immediately smoothed back into his characteristic deadpan. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he drawled, though his eyes never left you.

Osamu leaned forward, intrigued. "So that's her, huh? The one who's got our Suna staying awake during matches he's not playing in?"

"I always stay awake," Suna retorted, finally tearing his gaze away to give Osamu an unimpressed look.

"Yeah, but ya usually look like yer wishing you were asleep," Atsumu chimed in. "Now ya actually look... interested."

Suna shrugged, a hint of pride seeping into his voice despite his best efforts. "She's worth staying awake for."

As the teams gathered for their pre-game huddles, Atsumu's curiosity got the better of him. "So, what's she like on the court? Any good?"

For a moment, Suna's usual bored expression gave way to a smirk. "Just watch," he said simply, settling back in his seat.

The shrill whistle cut through the air, signaling the start of the match. From your very first move, it was clear that Suna's confidence in your abilities wasn't misplaced. Your plays were sharp, your reflexes quick, and your game sense impressive.

"Damn," Osamu muttered after you pulled off a particularly clever feint. "She's good."

"Of course she is," Suna replied, unable to keep a note of smugness from his voice. "We practice together sometimes."

Atsumu's eyes widened. "You mean ya actually voluntarily do extra practice? Who are you and what have ya done with the real Suna?"

Suna merely shrugged, but the soft look in his eyes as he watched you play spoke volumes.

As the match progressed, Suna's teammates couldn't help but notice the subtle changes in his demeanor. While he wasn't as openly expressive as Atsumu might be, the tension in his shoulders when you were up to serve, the way he leaned forward during crucial points, and the ghost of a smile when you scored - it all painted a picture of a Suna they rarely saw.

When you executed a perfect block that sent the ball spinning back to the opponent's court, Suna actually stood up, a rare grin spreading across his face. "Nice kill," he said, loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

Kita raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I've ever heard Suna cheer before."

"It's not cheering," Suna protested weakly, sinking back into his seat. "It's... appreciating good volleyball."

"Sure, sure," Atsumu snickered. "And I'm sure it has nothing to do with who's playing that good volleyball, right?"

As the match drew to its climactic close, even Suna couldn't maintain his usual nonchalance. The scores were tight, but your team had the edge. In a heart-stopping moment, you leapt high for a spike, your form perfect. The gymnasium seemed to hold its breath as you connected with the ball, sending it hurtling past the opponents' defenses.

The final whistle blew, signaling your team's victory. While the crowd erupted in cheers, Suna's reaction was more subdued but no less meaningful. He was on his feet, a genuine smile on his face, clapping with more enthusiasm than his teammates had ever seen from him.

"Way to go, [Y/N]," he said softly, though his eyes shone with pride.

As the crowd began to disperse, you made your way over to where Suna and his teammates were seated. Suna met you halfway, his usual languid movements quickened by excitement he couldn't quite hide.

"Nice game," he said, pulling you into a hug that surprised his watching teammates. "You were amazing out there."

You laughed, wrapping your arms around him. "Thanks for coming, Rin. Means a lot."

"Wouldn't have missed it," he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before pulling back, aware of his teammates' eyes on you both.

"So this is the famous [Y/N]," Atsumu said, approaching with a grin. "The girl who's got our Suna actually showing interest in something besides blocking and napping."

Suna rolled his eyes, but kept an arm around your waist. "Guys, this is [Y/N]. [Y/N], these are the idiots I'm forced to play with."

As introductions were made, the twins couldn't resist teasing Suna.

"Ya know, [Y/N]," Osamu started, a mischievous glint in his eye, "if ya ever want to see what it's like to date someone with actual energy-"

"I have plenty of energy for what matters," Suna cut in smoothly, pulling you closer. 

You chuckled, leaning into Suna's side. "Don't worry, guys. I like my volleyball players tall, skilled, and delightfully snarky."

Atsumu clutched his chest in mock hurt. "Ouch, what about us?"

"I said skilled, didn't I?" you retorted with a grin, causing Suna to snort in amusement.

As the group headed out to celebrate your victory, you found yourself in the middle of the team's friendly banter, Suna's arm a comforting weight around your shoulders. 

SHINSUKE KITA

The Sendai City Gymnasium hummed with anticipation, its vast interior a sea of excited spectators. Among them sat the Inarizaki team, with Kita Shinsuke at the center, his posture perfect and his expression serene. Yet, those who knew him well could detect a subtle tension in his shoulders, a barely perceptible eagerness in his usually calm eyes.

As you stepped onto the gleaming court, your team's colors vibrant against your skin, the corners of Kita's mouth turned up in a small, but unmistakably warm smile.

Aran, seated beside Kita, noticed the change immediately. "I don't think I've ever seen you smile before a match you're not playing in, Kita," he remarked quietly.

Kita's expression remained soft as he replied, "There's a first time for everything, Aran."

Atsumu, never one for subtlety, leaned forward with a grin. "So that's her, Kita-san? The one who's got our captain all starry-eyed?"

"I wouldn't say starry-eyed," Kita responded evenly, though his gaze never left you. "But yes, that's [Y/N]."

Osamu, more perceptive than his twin, noted, "Ya look proud, Kita-san."

Kita nodded, a hint of warmth coloring his voice. "I am. [Y/N] works hard and plays with integrity. There's a lot to be proud of."

As the teams gathered for their pre-game huddles, Suna couldn't resist asking, "So, what's she like on the court, Kita-san? As disciplined as you?"

For a moment, a flash of affectionate amusement crossed Kita's face. "She has her own style," he said simply. "Watch, and you'll see."

The shrill whistle signaled the start of the match. From your very first move, it was clear that Kita's pride wasn't misplaced. Your plays were precise, your movements efficient, and your game sense impressive.

"Wow," Atsumu muttered after you executed a particularly well-timed set. "She's really good."

"Of course," Kita replied, his tone matter-of-fact but tinged with warmth. "She practices diligently every day."

Aran chuckled. "Sounds like someone else we know."

As the match progressed, Kita's teammates couldn't help but notice the subtle changes in their usually stoic captain. While he remained composed, there was an intensity in his gaze as he watched you play, a slight lean forward during crucial points, and a barely audible intake of breath when you were up to serve.

When you pulled off a perfect receive that turned the tide of a rally, Kita actually stood up, applauding softly but earnestly. "Excellent form," he said, loud enough for his teammates to hear.

Atsumu's eyes widened in surprise. "Woah, Kita-san actually cheered!"

"It's not cheering," Kita corrected calmly, settling back into his seat. "It's acknowledging good volleyball."

"Right," Osamu smirked. "And I'm sure it has nothing to do with who's playing that good volleyball."

Kita's response was a serene smile that somehow managed to silence even the rambunctious twins.

As the match reached its climax, even Kita couldn't maintain his usual calm demeanor entirely. The scores were tight, but your team had the edge. In a critical moment, you positioned yourself perfectly for a block, your timing impeccable. The gymnasium held its breath as you jumped, your hands forming a solid wall that sent the ball spinning back to the opponent's court.

The final whistle blew, signaling your team's victory. While the crowd erupted in cheers, Kita's reaction was more subdued but no less meaningful. He stood, applauding with genuine enthusiasm, a proud smile gracing his features.

"Well done, [Y/N]," he said softly, his eyes shining with admiration.

As the crowd began to disperse, you made your way over to where Kita and his teammates were seated. Kita met you halfway, his usual measured stride quickened by an eagerness he couldn't quite conceal.

"Congratulations," he said warmly, reaching out to take your hand. "You played beautifully."

You beamed at him, squeezing his hand. "Thanks for coming, Shin. It means a lot."

"I wouldn't have missed it," he replied, his thumb brushing over your knuckles affectionately.

"So this is the famous [Y/N]," Aran said, approaching with a friendly smile. "The one who's managed to make our Kita break his composure."

Kita's expression remained serene, but a faint blush colored his cheeks. "Everyone, this is [Y/N]. [Y/N], these are my teammates."

As introductions were made, the twins couldn't resist some gentle teasing.

"Ya know, [Y/N]," Atsumu started with a mischievous grin, "if ya ever want tips on how to get Kita-san to loosen up a bit-"

"I assure you, she doesn't need any tips," Kita interjected smoothly, his calm tone belied by the protective way he stepped closer to you.

You chuckled, leaning slightly into Kita's side. "Don't worry, guys. I appreciate Shin just as he is - reliable, hardworking, and wonderfully supportive."

Osamu nodded approvingly. "You've got good taste, [Y/N]-san."

As the group headed out to celebrate your victory, you found yourself walking beside Kita, his steady presence a comforting constant amidst the team's lively chatter. 

Ⓡ kiesbrainjuice all rights reserved. please to not plagiarize, repost, or translate !

tag : @haechansbbg

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

grapefruit and tacos | s.r. x pregnant!fem reader

“oh look my grapefruit, daddies home! and very early i might add.” waddling as you rubbed soothing circles over your growing belly. spencer met you halfway in the living room, not even bothering to straighten out his shoes and hang his satchel.

“how are my favorite people?” spencer’s big palms cupped around your chubby cheeks. pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose then up to your forehead and finally down to your awaiting lips. you sighed from ease, not realizing how much you were missing him today.

spencer pulled away first before giving one more brief peck. “missing you,” answering his earlier question. his hands traveled down to your stomach which has grown in the past two months. “hi bub, are you treating mommy nice?” his warm thumbs rubbed at the skin beside your bellybutton, your baby will kick sporadically, a lot of times when spencer’s voice is within distance.

“they’ve been good. been craving a lot of strawberries lately, but i’m not complaining.” lifting your left hand to drag on the side of his head, tucking his growing hair behind his ear. “why home earlier? not complaining, but i haven’t done much housekeeping. mostly sleeping.”

spencer turned to kiss your wrist, “finished my paperwork and hotch said i could leave earlier. he understands the struggles of a new pregnancy.” he kneeled to the grow and pressed three kisses onto you stretched skin, three i love yous.

“now why don’t you sit down and i’ll order us takeout. what are you in the mood for?” spencer’s hands holding your shoulders and steering you in the direction of the suede brown couch. you were waddling like a penguin, “uh maybe some tacos. what do you say my grapefruit? tacos?” trying to see if they kick for an answer. you felt a same thump at the tip of your thumb, you looked over your shoulder at spencer while smiling, “tacos please.”

“tacos for my loves. i’ll get some chips and guacamole as well.” making sure you were comfortable before looking for his stack of takeout menus hidden in a kitchen drawer. your eyes just watched his every move, how his lips moved as he recalled the last time he used them. he used the landline, yes spencer still had a landline in his home, and called your usual taco spot just a block away.

within thirty minutes the two of were side by side on the couch with reruns of old doctor who, the wibbly wobbly sound affects a comforting white noise. you closed your eyes and hummed while chewing your food, even swaying your body and head. opening your eyes as you took a drink, you looked to your left to see spencer smiling at you, his food barely touched.

“what?” taking another bite as you waited for spencer to say something. you bet you were the picture of a squirrel or chipmunk, cheeks puffed and mouth pouted.

“i love you and i like seeing you this happy.” sweet and syrupy. you felt your eyes start to water as you took a swallow and set your food down. “oh don’t say that,” you whined, “you know my hormones are at eleven.” wiping away a few stragglers from your warm face.

spencer couldn’t help but to chuckle as he took over the job of tear wiper. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry. just- just can’t believe this is my life.” voice getting a bit distant, “i have an amazing girlfriend and a baby on the way… still can’t believe you choose me over millions of other guys.”

the waterworks started again, “i’d choose you time and time again. there’s no one in the world like you and i’m glad i snatched the rare gem.” taking spencer’s sculpted face into your hands and starting an assault of messy kisses causing him to squirm and laugh.

“our baby is gonna be so loved.”

[woso-dreamzzz]

Practice II

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You practice with your mums

You are a keeper.

You've been a keeper since you were a child. You were always going to be a keeper, deep down. One day, you are going to be the greatest keeper in the world. One day, you might even be the greatest keeper in history.

But right now, you are not.

You are just a girl in her backyard with inflatable people blocking your view of Pernille and her wicked shot.

She chips it over your line and you jump up to meet it.

Pernille and Magda aren't keepers. They have never been keepers. They will never be keepers.

But they're trying, for you.

They're trying to think like keepers.

"Do you think you organised them right?" Magda asks from the side," Your defenders?"

Today has been tactical training.

You'd seen keepers organising their lines at games before. You'd seen keepers throughout your childhood yell out orders before.

You'd never really been a yeller though. You weren't confrontational. You weren't loud. You weren't a leader.

"Well...I got the ball?"

Magda nods. "Okay. Let's run it again."

Pernille goes to take her kick again but squares the ball to Magda waiting in your empty middle. She shots in one touch and you scramble from where you thought the ball was coming from to get a brief glove on it.

Her shot is hard and fast but you manage to just graze it with your hand and roll it to the side.

"And now you've conceded a corner," Pernille says.

"Well," You pant, still laying on the ground," I couldn't exactly grab it."

"You need to trust your wall and be ready for the shot to come from elsewhere. Nine times out of ten, they'll send in a cross rather than a shot," Pernille continues," You need to be ready."

You're pretty sure your shoulder is bruised from the amount of times you've had to go to the ground with a ball.

Pernille used to pull back the power of her shots when you had a kick around but now she doesn't. All gloves are off and a few times you've felt a little winded after gathering one of her strikes.

But you wanted this so you're going to take advantage and repeat it again and again until you think you're ready.

Magda has been helping you with your tactics and it's with her that you find yourself now, staring out as Pernille waits to take a penalty.

"Half of it is guesswork," Magda says into your ear, standing behind you so you can both stare at your Momma," But when you're in a team, there'll have been analysis and things but right now, I want you to study the way she's moving. I want you to look at her run up and the way she's positioned herself. Some of it's subconscious. She doesn't even notice it but you have to."

You nod.

Pernille takes her penalty.

You go the right way and save it.

"Good," Magda says," But make sure you wait as long as possible. She's studying you like you're studying her. If you give an indication of what way you're going then they'll go the opposite direction.

You groan. "And everyone does this?"

"Not everyone," Pernille laughs," Only the good players."

You huff, pushing off the ground. "Alright. Let's go again."

You're hot and sweaty when practice for the day is finally over and fall face first onto the sofa.

"Hey." Magda swats you with a tea towel. "Shower, please. I don't need that sweat all over my new cushions."

"Leave me here to die," You reply, remaining where you are.

Magda's hands are on you, trying to roll you off but you go rigid in an effort to delay her. You lock up all your muscles and go stiff as a board and Magda has to bite back her own laughter at how stubborn you're being all of a sudden.

"Come on!" She says," Off! Get off!"

"No," You reply with a small laugh," If I move I'll get cramp."

"You'll got cramp because you've gone all stiff. Go and shower!" She tries to rock your body around but you refuse to even give her an inch to work with.

"No!"

Finally, she rolls you off and you flop onto your back on the carpet.

"I'm telling Momma!" You're up like a shot, running up the stairs.

Magda laughs after you. "I thought that if you moved, you'd get cramp!"

[janiehellion]

Breaking Through

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Daryl’s reckless behavior on a supply run nearly gets him killed, pushing you to remind him how to stay humble. Little did you know, his attitude was hiding something much deeper that only you could break through.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: DARYL DIXON X FEM!READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: MOMMY KINK / SMUT / BODY WORSHIP / ORAL SEX / EDGING / TEASING / HURT / COMFORT / AFTERCARE / LANGUAGE

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 7.799

ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ: LATE S5 & EARLY S6

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ: @mayday2007

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: I truly hope I did your request justice! I also hope that the length of it is okay and that it met your expectations. And thank you so much for your patience!

MASTERLIST

You leaned against the porch, one of the few spots in Alexandria that didn’t make you want to rip your hair out. It all felt too damn clean sometimes, too fake even. Here, it was easy to forget how the world had gone to shit, but... Daryl? He never let himself forget. He was walking around by the gate, looking like an animal waiting for a fight, and you knew why...

Rick and a few others were getting ready for a run—another trip outside the safe walls to scavenge for supplies. But more than that, it was an excuse for Daryl to escape the suffocation of Alexandria. He’d rather be out there with the walkers than in here, playing pretend.

"Daryl," you called out, and he stopped pacing and turned to face you, his eyes narrowing like he was already preparing for a lecture from you.

"What?" He grunted, sounding as defensive as ever. He was always on alert these days, and it was only getting worse since you arrived in Alexandria.

"Listen," you started, stepping down from the porch and running toward him as he prepared to leave. "I know you hate this place, and I understand; I really do, but you need to keep your head on straight out there. You’re not just out there for yourself. You’ve got Rick, Glenn, and Michonne with you today. You fuck anything up; they could get hurt too. Please, just be careful."

He looked away, scuffing his boot against the ground like a stubborn child who didn’t want to hear what you were saying. "Ain’t no damn kid. Can handle myself," he growled back at you.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. This wasn’t the first time you’d had this conversation, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last. "You might be able to handle yourself, sure, and we all know that you are more than capable of doing that, but that doesn’t mean you can act reckless. You need to listen to Rick, do what he says, and stop acting like a damn brat. You keep pulling this shit, and one of these days, it’s gonna bite you in the ass. Literally."

Daryl clenched his jaw and scoffed, and for a moment, you thought he might actually argue with you. But then he just shook his head. "Yer done now?"

"No, Daryl, I’m not done," you snapped back, feeling your frustration grow and almost boil over. "I’m tired of watching you do this bullshit, okay? We’re all trying to make this work, and you’re out there acting like you’ve got a death wish. We’ve lost too many people already, and I’m not about to lose you or anyone else because you couldn’t keep your damn self in check."

For a second, you saw something like vulnerability, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He looked away again, like he was trying to block out your words, not wanting to listen to you.

"Just... think about what I said, okay?" You said, the tone in your voice softening slightly. You didn’t want to push him too hard, but you couldn’t just let this slide again all the time. "I’m not trying to piss you off, Daryl. I just don’t want to see you get hurt. We all need you to come back. I... I need you to come back."

He didn’t say anything; he just gave you a nod before finally turning away. But as you watched him walk toward Rick, you couldn’t ignore the feeling that something bad was going to happen on this run.

Rick was already waiting by the gate, his hands on his hips as he looked around Alexandria. He seemed to be tired, but when he saw you approaching as well, he gave you a small smile.

"Did you talk to him?" Rick asked, his voice whispering, so only you could hear.

"Yeah," you replied, glancing over at Daryl, who was busy playing around with his knife. "But you know how he is. Stubborn as hell."

Rick laughed a little, but there was no real humor in it. "Yeah. Isn't that the truth? Don’t worry, I'll keep an eye on him while we’re out there, alright? If he does something stupid..."

"You'll make sure he doesn’t," you interrupted, not needing him to finish the sentence.

"Alright. Got it. We’ll be back before you know it," Rick said, louder now and turning to the gate as it opened, and Glenn arrived with the car. "We’re heading out. Stay close, keep quiet, and don’t take any unnecessary risks. We get what we need, and we get back. That's it."

You watched as Daryl took his crossbow and walked with Rick and the others over to the truck. You were worried, sure, but you forced yourself to stay calm. This was Daryl Dixon, after all. He was tough, he was resourceful, and he’d been through far worse than this. But still, there was that uncomfortable feeling in the back of your mind, the one that told you things weren’t going to go smoothly today.

Rick took Daryl aside in the meantime. "Listen, Daryl. We stick to the plan, and we get back without any extra bullshit. You got that?"

Daryl glared at Rick but didn’t say anything. You knew that look; it was the one that said he was going to do what he wanted anyway.

With that, Rick and the others—Glenn and Michonne, in this case—headed out, leaving you in Alexandria with the rest of the group.

You turned away, heading back to the house, but your thoughts were still with Daryl. You just hoped he’d listen to you for once, or rather, Rick. Because if he didn’t, you weren’t sure you’d be able to forgive him—or yourself—if something went wrong.

The truck stopped at the side of a parking lot some time later. Abandoned cars were standing around all over the place, with their windows shattered and rotting corpses still sitting in some of them. It was a graveyard. Rick turned off the engine and looked over to the building, his face already showing that things were about to get rough.

"This place is full of walkers," Rick mumbled, looking around the area. "Okay… We get in, we get out. No fucking around. Got it?"

Everyone nodded, even Daryl, though the look in his eyes told a different story. Alexandria was killing him slowly, suffocating him with its safety and daily routine, and one could see he was just waiting to break free, to remind himself what it felt like to be out there again, in the real world, and not living in an illusion.

"Stick together," Rick continued, his eyes narrowing at Daryl like he could read his mind. "We’re hitting that grocery store, grabbing what we can, and getting the hell out. Nothing else, no bullshit."

Daryl grunted in response, his hand tightening around his crossbow. He wasn’t making any promises; that was clear enough, but at least he wasn’t outright showing it. That would have to be good enough. The four of them got out of the truck, their weapons ready, and slowly made their way toward the store. It looked like it had been raided a few times already, but Rick had heard from Aaron that a shipment had been left behind in the storage rooms—lots of canned food, water, and even medicine inside the small pharmacy of the store, locked up in the back, just waiting to be taken. Easy, if they played it safe.

Of course, playing it safe had not been Daryl’s way of doing it lately, not when his blood was boiling, and especially not since the prison, Terminus, and the other hell everyone went through. And especially not ever since Alexandria.

They went through the side entrance, which was once for the people that had worked there, the glass doors hanging off their hinges, and one could easily guess how most of the walkers got into the store in the first place, apart from those walkers that’ve died inside while scavenging. The inside of the store was pure chaos, with broken shelves, rotten food, and other empty products all across the floor. They moved quietly as Rick led the way, his Colt Python out and ready as always, Glenn close behind with his knife drawn, and Michonne with her sword, while Daryl was at the end, pointing his crossbow around as well. They soon made it to the back of the store, where the stockroom doors were, without drawing any attention so far.

"Alright," Rick whispered, motioning for the others to cover him. "Glenn and I will try to open the door. Michonne, watch our backs. Daryl, you—"

But before Rick could finish, Daryl was already moving. He didn’t like waiting, didn’t like standing around while others decided what to do, or having to wait for a plan. Without a word, he went off to the right, disappearing down one of the side aisles, his crossbow at the ready.

"Daryl!" Rick hissed, but there was no stopping him.

"Shit," Glenn grumbled in a bit of annoyance and panic, his eyes looking at Rick. "Where the hell is he going? What is he doing?"

Rick shook his head in frustration. "Just... just stay here," he ordered before walking after Daryl, cursing to himself with every step.

Daryl moved fast, his crossbow raised as he approached the loading dock at the back of the store from another side. He could hear the sounds of walkers moving behind the metal door, but this was exactly what he was looking for. He shoved the door open with a grunt, with the door making a noise that could be heard all throughout the whole store.

The walkers inside turned at the sound, and they immediately moved forward, their arms outstretched.

"C’mon, ya ugly bastards," Daryl mumbled, the first bolt killing the nearest walker in an instant. The walker fell to the ground, but the others kept coming.

He reloaded quickly, but just as he was about to fire again, a hand grabbed his shoulder, pulling him off balance. He hadn’t noticed the few other walkers, hidden in an open employee restroom nearby, their fingers grabbing his vest with their teeth only inches away from his face.

"Fuck!" Daryl growled, kicking the walker in front of him back and grabbing his knife. But he soon stumbled, falling down to the floor with the two of them on top of him. The impact knocked the knife from his hands, letting it slide across the floor, just out of reach, as he struggled to push the walkers off.

Then, just as the walkers’ teeth were about to bite into his flesh, several gunshots could be heard. Daryl gasped for breath, shoving the dead off him as he got to his feet, his heart racing while he looked over at Rick standing in the doorway with his Colt Python.

"You stupid son of a bitch," Rick said, lowering the gun. "What the hell were you even thinking?"

Daryl wiped the blood from his face, glaring at Rick but not saying a single word. He didn’t need to—he knew he’d fucked up, and Rick certainly knew it too.

But Rick didn’t wait for an explanation. "We need to hurry. Get your damn ass back to the truck. Now!"

For now, Daryl didn’t argue. He grabbed his crossbow and knife, putting it over his shoulder as he moved past Rick and over to Glenn and Michonne. He could feel Rick’s eyes on his back, judging him, and it took everything in him not to lash out. But he knew Rick was right. He’d been reckless, and it had nearly cost him his life. Not only that, but the supply run failed with the other walkers in the front of the store now moving toward the storage room.

Once outside, Daryl couldn’t ignore the thought that he’d fucked up more than just the run. He’d broken the trust, not just with Rick but with you. And he knew he’d have to face the consequences when he got back.

The sun was starting to set when you saw Rick and the others coming through the gate. You’d been waiting, walking around Alexandria, trying to distract yourself. But the deal had been clear—Rick would bring Daryl back in one piece and tell you every detail. But the moment you caught sight of Rick, you knew something had gone wrong. It was written all over his face, as was the fact that they had no supplies with them.

"Rick," you called out, running over to him.

He looked up at you, nodding and narrowing his eyes. You hated that look. It meant bad news, and you were tired of bad news.

"What happened?" You demanded as he walked next to you. "Where’s Daryl?"

"He’s fine," Rick said, holding up a hand to calm you down, though it didn’t do shit for your nerves. "I don't know where he is right now. Jumped right out of the truck. Physically, he’s okay. But, hell, it was close. Too close. Again."

Your stomach dropped at his words. This was getting out of hand. "What do you mean, 'close'?"

Rick rubbed the back of his neck, looking away for a moment. "We were in that store Aaron told us about, wanting to get the supplies. Daryl decided to go off on his own, like he always does lately. Didn’t wait for us as a backup, just did his own thing. Not even telling us that there was an easier way and that he has seen it. Next thing I know, he’s nearly got two walkers biting into his damn neck."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You asked, your hands balling into fists at your sides. "I told him—hell, we both told him so many times—not to pull that lone wolf bullshit anymore! And he still did it? I can’t fucking believe it!"

Rick nodded. "Yeah. Same old Daryl, too stubborn for his own good. I got there in time, but if I hadn’t... well, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now."

You sucked in a breath, trying to calm the rage inside you. But it was hard—damn hard—when you pictured Daryl almost getting himself killed because he couldn’t follow simple instructions. "What the hell is wrong with him, Rick? Why does he keep doing this shit? Is Alexandria that bad for him? I mean, yeah, we all aren’t used to this... illusion, but hell, we’re at least trying to make the best of it! All of us!"

Rick sighed, leaning against the porch railing once you both arrived at the house. "I don’t think it’s only about Alexandria, not entirely. But yeah, it’s too controlled, too... fake. So he goes out there, trying to prove he’s still... still who he was out there. But it’s not like none of us tries the exact same thing. We all do. Or did."

You shook your head in frustration. "I get it; I do. But we can’t keep going on like this. He’s going to get himself killed—or worse, get someone else hurt. I’m fucking done sitting around, hoping he’ll pull his head out of his damn ass!"

Rick looked at you with a small smile. "By now I was thinking the same thing on the way back. We’ve tried to talk sense into him, but he isn’t listening. He’s too stubborn."

"That’s it," you finally said. "I’m handling this. If he won’t listen to you, maybe he’ll finally listen to me. But one way or another, this shit stops today, I swear."

Rick’s eyebrows moved up in surprise before he nodded slowly. "You sure? I don’t think you should push him into a corner."

You smirked, but it was more due to annoyance than amusement. "Oh, I’m sure. He’s going to learn today that there’s more than one way to get his damn ass in line. Trust me, Rick. Otherwise… Otherwise, I just don’t know what to do anymore."

Rick laughed a little and shook his head. "Alright then. Just don’t go too hard on him. And you must remember that it takes time. With… all of this."

You waved him off, already halfway down the steps of the porch. "He’ll be fine, Rick."

As you headed toward the garage, where you knew Daryl was probably working on his bike, your mind was already racing with what you were going to say. This wasn’t just about Daryl acting like a reckless asshole—this was about keeping him and the others alive, keeping him from throwing away everything you’d fought so hard for in this new world, with the rest of the group.

The moment you stepped into the garage, he barely looked your way, too focused on tightening a bolt that didn’t even need any more tightening. But you weren’t about to let him ignore you, not after what Rick had told you.

"Daryl," you started, but he only grunted in response, and that was about it—just a damn grunt, like he couldn’t be bothered to reply with words. And it pissed you off how he could be so nonchalant after nearly getting himself killed.

"Look at me," you snapped, stepping closer to him. "I said... Look at me, Dixon."

He paused, his hand stilling on the wrench, before finally looking into your eyes with a scoff.

"You think you can just go off on your own and do whatever the fuck you want? Well, guess what, Daryl? You almost got your damn throat ripped out today. And for what? Because you couldn’t listen? Because you’re too stubborn to accept that you’re part of a community now, and not some lone wolf out there in the woods with a group he helps out every now and then?" You said, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Ain’t like that," he mumbled, but it didn’t really sound like he was trying to defend himself.

"Bullshit!" You shot back, stepping even closer until you were right in his face, close enough to see the way his eyes widened slightly. "It’s exactly like that, and you know it. And for what? To prove something? To whom? You ain’t gotta prove anything to me, Daryl. And certainly not our group. But you do owe it to us to stop acting like a fucking idiot!"

He turned away from you, but you weren’t done yet. "This isn’t just about you anymore, Dixon. Every time you pull this shit, you put everyone at risk. Everyone! You get bit, we lose a member of this group. A member of our damn family! You die, and we all suffer! Do you even get that? Or are you that stuck with your own damn head up your ass that you can’t see that?"

"Ain’t need ya shittin’ on me," he growled, his voice quiet, but you caught something like guilt in it. "Can handle my ass."

"Clearly," you snapped at him with sarcasm. "Because you handled yourself so well today that Rick had to pull your ass out of a walker’s mouth. Real smooth, Daryl! Real fucking smooth!"

He flinched at that, his eyes narrowing as he turned back to face you. "Ain’t like I needed any damn help."

You didn’t back down, though. You were way past that. "And that’s the problem, Daryl. You think that you don’t need anyone. But guess what? You do. You need us, and we need you. So stop acting like an asshole and start thinking about what you’re doing to everyone else."

For a second, you thought he might lash out. But instead, he just looked at you—really looked at you—like he was trying to figure something out. "Why ya care s’ much?" He finally asked.

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "Because I give a shit, you damn idiot. Because I... care about you more than anyone else here even knows, and I’m not about to watch you throw your life away over some macho bullshit, or whatever you’re trying to act like. You think I want to lose you? You think any of us do?"

He stared at you. "Ain’t tryna make shit harder," he muttered, looking down at the ground, shrugging his shoulders. "Jus’... can’t stand it ‘ere sometimes. Ain’t me ‘round ‘ere."

"Who you are isn’t some reckless idiot who doesn’t give a damn about anyone else. Who you are is someone who’s saved more lives than you can count, someone who’s part of a family now. And yeah, maybe it’s different here and maybe it’s hard, but that doesn’t give you the right to check out whenever you feel like it, as if this community is a fucking hotel!"

He didn’t say anything; he just kept looking at you with those blue, searching eyes, like he was waiting for you to give him something—some kind of direction.

You took a deep breath. "Daryl, you need to stop this shit. You need to stop before you get yourself killed. And if you won’t listen to Rick, then you’ll damn well listen to me. Got it?"

"Yeah," he said, almost whispering. "Got it."

"Good," you said. "Because this stops now. You’re done running off, done putting yourself at risk for no damn reason. From now on, you listen, just like before. We’re all a big team, Daryl, and we still are despite everything. Understand?"

"Yeah… Do ya still lo—" He started but stopped himself from speaking any further. "Are ya mad?"

"What? No, I’m not mad," you answered, stepping back to leave, wanting to give him some space. "But I’m hurt and disappointed."

Daryl sat there for a long time after you left. He gritted his teeth, and his fists were clenched, but it wasn’t anger. It was guilt. Shame even. All he knew was that he’d fucked up.

"Stupid, stupid fuckin’ idiot," he mumbled to himself, running a hand through his hair while he could still hear your voice in his head. "Fuckin’ piece o' shit. Can’t even keep yer damn head straight."

He felt like a fool, like a stubborn kid who’d just been put in his place. But it wasn’t just the anger that stuck with him—it was the look in your eyes, the pain and fear of what could’ve happened to him.

"Gotta make this right," he grumbled, now walking around the garage. "Ain’t gonna let her think I’m some reckless asshole who don’t care ‘bout nothin’." He rubbed the back of his neck. "She’s right… Been actin’ like a damn idiot. But… shit, need t’ prove I ain’t just some fuckup."

He knew you’d left him alone on purpose, letting him think about it, just like you’ve done several times before. But this time, he wasn’t going to sit here and wait for you to come back. He had a plan—a rather half-baked plan, but it was all he had. He needed to show you how much you meant to him and how much he needed you.

"Fuck, she’s gonna kill me," he sighed, shaking his head as he made his way out of the garage. And he knew exactly where and in what house he was going to find you.

You were already half asleep, lying on the floor on a mattress, when you felt someone being there—before you even opened your eyes. It was Daryl, of course, kneeling over you as he carefully pulled the sheets back.

"What the hell are you doing, Dixon?" You mumbled, still groggy. "Leave me alone."

He didn’t answer right away; he just pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then another, moving down your arm, his lips barely touching your skin. It was slow on purpose, like he was trying to worship every inch of you to make up for all the stupid shit he’d done. And it was working, even if it pissed you off that he thought he could just... seduce his way out of this.

"Daryl," you warned, but your voice was weak due to the way his strong, big hands were now sliding down your sides to your waist.

"‘M sorry," he whispered, before he kissed the sensitive spot on your neck. "Fucked it up, I know that. But need ya to know... I ain’t a fool. I need ya, more than ya fuckin’ know."

You wanted to stay mad, to shove him away from you and tell him to get his shit together, but his touch—God, it was like he knew exactly what he was doing, like he was taking away your anger with every kiss and every touch of his hands. And when he put his head lower, kissing along your ribs after he pulled up your shirt, you felt almost frustrated.

"Daryl," you breathed out as a warning again, but he didn’t stop. He slid his hands further up your shirt, pulling it over your head as he kissed down your ribs, his fingers grabbing your body like he was trying to show you that he was still alive.

"Need ya," he mumbled against your skin, his voice sounding almost desperate. "Need ya t’ know I ain’t takin’ this for granted."

"Daryl, stop…" You started, but your words were cut off by a gasp as he found that spot just above your waist, his lips kissing you harder, and his teeth softly biting your skin. You felt a shiver run through you, and hell, you hated how much you wanted this, how much you wanted him to keep going.

"I’ll stop if ya want me to, I swear," he whispered, but he didn’t stop, not really. His hands slid down, undoing your pants and wanting to slide them down, which made you stop breathing for a moment.

You were looking at him, your eyes narrowing. "You think you can just—" You started, but then he shut you up—kissing you hard and long, cutting off your words. And fuck, if it didn’t make your whole body shiver with need.

"Can’t help it," he muttered against your lips, his voice a little shaky, like he was losing control. "Can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout ya, ‘bout how much I need ya."

"You think this makes up for what you did? For your reckless behavior?" You asked, shaking your head slightly.

"Nah," he admitted. "Gotta show ya somehow. Gotta show ya how much I fuckin’ care."

You grabbed his wrists, pulling his hands away from your pants, even though you were already aching for him. "You don’t get to touch me like that," you said. "Not until I say so."

He swallowed hard, his breath stopping as he nodded, his eyes wide. "Please," he whispered, looking up at you and waiting for permission.

"Please what?" You demanded, tightening your grip on his wrists. "You think you can just come in here and expect me to forgive you? After everything?"

"Nah," he stammered, his eyes looking down to the floor again. "But… I need ya. I need ya t’ see that I can make it right."

"You wanna make it right, Daryl?" You asked again. "Then you’re gonna do exactly what I say, like I said."

"Yeah," he answered, his body almost trembling with the need to make you forgive him. "I’ll do whatever ya want."

You let go of his wrists, letting them fall back to his sides. "Take off your clothes," you ordered, the tone in your voice leaving no room for argument.

He hesitated for just a second, but then he started to stand up and get out of his clothes, his hands shaking as he got out of his shirt, then his pants, and the rest, until he was standing there, naked and vulnerable before you.

"Now get back on your knees," you demanded, watching as his eyes widened.

He dropped to his knees, waiting for your next command. And fuck, if that didn’t send a rush of power straight through you.

You stood over him, your hand reaching out to grab his hair, pulling his head back so he was forced to look up at you. "Look at me."

And he did. He slowly looked up in shame.

"You don’t get to play the lone wolf out there," you continued, stepping closer, your hand grabbing his chin, moving his head up further. "Not anymore. You almost got yourself killed."

"I know," he muttered. "‘M sorry..."

He wanted—no, he needed—to show you how he felt about his mistakes, and he was ready to do it on his knees if that’s what you demanded.

You let go of him, letting him fall forward, as you lay back down onto the mattress. "Show me," you simply said.

And he did—God, he did... He kissed every inch of you, his lips moving lower, his hands gripping your hips like he was afraid you might disappear, and he held onto you like you were the only person able to keep him safe.

He didn’t need to be told twice—he knew what he had to do to make things right.

You leaned back on the mattress, spreading your legs just enough to invite him closer, and watched his hands shake a little as they slid up your thighs.

"Yes," he whispered quietly. He was trying to be tough, but you could see through it. The man was already lost in you, in the need to make you feel good to make up for his earlier bullshit.

No, he couldn’t keep his hands off you; the way he now nearly ripped off the rest of your clothes was almost urgent.

"Goddamn," he whispered, his eyes wide and hungry as he took in the sight of you. "So fuckin’ beautiful."

His hands were trembling as he reached for your bra, fumbling with it before finally getting it off. He slid it off your shoulders, throwing it over to your pants on the floor, his eyes never leaving your breasts.

Daryl’s mouth went dry as he leaned in, his lips stopping just above one nipple. "Can’t believe yer lettin’ me touch ya like this," he whispered, more to himself than to you. Then he closed his mouth around your nipple, his tongue moving over it, making you gasp.

He sucked and licked, using his teeth just a little, sliding them lightly against it, while his other hand was pinching and rolling the other.

"Fuck, Daryl," you groaned, your hands moving through his hair, holding him close as he worshiped your breasts like they were the most important things in the world. "Don’t stop."

He growled against your skin and kept going; he kept sucking, licking, and teasing until your nipples were swollen and hard, sensitive to every little touch.

He soon pulled back, a line of spit connecting his mouth to your nipple before it broke, and he greedily licked over it once more. His eyes were full with need, his breathing heavy as he looked up at you, like he was waiting for permission to keep going.

"You’re going to be a good boy and keep worshipping me?" You asked, your voice teasing and commanding him at the same time.

"Yeah," he whispered. "Please… Need t’…"

"Then do it," you ordered, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

Daryl’s hands moved lower, sliding down your sides, moving along your hips before coming to a stop between your legs. His fingers brushed against your pussy, finding you already wet and wanting, and he let out a growl.

He started slowly, almost with hesitation, like he was worshipping at some holy altar. His lips brushed over the inside of your thighs, soft at first, but when you grabbed his hair again, he got the message. His mouth found your pussy the moment he ripped off your panties, and it was as if a switch flipped.

Daryl buried his face between your legs, his tongue working desperately, like he couldn’t get enough of you. You let out a moan, your hand tightening in his hair, guiding him but also keeping him under your control.

"Fuck, Daryl," you breathed out. "Just like that."

And he couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to. Every part of him was focused on you—on the taste of you, the way you trembled when he hit just the right spot. He was completely at your mercy, with the need to prove himself to make you proud.

You could feel him moan against you and how he was getting lost in it, in you. You knew he was desperate for more, desperate for any sign that he was doing good and that you’d forgive him. But you weren’t about to make it easy for him. Not yet, at least.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to get him away from you, and he looked up at you, his lips wet and parted, already missing the taste of you. "Please," he growled out, and you could see the need to do more, to have more of you.

"You keep listening to me. You understand?" You asked, caressing his head gently.

"Yeah," he stammered and nodded in return.

You pushed his head back down, with his tongue slipping inside your pussy almost immediately, like he was trying to eat out every bit of forgiveness he could get.

And fuck, did it feel good. The way he was eating out your pussy, every little move of his tongue, the way he sucked on your clit just hard enough to make you see stars—it was like he was made for this, made to worship you.

"Fuck, don’… don’ make me stop," he growled out in between. He was trembling now, hands still gripping your hips tightly, his eyes wide with something that seemed close to panic, like he couldn’t stand being away from you for even a second.

But you leaned down, grabbing his chin, forcing him to look at you. "You want to make this right? You wait until I’m ready."

He nodded quickly, swallowing hard, his eyes pleading without a word and barely holding it together. He was ready to do anything you asked, to wait as long as you wanted him to, just for a chance to taste you again.

"Good boy," you moaned, suddenly pulling him up to kiss you, tasting yourself on his lips. He kissed you like he was starved for it, holding on for dear life.

And you could feel how hard he was—the desperate twitching of his already leaking cock against your thigh—but you weren’t done teasing him yet. "You’re doing so good, Daryl. Go on now."

"Yes, mommy," he whimpered, the word coming out of his mouth before he could even stop it.

"What did you just call me?" You asked in shock and froze.

Daryl’s eyes widened in shock and panic. "Didn’t mean t’ say that," he said, his voice trembling. "I jus’—"

"Say it again," you commanded, cutting him off. "Say it."

He swallowed hard, his eyes looking around as if searching for an escape, but he knew he couldn’t hide from you. "Yes, mommy," he whispered quietly, a shiver running through him as he said the word again.

But you didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped to the floor. "Good boy," you simply answered. "Go on…"

He didn’t hesitate, his hands following the curves of your body again, his lips following close behind. He kissed down your neck, in between your breasts, along your stomach as he moved lower, his hands soon enough sliding up your thighs and over your pussy.

"Shit," he mumbled, his eyes widening as he realized just how ready you were for him. "Yer so fuckin’ wet."

He didn’t say anything else, too focused on what he was doing. His fingers moved through your wet folds, teasing you until you were trembling with need, and he circled your clit with his thumb slowly on purpose, watching your face for every little reaction.

And one moan—that was all he needed. He leaned in, his mouth replacing his fingers, his tongue sliding over your clit, licking and sucking it gently all over. He didn’t rush, didn’t hurry, and took his time.

"Fuck, Daryl," you moaned, your fingers gripping his hair, holding him in place as he devoured you. "That’s it… don’t stop."

He didn’t need to be told twice. He kept going, kept licking, sucking, and teasing until you were right on the edge and close to coming.

The control he was giving you made you feel powerful, and hell, if that wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever experienced.

"Please, mommy," he begged. "Lemme make ya cum now."

"Keep going," you commanded, feeling yourself getting closer due to his words. "Don’t stop. Oh, fuck…"

He obeyed, and when you finally came, you gasped and moaned, your body arching and trembling under the force of it. But as soon as you began to come down from your orgasm, you noticed how he started to get more aggressive, his hands gripping your hips harder. He pulled back slightly, his eyes burning into yours as he moved back up.

"Wanna fuck ya," he growled almost primal, grabbing his cock and pushing it against your pussy.

But you shoved him back. "Not so fast," you said. "You’re going to do it my way."

He looked at you with frustration and desperation. "But… I need ya," he said, his voice cracking a little bit. "Please!"

You didn’t give in. Instead, you watched as he tried to hold himself back. "If you want more, you’re going to have to do it my way, Daryl. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Yeah, ‘kay," he murmured and nodded, his voice trembling.

"Not yet," you said, wrapping your hand around his shaft. The hardness of his cock was pulsing against your hand, and you enjoyed the power it gave you. "You’re going to wait a little longer."

Daryl’s breath hitched, his fingers digging into the mattress as he tried to control himself. "Please," he begged, his voice raw and desperate. "Need it."

You only smiled, slowly stroking him, your movements maddeningly slow. "You want more?" You teased, leaning closer to him. "You want me to keep going? To make you cum already as well?"

He nodded quickly. "Yes! Please, mommy. Can’t take it no more!"

You took your time, each move up and down his shaft, making him moan and writhe.

"Fuck, don’ stop," he groaned. "Please, I can’t—"

"Hush now," you interrupted, squeezing his cock. "You’re going to wait until I say so. If you want to be a good boy, you’ll follow my instructions."

Daryl’s cock was coated in his pre-cum and throbbing in your hand, and every time you squeezed just a little harder, he would shiver, his voice breaking into pleas and whimpers.

"Please… ‘M so close," he whimpered. "Can’t hold back much longer."

You looked down at him, smirking, and then you jerked him faster and harder, bringing him right to the edge. His body was tense and almost painfully trying to hold off his orgasm.

"Daryl," you said softly, your hand driving him mad. "I want you to beg for it. Just a little bit more."

His pleas turned into desperate murmurs as he struggled with himself. "Please… Need t’… Jus’ let me... Oh fuck!"

With a final pump, you brought him right to the very edge again, feeling his cock throbbing against your palm. Then, just when you could see he was about to break, you pulled back, stopping altogether.

Daryl let out a whimper, his eyes desperate. "Fuck, please… Need it."

You leaned in close, kissing his neck. "Not yet. I want you to really feel it, to know how much you need me."

"Please," he begged again. "Please..."

"Tell me how much you need it," you smiled at him.

He swallowed hard, his voice cracking as he spoke. "Need it so bad, mommy, please... Need t’ cum for ya. Need ya..."

You gave him one final, hard stroke, and then you stopped again, making him groan and tremble over you, the muscles in his arms tensing up painfully hard. "Good boy," you whispered, finally giving him permission to slide into your pussy, just not all the way.

"No further," you said. "Just the tip. Hold it back."

He groaned, his hands gripping the sheets next to you on the mattress. "Please," he begged, his voice breaking. "Lemme fuck ya..."

You ignored his pleas, your hand still pumping up and down his shaft. "Say it," you commanded. "Say you’re my good boy, Daryl."

"‘M yer good boy," he mumbled, closing his eyes in embarrassment.

Finally, when you could see the look on his face—the way he was practically begging to come—you leaned in. "You want it now?"

"Yeah," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Please, mommy..."

His cock was pulsing, the tip pressing into you just enough to make him groan but not enough to give him what he wanted.

You watched as a sudden tear rolled down his cheek—a single, small, and tiny drop. The sight of it—so rare for someone like Daryl—made you widen your eyes. You could see the complete surrender—the way he was completely at your mercy.

Without warning, you pushed against him, taking him all the way in, and made him cry out, his body shuddering as he filled you up and feeling your pussy stretch around his cock. The look of shock and ecstasy on his face was too much, even for you. His eyes widened, his lips parting slightly, and his cock was pulsing inside you, his body trembling uncontrollably.

"Fuck! Fuck…"

And the moment you took him in fully, he came hard inside of you with a loud groan, his body trying to push in as deep as possible as he reached his orgasm, while you held him close, feeling the last of his cum filling you up as he finished.

You soon lay there, your body still tingling, but Daryl, on the other hand, was a mess after he quickly pulled out of you. Now his walls were coming back up, and he was doing his best to act like he didn’t need a damn thing from you.

He was trying to play it cool, turning his face away, still shaking a little bit. "Jus’… gotta go," he mumbled, trying to shove you away. "Don’ need ya all up in m’ shit now."

"Oh, come on. You can’t be serious," you smirked, running a finger teasingly down his chest.

He glared at you, trying to push you away once more. "‘M fine. Jus’ leave me ‘lone," he grumbled.

"Look at you, all tough and cold again. But you were begging for it only a minute ago." You let your hand move over his skin, feeling his muscles twitch. "And now you’re just going to be an ass about it? Not a chance."

He froze as you touched him. "Shut up," he snapped. "Don’t need yer damn pity."

You rolled your eyes, leaning in close. "Pity? This isn’t pity, Daryl."

He tried to pull away again, but you held him close, your hands moving up to his chin. You tilted his head so he had no choice but to look at you.

"Seriously?" You said with a smile. "You’re going to act like a brat now? After everything?" You moved closer, teasing him with a kiss on his lips.

Daryl’s breath stopped for a second, and you felt him shudder under your touch. "Fuck off," he muttered, but it was sounding rather weak, almost as if he was trying to convince himself more than you.

You laughed, cupping his chin more firmly. "Make me. Or... maybe you really are just a brat who needs to be put in his place all over again."

He shivered as he fought with himself. "No… Don’ need this," he mumbled, but it was clear he was losing the battle against himself. His voice was getting quieter, and he knew that he was failing miserably.

Then, you finally met his lips with yours. It was a slow, gentle kiss, with you wanting to give him reassurance. He moaned against them, the sound full of desperation.

When you pulled back, you saw how his eyes were wide, and he suddenly nuzzled up against you, his face buried in your neck, his body trembling as if he was trying to hold onto whatever was left of his defenses.

"‘M so sorry," he murmured against your skin, his voice breaking. "Didn’ mean t’... I jus’—"

You ran your fingers through his hair, cuddling him closer as he clung to you. "Quiet," you whispered, putting your lips against his forehead. "It’s okay."

He wrapped his arms around you, his grip a little rough as if he was afraid you might slip away. "I fucked up," he said. "Almos’ got m’self killed an’ hurt ya. ‘M so damn sorry."

You held him close, his body pressed against yours. "I know," you said softly. "But you’re still alive, Daryl."

But the moment of calm was ruined when Daryl’s body tensed up again, with him starting to sob violently.

"Shit," he choked out, tears rolling down his cheeks. "‘M such a fuckin’ asshole. Messed everythin’ up. Could’ve died an’—"

You shushed him, holding him even tighter, pressing kisses to his temples. You didn’t say much, letting your actions speak louder than any words even could.

He kept mumbling apologies, his sobs so intense that they shook his whole body. "Ain’t good ‘nough. ‘M worthless. Jus’ a useless piece o’ shit," he sobbed further, his voice cracking.

You gently cupped his face again, lifting it so you could look into his wet eyes. Slowly, you wiped the tears away with your thumbs, kissing his cheeks where the tears had been rolling down.

"Hush," you whispered softly. "You’re not a useless piece of shit. You’re not worthless. You made a mistake, but you’re here, and you’re alive. That’s what matters."

He needed to hear that you weren’t disappointed and that you still loved him despite everything.

Daryl looked up at you, his eyes all red and swollen, but his sobbing began to calm down. And as he finally started to relax, his grip on you softened, but he didn’t let go. He was still clinging to you, needing you to remind him that he was loved and that he was enough.

"Thanks," he whispered quietly. "For… everythin’."

You smiled to yourself, playing with his hair. "Anytime," you murmured, pressing another soft kiss to the top of his head.

You didn’t need to say anything more; your arms around him were enough to help him find his way back to feeling okay. The walls he’d built were finally down, and for now, he was just Daryl—raw and in need of someone to help him piece himself back together.

TAG-LIST: @itwasntaphasema

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 (part two) | neil lewis x reader

read part 1 first!!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you've been best friends with neil basically your entire life, and secretly in love with him almost as long. now, you have to wonder if it's time to move on... or if that's even possible.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 10k

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut, angst, pining/unrequited love - 18+ only

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | hangovers, jealousy/mega angst, smut (finally; unprotected sex, bondage mention, crying during sex/slight dacryphilia) and fluff/emotions

You were draped over the couch limply, groaning as you held a frozen bag of peas to your head— and used it to cover your eyes, because everything was just too fucking bright.

“You look like one of those weed commercials,” Jonathan informed you with a frown.  “Like, the one with the deflated girl.”

“Those aren’t commercials for weed, dumbass,” Lucien snarked.  “They’re PSAs.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Jonathan shrugged, “I only watch TV when I’m stoned.”

“How are you even alive right now?” you asked Jonathan with a whine.  “Like, how are you doing anything more than this?  ‘Cause I’m just doing this and I think I’m dying.”

“The secret is not being a lightweight,” Jonathan explained.

“Don’t listen to him,” Neil warned, “his liver’s like a rotten egg.  You should be proud to be a lightweight— actually, I’m still not sure why you got so wrecked last night.”

“You’re just jealous you weren’t invited,” Jonathan quipped, and you were too busy keeping your eyes shut to see if Neil actually reacted to that.

“Are you actually planning to do any work today?” Lucien wondered.  “Or are you getting paid to lay around complaining?”

“Are you getting paid to be so bitchy?” you shot back.  “Just make it my paid sick leave.”

“Sick, yes; paid, yes,” Jonathan noticed, “but you didn’t actually leave.”

“If she wants to spend her sick day here, she can,” Neil decided, “it’s not like she’s contagious.”

“She might be, if she talks you all into coming out again tonight,” Jonathan laughed, but you barely let him finish.

“No fucking way,” you interjected instantly, “I’m never drinking again.”

“But the best cure for a hangover is liquor!” Jonathan insisted.

“That’s the most alcoholic advice I’ve ever heard you give,” Lucien scolded.  “Next you’ll say you should drink in the mornings to perk up.”

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” Neil decided.

“See!” Jonathan yelped triumphantly.

“No, not booze— kid, you want me to get you a coffee or something?” Neil offered instead.  You could tell he’d stepped a little closer from the sound of his voice— and he was speaking a little softer, too.  You hesitantly peeled the bag off your head— just partially, that is— and squinted one eye open; thankfully, his head was blocking most of the overhead light as he looked down at you.  “There’s that place on the corner, I could just run and get it real quick—”

“I’m okay,” you smiled back, “but thanks.”

“Not even a hot chocolate?”

You already felt warm inside from him saying that, no hot beverage required.  You shook your head and he shrugged as he walked away.  “Just let me know, okay?”

“Okay,” you hummed.  You liked this, actually— him taking care of you.  It wasn’t the first time of course, you’d gotten sick your fair share of times while knowing him and he’d usually come over and help how he could (which was mostly in the form of takeout soup and entertainment).  But now you imagined it a little… cozier: him wrapping you up in a blanket and then in his arms, checking your temperature by putting his hand to your forehead, letting you drift to sleep on him while he read to you or something.  

You probably could’ve dozed off as you imagined that little fantasy world, if it weren’t for Neil breaking the silence a minute later.  “You know, I was thinking about changing things up a bit,” he said suddenly.

“Please, please, do not try to grow a goatee again,” Lucien begged.  As you and Jonathan erupted in a chorus of disgusted agreement, Neil spoke over you all.

“I meant the store!” he promised.  “The shelves— and maybe some of the posters, I don’t know.”

“Or you can finally take my idea and start renting porn,” Jonathan offered.

“First of all,” Neil explained, “technically, some of our inventory is considered erotic—”

“No no, not your weirdo French experimental softcore— the good stuff: college babes, horny stepmoms…” Jonathan began to list.

“And second of all,” Neil continued, but Jonathan was still going.

“Norwegian twins coming to America for a foreign exchange program—”

“Norwegian twins?” you repeated with a confused grimace.

“And second of all,” Neil began again, louder and with a scowl on his face, “we don’t have any good way to disinfect the tapes after people return them.”

“That’s a very good point,” Lucien noticed.

Much later in the day— after a few customers had come and gone, and Jonathan had left for the day, and the UPS guy had come by with a delivery of some new (old) movies to add to the store’s inventory— it ended up with you and Neil in his office.

You hadn’t tried to be in the same office at the same time, really… if anything, you were kind of avoiding him at the moment.  Not that you could actually avoid your boss while at work in such a small place— even if he wasn’t your best friend— but you’d been dodging the elephant in the room this whole time.

He sat at his desk and leaned back in the chair, putting one foot up against the desk to tilt back even further as he looked through the stack of mail.  For a minute, there was just silence, aside from you both just working.  Of course, it couldn’t last forever.

“You, uh, told me you were going back to yours last night,” Neil noticed as he sorted through the envelopes— you figured it was a matter of time before he mentioned it, unless he had a serious lapse of memory, but you still winced.

“Yeah, um, sorry, I just—”

“No, it’s fine,” he shrugged, not looking up from the mail, “you didn’t have to take me out with you— I was pretty beat anyways, I just… I’m just not sure why you didn’t tell me?”

“I— I was going home, really,” you explained, “I got there and I couldn’t sleep, and wine always makes me tired but I didn’t have any so—”

“So you did whiskey shots with Jonathan?”

God, you almost thought about saying it, even if it wasn’t true, just to piss him off.  Yeah— and we went back to his place and did the horizontal tango.  Would you like me to bring you the register?

Instead, you cleared your throat and set down the tapes.  “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” you told him; he looked up at you with a sort of deer-in-the-headlights look.

“I-I know,” he stammered out, “sorry, I was just… I’m curious, that’s all.”

“Well, maybe what Jonathan and I do is none of your business,” you replied, looking back down at the tapes as you fought down a smirk; you could feel his stare piercing through you, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of meeting your gaze.  Is that cryptic enough for you?  Maybe I should say something about how I don’t kiss and tell.

You almost hoped he’d go in for the kill— make some shitty comment about how you were a slut or how Jonathan was probably thinking about Norwegian twins the whole time— cause if he did, you could yell at him and you’d both get all worked up and maybe at least one of you would finally get out of control enough to say what you were really thinking.  Instead, he got sweet again; and that was even worse, because you couldn’t resist it.  “Wanna make cookies tonight?” he asked, randomly, softly.

“Yeah,” you smiled, “can we put potato chips in them?”

“You know, kid, I think you’re sort of an evil mastermind,” he grinned.

“Just a creative glutton,” you shrugged.

~

With the Jonathan thing behind you— if that was even really a thing— things felt back to normal with Neil.  Honestly, they might have been even better than they’d been in a while, since he wasn’t with Denise anymore.  Denise had never been jealous of you— she was just as confident as you were that you weren’t any kind of threat whatsoever— but she did whine about Neil spending more time with you than her… that is, when she actually wanted to be around Neil, which wasn’t always.  Sometimes, she seemed to appreciate you taking him off her hands, giving him an outlet for all the interests she found irritating.

But, anyways, she was gone, and you were giving up on dating (again), and Neil wasn’t being weird and you guys made cookies and it was great.  It was easy to remember how you'd survived in this cycle for so long.  Because as much as you were probably not the world's best person, you absolutely were not pretending to be Neil's friend because you had a crush— no, he really was the most important person to you, you just also wanted to touch him in all those ways that friends weren't supposed to.

You were almost giddy, high on how good it was to be back to your usual; the night before had been just perfect, like the old times, like high school— in all the best ways.

You'd probably seen him every day for the past two weeks— either at work, at his place or yours— and you had no plans to stop.  That was pretty normal for you two anyways.  You had the day off from work so you hadn't seen him yet; yes, you had considered stopping by the store anyways since Jonathan came in when he wasn't working, but you'd been too busy with your own errands and catching up on tasks at home.

Figuring it was a matter of time before Neil called you and asked to come over— or just showed up— you gave him a call around nine (knowing the store had just closed) and felt yourself get even just a little more energized when he answered.

"Hey, kid," his voice came from the other end, low and dreamy.  He was speaking softly, like it was a secret conversation, and that just made your heart beat a little faster.

“I think I’ve found the perfect movie to go with the last of the leftover cookies,” you grinned.  “I was going through my old tapes and— do you remember that weird Italian movie we watched in high school?  I think it must’ve been senior year because I remember we watched it while everyone was doing skip day— and we thought it was the funniest thing we’d ever seen— and I found it again!  Maybe it’s not as good as I remember, but I’ll bring it over and we can cover up the subtitles and see if we can guess what the hell they’re talking about.”

“Yeah, actually—”

“Oh!  Also, is it cool if I crash at yours after?  I’ll bring my own pajamas this time— and toothbrush, sorry about having to borrow yours, but—”

“Listen, um,” he coughed, lowering his voice even more, “that sounds great— but I, uh… I sort of have company for the night."

“Oh?” you blurted out, like you’d been punched in the gut— it sure felt like it.  “Oh, that’s… anybody I know?”

“No, um, we met today,” he explained.  “She, uh, came by the video store and we got to talking.”

Whore.  “Let me guess, showing her something from the private collection?” you asked— and you really did mean to refer to his literal DVD shelf, but he let out a sort of salacious chuckle.

“If all goes well,” he replied with a purr.

“R-right, well, sorry for calling—”

“No no, it’s fine,” he promised, “we’ll talk tomorrow?”

Tomorrow.  Yes, tomorrow, because I always come back, no matter how bad it hurts.  “Yeah,” you breathed.  “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” he returned, and you kept holding the phone to your ear long after the click and dial tone.

You knew you had absolutely no right to be jealous.  Honestly, you weren’t— well, you definitely were, but that wasn’t why you ran to your bed and sobbed into it.  You did that because of the hate you felt— some for Neil, some for little miss I go back to video store owner’s apartments, but plenty leftover for yourself.  You had only been through as much as you put yourself through; as much as you allowed to happen.  You stayed by his side all these years and let your heart get battered around… it wasn’t always this hard, and you used to be sure that it would be harder to stop being his sidekick.  But you couldn’t do this anymore— it was just humiliating, and useless.

You thought about calling Jonathan, but you felt guilty dumping any more weepy girl problems on him.  And, you know, that wouldn’t actually fix anything.  There was only one way to fix this, but you didn’t think you were strong enough— you knew you weren’t, actually.

It was hard to say why this one hurt so much— it’s not like you thought Neil was a virgin or something, or genuinely expected him to stay chaste after breaking up with Denise— but you suspected it was because you yourself were recognizing how long you’d been stuck in this cycle with him.  You remembered crying in your bed just like this when he got his first girlfriend junior year; you realized how little you’d changed since then.  How little you’d grown up.

So, no, you weren’t just crying because you were that jealous he was going to have sex with some random woman.  But you had to admit that was definitely part of it.

~

"Hey boss," Jonathan greeted as Neil walked in; you looked down at the tapes on the shelf in front of you, suddenly making yourself look very busy.  "How's the walk of shame?"

"I prefer 'stride of pride'," Neil replied.

“So that girl really came over after close?” Lucien realized.

“Yeah, she, uh, wanted to see The Seventh Seal,” Neil explained.

“I’m suuuuure she did,” Jonathan purred, raising his eyebrows repeatedly.

“Girls never wanna watch that,” Lucien assured.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Neil scoffed, turning to you.  “You like it, right, kid?”

“I, um… yeah,” you mumbled— whatever you had to say to end this conversation.

“Well, did she like it?” Lucien wondered.

“Uh, we… we didn’t actually finish it,” Neil admitted, and Lucien laughed as he shoved him on the shoulder.

You glanced at Jonathan, but he was already looking at you— and you hated the pity in his eyes, so you looked away again.

They kept talking, but you couldn’t hear it over the sound of… whatever sound it makes inside your head when you’re trying not to cry at work.

~

You didn’t do it that same day: it would be too suspicious, and you didn’t want to make a rash decision while you were still so upset.  Part of you was still hoping to get through this phase and go back to the ignorant bliss you’d had so recently.  But you didn’t, and you could tell that Neil sensed something was wrong— you had been sort of avoiding him for a few days while you tried to decide what to do.

But now, you’d decided.  You reached up to knock on his office door— Neil Lewis, P.I. embossed on the frosted glass— but you sighed and dropped your fist, just opening the door instead.

He was so focused on what he was working on that he didn’t look up— and he didn’t even seem to fully process that you had come in, or that you were standing there right in front of him.  Obviously he knew you were standing there, but he let you stand there for an awkwardly long time without asking what you wanted.

You appreciated it, though, ‘cause it gave you a while to watch him uninterrupted, wondering if you might never see him so relaxed again.

“Hey, Neil…” you mumbled, and he didn’t look up from his desk.  “Um…”

Not sure what else to say, you just handed him the paper.  He finally gave you a sliver of his attention to take it, smiling in slight confusion as he looked up at you.  “What is this?”

“It’s my two weeks.”

His smile fell.  “What?”

Oh, you hated doing this— it broke your heart, seeing that look on his face.  “I, uh, I just think it’s better if I—”

“No, wait,” he breathed, standing up, “you— come on, you can’t.  It’s— what’s going on?!”

“Nothing,” you insisted as you shook your head, “I just need, uh— nothing’s going on.”

I just need some space, you were gonna say, but you knew that would just open up more questions.  “Well, are you gonna work somewhere else?” he asked.  “Are you still gonna come by, or will I just see you on movie nights?”

“I— well, I wasn’t sure about movie nights either, actually,” you admitted, and he laughed— but it wasn’t a happy laugh, it was a confused, breathless, almost angry sort of laugh.

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” he snapped.  “I— you’re my best friend!  Did I do something?  ‘Cause listen, I wasn’t serious about you offering to date guys who come into the store— I swear I was joking— god, I’m an asshole—”

“No, Neil, it’s not that, that was weeks ago,” you sighed, crossing your arms.  “I just… think maybe we’ve been friends so long, you know, and it’s like— why?”

“Why?” he repeated.

“Like, maybe we just think we have to be friends because we’ve always been friends,” you continued, “but maybe we should be like normal people and— and grow apart over time.  We were really close in high school because we were the losers that everyone ignored and now… now I think we should just… grow up.”

He looked bewildered— he looked devastated, actually.  He shook his head, breathing out a quick sigh, and you weren’t sure if he was even really listening to you but you kept going.

“Sometimes I think I can’t get a boyfriend because guys are weirded out by you— I mean, not like that,” you backtracked slightly.  “Well, kind of… but I meant, like, they don’t get that we’re just friends, and they think that you’re just trying to sleep with me—”

“Well, fuck them!” he shouted, a little louder than you would’ve preferred since everyone else was on the other side of that door.  “I mean, if they don’t get us, then who fucking cares?  They’re idiots, then!”

“Yeah, but—”

“I mean, you think I’d date a girl who didn’t want me to be around you?” he returned.  “You shouldn’t be with somebody who thinks like that.”

“Well, that’s easy for you to say, but—”

“But what?”

“But I’m lonely, Neil!” you shouted, immediately reaching to cover your mouth after you said it— mostly to hide your quivering lip.  “God,” you choked, lowering your head down to cover your watering eyes instead, “I’m just fucking… tired of being alone, okay?”

“So, what, you’re gonna leave all your friends?” he said, softer.  “Because you want a boyfriend?  That’s kinda… shallow.”

“What do you expect me to do?  Wait around forever?"

"Wait?” he repeated, giving you a confused look.  “Wait on what?"

You bit your lip.  You couldn't answer that— you couldn't admit that you'd been waiting for him all this time.  It's not like he'd asked you to, or expected you to, so you really couldn't be mad at him.  You wanted to be, of course, but you couldn't.  "I just need to leave, Neil," you whispered, knowing you'd sob harder if you spoke any louder.  "I'm sorry.  I just need to leave."

You turned, reaching for the door, and his hand suddenly came to your shoulder. His voice was needy and quiet: "You can't go, kid—"

"Don't fucking call me kid!" you spat, shoving him away as you cried harder.  "I hate when you call me that!"

I love when you call me that.  I hate that I love when you call me that.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I didn't know, okay?  Whatever I did wrong, I'm sorry.  I guess I should let you go, right?  Or I'm just making it worse…”

You weren’t sure what you wanted, really.  You wanted just as much for him to finally give you the dignity you’d been craving and let you leave, as you did for him to grab you and hold you tight and tell you that you had to stay, that he needed you to stay.

“If you wanna quit, you can quit— no two weeks needed, we’ll be fine,” he promised.  “But… are you still gonna come back tomorrow?”

He wasn’t asking about tomorrow— he was asking about every day.  Tomorrow, the next day, the next, the next after that: he was asking you to rot your life away on that couch watching weird old movies with him.  And in a way, that was all you wanted.  That part you really could do forever.  But watching him get new girlfriends, get dumped, get over it— that cycle was just going to get worse and, god forbid, you’d have to see him really truly happy with someone else.  It just wasn’t fair to anyone anymore.

You didn’t answer his question, you just looked at him again.  He looked back at you in disbelief— you hadn’t meant to blindside him like this, but it was the only way to get a semi-clean break.  You hadn’t meant to cry either, though, but that was pretty much unavoidable.  “You’re really leaving?” he said quietly in sober realization, and you bit your shaking lip as you nodded.  He looked around for a moment, as if he’d find answers somewhere in this office, and raised his hands before dropping them defeatedly.  “Why?”

You thought about how to answer that for a while— longer than was natural in a conversation.  There were a thousand things to say, but only one came out, as quiet as a whisper.  “I don’t want to hurt anymore.”

"I never wanted to hurt you," he promised.

"I know," you breathed, finally turning the knob and stepping out.

You tried to act natural, but that was impossible with tears streaming down your face.  "What's up?" Jonathan asked, more neutrally than you expected, and you broke: you hid your face and ran towards the door, bolting out of the store and down the street.  Just before you stepped out you heard Jonathan ask Neil, "Dude, what did you say to her?!"

"I didn't say anything!" Neil insisted, but you didn't care to stay to hear the rest, you just wanted to be as far away from Gumshoe Video as possible.

~

When you heard a knock at the door, you paused Casablanca and brushed the used tissues off your coffee table.  “Who is it?” you called out, sitting up slightly on the couch.

“Um,” you heard Neil’s voice from the other side, and you groaned as you curled up in a ball, “I was just checking in—”

“Go. Away.” you warned sternly.

“Can’t you just let me in?” he whined, but that’s when he tried the knob, and realized the door was unlocked.  You heard the door open and shrunk up tighter into your fetal position as he entered.  

“Hey, I, uh,” he began nervously, raising his hands in a wave but then slapping them down on his legs when he didn’t get a response, “I just… wanted to talk to you…”

You didn’t respond, and in the tense silence, he must have glanced at the TV.

“Good choice,” he noticed.

“Did Jonathan tell you?” you asked right away— because that was the worst thing that could happen.  Him coming here just because he felt bad, because he found out you loved him, not because he really loved you.  The last thing you needed was Neil talking himself into liking you just to keep you from leaving him.

“Tell me what?” Neil said earnestly.  You peeked your head out and looked at him, assessing with narrow eyes.  “Seriously, what does Jonathan know that I don’t?”

“Nothing, sorry,” you shook your head.  “You can, uh… you can say whatever it is you came here to say.”

“Oh, well, I… I kinda didn’t plan that part,” he admitted with an awkward chuckle, scratching the back of his neck.

“You said you wanted to talk to me,” you remembered.

“Yeah, but I didn’t really have any steps after that,” he sighed, and you groaned as you hid your face again.

“God, Neil, that is just like you!” you whined.

“Well, sorry!  You haven’t been talking to me, I wasn’t sure you’d let me in!” he defended.  “What am I supposed to think!”

“You’re supposed to have some kind of… speech, or something!” you explained.

“I can’t believe I’m finally the one saying this,” he said, smirking a bit, “but life isn’t like the movies, kid.”

You showed your face again, and you looked at his, and you couldn’t think of a better word for his expression than just sad.  Not a beautiful word, not a very interesting one, but the best way to describe him right then.  He looked just as miserable as you felt— and that, weirdly, comforted you a little.  You’d wondered if he was just fine without you (not that you really thought he was, with how dramatic he could be).  “Why can’t it be?” you asked quietly.

He sighed and sat down on the couch beside you; you moved your feet closer to make room for him.  “I don’t know,” he admitted, “I kinda thought our life was a movie— best friends, running a small business, getting into shenanigans…”

“Shenanigans?” you repeated incredulously.

“Well, you know, something like that,” he replied.

“It was like a movie, kind of, for a while,” you agreed.  A sad movie about a stupid lonely girl.

“I just always thought—” he began, but you tightened your jaw and interrupted him.

“What was the plan, huh?  What did you really expect to happen?” you snapped.  “That we could just… do this, forever?”

“Yeah, basically!” he shouted back.  “Why not?”

“Why not?!” you repeated.  “Neil, didn’t you think I’d ever find somebody?  Did you think I could fall asleep on your fucking couch with a husband and baby at home?”

“I— I don’t know,” he admitted, losing some of his nerve as he seemed to watch his own logic fall apart.  “I just figured you wouldn’t be with anybody who didn’t, you know, understand us!”

“I don’t understand us anymore!” you whined, setting your legs back down on the floor so you could face him better.  “It’s like— it’s just like it was in high school!  You know, I could’ve been popular if it wasn’t for you!”

“Yeah, if it wasn’t for me, and that pesky ‘who you really are’ thing!” he scoffed.  “Is that what you wanted, to be fake like everyone else?”

“No,” you admitted, “but I’m saying it’s the same thing— I could have a real life, you know, if you weren’t always around!”

“Well, Jesus, I’m sorry for ruining your boring, normal life with my weirdness,” he offered sarcastically.  “See, this whole time, I thought you were cool, but I guess you’re just a poser!”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, hiding your face in your hands, “that’s your dig?  Poser?  Are you fucking fourteen?!”

“I’d rather be a little immature than be fake,” he decided, crossing his arms proudly.

“Okay, well I’d rather be fake than be alone,” you replied, anger melting away into sadness once again; you bit your shaking lip and looked away.

“You shouldn’t have to choose,” he sighed, leaning in a bit closer to you.  “Of course I figured you’d find somebody, someday— somebody who really appreciates you, you know?  Somebody cool.  And he and I could be friends, too— I always figured he’d have a really cool name like… I don’t know, like Augustus or Rutherford or something.”

“Rutherford?” you repeated with a small grimace.

“That’s not the point— I just mean that he’d be kinda pretentious but, like, fun.  And rich.  And you could invite me over to swim in your pool and play croquet and stuff.”

You laughed a little, then sniffled.  Of course that’s what he thought rich people did.

“And you’d have kids, and they’d call me Uncle Neil,” he continued, “and I’d get them on the really cool stuff, you know— none of that Disney Channel crap, they’d be watching indie flicks and German expressionism before they even hit high school; gotta start ‘em early.”

“But what about you?” you asked.  “Where do you end up?”

“I… I don’t know,” he shrugged.  “I guess I just figured I’d always be here.”

You found yourself moving in a little closer— close enough that you had to look up at him slightly even while just sitting on the couch.  “So you really never thought about it?” you pressed, biting your lip, and you clarified even though it kind of seemed like he knew what you meant.  “Us, together?”

“God, are you kidding?” he snorted.  “Of course I thought about it, I mean… yeah, I thought about it…”

His voice changed a little the second time he said it, and your heartbeat sped up just a bit.

“But every time I thought about it, I just got so— I don’t know— scared, I guess,” he said quietly.  

“Scared?” you repeated.

“‘Cause, you know… it’s me and you,” he explained, smiling a little.  “It’s us.  And I figured that if you and I got together… that would be, you know… that would be it.”

As you looked at him, you wondered if he could see everything in your eyes right then.

“And what if I wasn’t good enough for you, right?  What if I fucked this up, like I fuck up everything, and then we’re not even friends?” he sighed, shaking his head.  “And then— and then what am I supposed to do?  Just, like, not have you in my life?”

You opened your mouth to promise him that he’d always be in your life, that you could never really go on without him— even if you’d just threatened that and stormed out of the video store— but instead, only a wistful sigh came out.

“C’mon— I don’t even know who I am without you, kid,” he laughed, and your heart jumped.

“Okay,” you agreed quietly, “but what if you don’t fuck it up?  What if we’re perfect together, and happy, and it just makes sense?”

“Then that’s even worse!” he announced with a grin, and you laughed.

“What?” you giggled, letting him pull you a little closer.

“Then we get together, and you move in, and we get married and have a bunch of babies— and then that’s it!  Me and you, heading towards oblivion,” he described, pointing forward with his hand like it was a straight path to the end, “being, you know… grown-ups.”

You dropped your forehead onto his shoulder, laughing in exasperation.

“I know it’s stupid,” he admitted, “but that’s… that’s what scared me, I think.  And I guess I just liked how things were so much— well, that’s not totally true.  There were days where I thought I really couldn’t take it anymore, that I just had to be with you, but…”

“But you’re kind of a pussy?” you finished for him, and he laughed as his arm wrapped around you.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “very much so, actually.”

You looked up at him, and the way he looked back at you was painfully perfect.  And now that you saw it, you realized it wasn’t new— he’d looked at you like this before, when he woke you up on the store couch in the morning or when you made fun of him in front of everybody or when you helped him pick what to wear for a party.  How come you hadn’t seen it before?

It seemed like you’d been scared, too.  You could’ve just told him then, you could’ve just kissed him— but maybe you were both a little too afraid to rock the boat.  “I mean, your little future plan sounds nice, but…” you hummed, “I don’t want Rutherford.”

“Don’t rule out Augustus,” he warned, tilting his head and pointing his finger at you, and you laughed softly.

“I want you, Neil,” you breathed, feeling so many emotions at once as you finally said what you’d been terrified to admit for the better part of a decade.

He took a deep breath, too— like he’d been waiting a long time to hear that.  “I want you too, kid,” he admitted.  You could’ve asked him to stop calling you that now, but since it made your knees a little weak (thank god you were sitting down already), you let it slide for now.

“Okay, well,” you decided, scooting closer to him on the couch again, “let’s agree on something.”

“Okay,” he whispered.

“Let’s get together,” you said, trying to keep your nerve, “and I’ll move in, and we’ll get married and have a bunch of babies— but we’ll never grow up.”

He laughed a little, finally seeming a bit nervous, and reached up to touch your face: his knuckles rested on your cheek while his thumb pet your temple gently.  “Okay,” he said again.

Your heart raced as he moved in a little closer, turning himself towards you on the couch, and your eyes moved back and forth from his eyes to his lips to his eyes to his lips— he’s gonna kiss me.

Just when you were about to shut your eyes and let it happen, he pulled back slightly.  “Sorry,” he laughed nervously, “I— sorry.  Been thinking about this since I was seven, it’s a lot of pressure.”

Your heart warmed to hear him admit that.  “All these years and you never thought to just man up and kiss me?” 

“I did kiss you!” he defended.

“New Year’s doesn’t count,” you scoffed.

“Good,” he sighed, “because then there’s still a chance for our first kiss to be perfect.”

“Like the movies?” you asked hopefully.

“Yeah,” he agreed softly, holding your chin and tilting it back gently.  “Like the movies.”

It did feel like a movie; you could’ve sworn you heard dramatic background music alongside the pounding in your ears.  You took a deep breath in through your nose as you kissed him back, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him closer.  There was no point in acting coy now, he knew the truth— and you were totally helpless, this was all you’d been imagining for years and it was real: in that way, it was so much better than a movie.

His hands found your back and pulled you into him, until you hopped up and straddled his lap— holding his face, running your fingers through his hair, kissing him as desperately as you could get away with.

He certainly didn’t seem to mind, in fact he just held you tighter and kissed you harder and even pulled your hips down into his lap where you gasped at the feeling of a firm bulge in his jeans.  “You’re already hard?” you noticed, pulling back just enough to speak, and he laughed breathlessly.

“Jesus, you’re already making fun of me,” he coughed.

“I’m not!  Sorry,” you laughed, “I just— we only started kissing a minute ago—”

“Yeah, but— come on, kid, you’re gorgeous,” he sighed, “and you can’t pull me towards you with my shirt like that without expecting a reaction…”

“I really wasn’t trying to get you worked up,” you cooed, “I just need you that bad.”

“Fuck,” he laughed, running his hands up your back, “you can’t say stuff like that either…”

“I can’t?” you pressed with a smirk as you ran your hands over his chest through the t-shirt.  “Or what?”

“Orrr I’m not gonna have very much patience,” he explained with a grin, “and I’ll just have to make love to you on this couch right now.”

“Oh, make love,” you repeated, shimmying your shoulders a bit, “you don’t have to be so formal, Neil.  You can just fuck me.”

He growled and grabbed you tight, throwing you down on the couch as you beamed and he descended upon you.

You tugged at each other’s clothes hungrily: you had on some baggy old shirt that he tossed aside quickly, he was wearing band merch that he barely stopped kissing you long enough to let you get over his head.  You’d seen him shirtless all the time when you went to the beach together or he just changed shirts in front of you (‘cause guys can just do that, your sanity be damned), you’d even felt him shirtless before due to playful wrestling in the pool, but wow it felt different to have his bare torso pressed against you, and you loved it already.

You know what else felt different?  Neil staring down, mouth slightly open as he panted, at your tits.  You almost felt self-conscious until he grabbed your waist and latching his mouth onto one needily.  

“Fuck,” you groaned, gasping as the tip of his tongue flicked over the bud of your nipple.  His hand squeezed the other one with just the right amount of roughness— his hands were big, and hot, and you’d put quite a lot of consideration into how they’d feel running over your skin.  They were lovely, as were his fingers pinching lightly at your nipple until you squirmed.  “Neil, c’mon—” you started to beg.

“Hold on,” he groaned against your skin, hot breaths tickling where his spit wet your breast, “been waiting a while to do this.  Wanna savor it.”

Well, he could savor all he wanted, but you had been waiting too long to have any patience left; you reached down and got his belt open with a little finagling, pushing his jeans down his legs with your feet.  His boxers, annoyingly, stayed up, but he smiled at you and started to pull your shorts down, too.

So there you were, laying together on your sofa— him on top of you, you staring up at him in amazement— both in just your underwear.  And socks, technically, but you weren’t really worrying about those at the moment.

“Are we gonna do this like they do in the movies, too?” you asked with a breathless laugh.

“They don’t show this part in the movies,” he replied quickly.

“Not those movies…”

He got your drift and grinned a little, but shook his head.  “No, not like that.  I want this to be, you know, special…”

“Neil, I’ve been in love with you since I was twelve.  It’s gonna be special no matter what,” you promised, holding his face for emphasis.  “Doesn’t mean it can’t be, you know, kinky.”

He raised an eyebrow in intrigue.  “Kinky?” he repeated.  “Would you mind clarifying that for me?”

You bit your lip and looked away shyly.  “Well, you know, I’ve thought about, like… like maybe how it would be if you tied me to the bed…”

He grinned.  “Alright,” he replied expectantly, waiting for the list to go on.

“Or if you bent me over your desk at the store,” you added, heart racing with nervousness to admit that fantasy, “and had to cover my mouth to keep me quiet…”

“Fuck,” he groaned in agreement.  “What else?”

“O-or, you know, that thing where you just keep someone inside you for hours,” you breathed, “and don’t even move, just keep it, you know, warm— we could watch a movie like that—”

“Jesus, kid,” he sighed, “you, um, you really thought this through…”

“Yeah…” you admitted, moaning softly and holding tighter onto his back as he leaned down and kissed your neck.

“I had no idea you were so dirty,” he laughed against your skin.  “Whatever movie we watch like that, it better be shit ‘cause I have no chance of paying any attention.”

“W-well, you said you thought about it too,” you remembered.  “What did you think this would be like?”

“I didn’t think about that, I’m too romantic,” he denied proudly as he hovered above you again, “I just thought about, you know, taking you on dates and buying you flowers and stuff.”

“O-oh,” you choked, embarrassed.

“Just kidding,” he winked, “I’m not a saint.  I thought about how you’d look riding me.”

You giggled slightly, glancing away as you were forced to imagine that, too.  

“And how these lips would look,” he continued, softening his voice and running his thumb over your slack bottom lip, “wrapped around my cock—”

“Fuck,” you whispered, nearly overwhelmed by the look in his eyes.  “I thought about that too…”

He growled and kissed you hard, reaching down to roughly tug your panties lower.  “God, I wish I had the patience for that now,” he mumbled, “but I just need to be inside you—”

“Okay,” you agreed happily, pressing yourself against him as you hugged him closer.

Sliding your hands down his back, you pushed his boxers down his hips and gasped when his cock sprung out and brushed over your inner thigh.

You reached down and grabbed a hold of him— mostly so you’d have a chance to get some idea of what he was about to put in you— and you both gasped for different reasons.  You couldn’t speak for him, really, but for you it was a sound of disbelief at how big he was.  Not, you know, concerningly massive or anything— you were thankful for that, in fact— but thick and long and curved and oh look you were already guiding that fat tip to your opening because you couldn’t wait anymore.

Clearly he was struggling with a similar impatience because as soon as he felt your entrance he shoved his hips forward and pushed inside— finding some resistance, just from his size, but then you went limp under him and just let it happen.

You were both breathing heavy like you’d run a mile, when you’d barely moved at all; he was only halfway in, and you already felt so full…

“Fuck,” he moaned at the feeling, “you’re so wet, fuck—”

But then he pushed in the rest of the way and you winced just from the intensity of it— it didn’t hurt, really, but it was… a lot.  In every sense of the word.  "Oh my god," you gasped, holding on tightly to his arms.  

He moaned louder, dropping his head into the crook of your neck; he put a hand on the top of your head to keep you steady (and close) as he pumped into you a bit faster already.  “You’re so fucking wet,” he said again— it would’ve made you self-conscious that he focused on that so much if it wasn’t obvious that it was driving him wild.  But you couldn’t really justify pointing out his sudden boner before when you were soaked like this, could you?

Fortunately, it seemed like he had long since forgotten about that…

It seemed like he never looked away from you, hardly ever even shut his eyes— he just watched your face, with a few detours to look at the way your breasts bounced with each thrust.

The pace was steady and simple, there were no fancy moves or dirty fantasies: he just kissed you sometimes, and watched you the rest of the time.  You didn’t say much until you started to feel the pressure building in your gut— up until that point, nothing needed to be said— but the way he was making you feel suddenly compelled you to start running your mouth.

“So good,” you blurted out, and he groaned a little in agreement.  “You feel so good, Neil…”

“Yeah?” he confirmed.  “Feels like we were made for each other.”

That was not only the most perfect thing you’d ever heard, but undeniably true: the curve of his cock seemed to fit right inside you; he was just big enough to push to the end of you without making your stomach hurt; every movement stretched your walls exactly how you’d craved for longer than you wanted to remember; and you were soaking him, and probably yourself, it was like you just couldn’t stop.  Every movement made you feel more insatiable and yet more perfectly satisfied— it was impossible, but it was happening.  That’s how it felt: impossibly good.

“Doesn’t it?” he asked, like he was worried you didn’t agree, but you only hadn’t said anything because you knew how loud you would be if you opened your mouth.

“Yes!” you cried out, dropping your head back— see, that’s exactly what you were worried would happen, but he just growled and fucked you deeper.  “Yes, fuck yes, Neil—”

“Uh huh?” he encouraged you gruffly, holding you a little tighter, watching you with darker eyes.

“Yes, oh my god,” you choked out, whining and digging your nails into his back sort of unintentionally.  “S-so deep…”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “and you take it so good— you feel so fuckin’ perfect, kid…”

Wow, yeah, you really should’ve hated being called that in a moment like this, but you enjoyed it a little too much.  "Fuck, m'gonna—" you began your warning.

"Come," he finished for you— no, it was a demand.  "I want you to.  I wanna see it."

"O-okay," you breathed, "just don't… don't stop…"

He shook his head, fucking you a little faster as he panted.  "Not gonna stop," he promised, "not until you're so fucking full—"

"God, Neil," you whined, the pressure in your gut building more and more, making your legs tighten around his hips.

"Until I've given you every drop of come," he continued with a grunt, "and it's fucking dripping out of you—"

"Fuck."

"For days—"

"Fuck—"

"Tomorrow at work—" he mentioned specifically, and your back arched as it hit you; jolts of energy crawled up and down your back, your walls clenching rhythmically around him.  

You definitely said something but you were too fucked out to keep track of it.  How was it your job to know what you said?!  It was something with oh my god and Neil somewhere in there for sure, but that was all you knew.  He didn’t even slow down, by the way, just keeping his pace and mumbling praises to you with a rough voice.

As the raw pleasure faded, you found a new feeling swelling within you— a sudden mix of all sorts of emotion, growing faster than you could fight it off.  You’d never felt like this, at least in this specific way, but you knew all too well what was coming: you were about to cry.

You weren’t sad, you were anything but sad, but apparently there were just too many pent up feelings and recently-released hormones coursing through you for you to do anything but cry.  It happened so suddenly that you couldn’t even think about how you should handle it— if you should warn him or suddenly get up and run away so he wouldn’t see you like that.  You were terrified he would be confused and overwhelmed by it, but you were out of options; you bit your lip as it started to shake, tightening your hold on one of his shoulders, and sniffled involuntarily as tears welled in your eyes.

“Oh god, baby, are you okay?” he breathed, his movements coming to a halt, and you nodded your head feverishly.

“I’m okay,” you whimpered, “I’m fine— I’m really good, I’m just—”

He sat up and pulled you up with him, sort of perching you in his lap, and you looked away as you tried to will yourself to stop crying but failed miserably.  “Do you want me to stop?” he asked softly.

You shook your head, hugging him so he wouldn’t see your wet face.  “N-no, don’t—”

“What’s going on?” he asked, smiling a little even as his voice was heavy with concern; he kissed the side of your head as he pet your hair gently.

“I’m just— m’just really happy,” you breathed shakily.  “I just can’t believe this is happening— in a good way.”

He beamed and pulled back to look at your face, holding your cheeks and wiping your tears away with his thumbs.  “Yeah,” he agreed, “I know— that’s how it feels for me, too.”

You choked on another sob, and he soothed you softly, holding you a little closer.  “Don’t stop, please,” you whispered, “you said you wouldn’t—”

“Yeah, but I gotta make sure you’re okay,” he laughed.

“I am, really,” you insisted, with a sniffle, “it’s happy tears, I promise.  Y-you can keep going, unless all the crying is turning you off…”

“No, it’s okay, kid,” he promised with a little laugh, leaning down to look into your eyes when you tried to glance down, “hey— it’s sweet, okay?  And I always thought you were kinda cute when you cried— um, not in a creepy way, but, y’know, like… when we watched sad movies and stuff, and you would hide your face in my shirt—”

You whimpered and shoved your face into the crook of his neck.

“Kinda like that…” he mumbled, rubbing your back as he laid you back down on the couch.  “Hey, shh, it’s okay… m’gonna move again, alright?”

You only nodded a little, holding onto him tightly, still crying but managing to get a moan out when he carefully thrusted into you again.  He found his pace again, though slower and gentler than before, and lifted himself partially to hover above you.  Pushing away some hair that had clung to your face, sticky with sweat and tears, he smiled down at you.

“Hey,” he whispered, “look up at me…”

Afraid to face him like this, you hesitated but blinked quickly as you looked back at him.

“You look beautiful,” he promised quietly.  “This is how it was supposed to be, okay?  This is how it always should’ve been.”

You nodded in agreement, starting to cry a little harder— though it was pure joy, there was no other way to describe it.

“And this is how it’s gonna be now,” he assured, “you and me.”

“Yeah,” you whispered under your breath, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.  He kissed you again softly, and the rest of it was like that: more gentle and patient, shockingly tender, until you two were just melting into each other and you shamelessly gave into every emotion and sensation he guided you through.

~

Today, the store was running a special on cop movies— so you and Neil were, obviously, dressed appropriately in fake uniforms he got on clearance at the costume shop.  Was yours technically a reconstituted ‘sexy cop’ with fishnets and a tight latex skirt?  Yes, but you at least ditched the fuzzy handcuffs…

You were sitting on the front counter, swinging your legs and watching Neil as he roamed the store, your eyes lingering on the way those navy blue pants did his ass more than a few favors… the whole outfit was working for you, shockingly.  The badge, the aviator shades— you were even beginning to see the appeal of the fake mustache.

He seemed to notice you looking, and he smirked at you proudly as he set down the tape he’d been holding.

“Hey,” Neil purred, taking off his sunglasses somewhat dramatically— he sauntered up to you, putting his hands on the counter on either side of your legs.  He had that sparkle in his eye as he looked you up and down, and you bit your lip.  

“Hey,” you returned, reaching up to drape your arms over his shoulders.

“You look cute,” he hummed at you proudly.  “Who picked out this outfit for you?”

“Oh, that would be my super weird boss,” you smirked, your fingers tracing the neckline of Neil’s semi-unbuttoned uniform shirt and the slightest hint of chest hair peeking out from it.  “He makes me dress up to promote our specials.”

“He’s probably got a crush on you,” Neil suggested with a grin.

“You think so?” you cooed as you leaned down, kissing him with a smile still on your lips— but you made a little face and pulled back.  “The mustache feels weird…”

“Mm, but you’re still gonna kiss me, right?” he assumed proudly— he knew damn well you found him totally irresistible.

“Yeah,” you admitted with a giggle as you kissed him again: deeper, and longer, but still slow and sweet.

The front door jingled as Jonathan walked in.  “Woah, hey, workplace!” he groaned, covering his eyes for a minute, and you laughed as you broke away from the kiss, shoving Neil aside and hopping off the counter.  “How are our resident lovebirds doing?”

“Horny,” Lucien answered in a thoroughly unamused tone.

“Well, why don’t you let us take over for a couple hours?” Jonathan suggested with a shrug.  “Me and Luc can manage and you two can, you know, take a long lunch and shake each other down.”

“What?  No,” you grimaced, shuddering at the idea of Jonathan and Lucien waiting for you two here and knowing exactly what you were doing a few blocks down at Neil’s apartment.

“Alright,” Neil agreed at the same time, but quickly changed his answer to a rushed “n-no, yeah, definitely not.”

Lucien smirked and Jonathan shook his head.  "Suit yourselves," he replied as he walked away.

You planned to walk away, too, and finally get back to work, but Neil wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into him.  You smiled and hugged him back, leaning your head against his chest with a satisfied sigh.

When he let you go, you lingered for just a moment longer before finding the strength to pull away and get back to work— yet again, he stopped you, this time by touching your face to turn it back to him and softly mumbling ‘hey’.

“What is it?” you asked quietly as you looked up at him expectantly.

“I love you, kid,” he said gently, petting your cheek for a second.

“Wh-what way do you mean that?” you wondered, and he furrowed his brows with a smile.  “Like— we used to say that sometimes,” you went on, awkwardly stammering as you looked down again, “but, you know… we never meant it like that—”

He interrupted you with a soft whisper of your name, getting your attention once more, tilting your head until your gaze met his.  “I only ever meant it one way,” he admitted.  “That way.”

one year later…

You wandered through the crowded video store, doing lots of waving and greeting and patting of shoulders— thanking everyone for coming out to celebrate with you.

A gaggle of women suddenly descended on you with giddy delight, and you took turns hugging them and repeating your practiced line about how you were so glad they could make it.

“You look great,” Helen informed you, and you dismissed it with a wave of your hand.  “No, really, it’s so cute!  You look good in white.”

“You think so?  I was worried it would be weird,” you admitted as you looked down at the silk cocktail dress.

“No, it makes perfect sense,” Priyanka said, “and it’s so cool!  Is it real vintage?”

“Yeah, you know how we are,” you shrugged and laughed.

“Well, let’s see the ring!” Helen insisted with a squeal, and all three women yelped happily when you brandished your left hand for them to get a good look at it. 

“Oh my god, it’s gorgeous!” Georgia gasped.

“Thank you,” you beamed, “I can’t imagine where Neil got the money for it— god knows it wasn’t here, I’ve seen our margins!”

The ladies all seemed to grab your hand at once and yank it closer, tilting your finger to watch the stones sparkle in the light.  As they fawned over it, you looked over and found Neil watching you, beer in hand, looking totally smitten.  You waved with your free hand and got a small wave back, making you smile even wider.

You split away from the girls after a while, soon stopped by one of Neil’s only friends who actually had this whole adult thing mostly figured out: Marcia, though her husband and baby were across the store meeting the many, many guests who wanted a chance to hold the precious thing.

“I always knew he loved you,” Marcia insisted as she winked at you.  “I’m so glad he finally figured it out.”

“Yeah, me too,” you agreed with a laugh.  “It’s been great— like, really great.  All the fun we had before, but—”

“But you get to have him all to yourself?” she assumed with a grin.

“Well, sure,” you admitted, “but not just that.  He’s changed a lot, you know.  He’s still the same Neil I always loved but…”

You trailed off, but she nodded like she understood.  “But he’s grown up,” she finished for you.

“We got together on the condition that we wouldn’t grow up,” you explained, “that we wouldn’t change and get, you know, boring.”

Marcia rolled her eyes, making you feel much younger than her than you were.  “That’s what you figure out eventually,” she replied, “that growing up is a lot more fun when you’re growing together.”

Her unexpectedly sage advice was still in your head almost an hour later, when you and Neil reunited at the back of the room.

“You ready?” he asked you softly, and you nodded with a smile.

“Been ready for this for a long time,” you replied.

Neil got the crowd’s attention, motioning for the guests to gather in a vague semi-circle facing you and him; you squeezed his hand, feeling your heartbeat pick up just a bit.

“We just wanted to thank you all for coming,” Neil explained, “I mean, it’s so special to have everyone we love gathered in our favorite place…”

You looked out at the crowd filling the store and noticed that, all together, it was a lot more loved ones than you realized you had.

“And with that in mind, we do have a little announcement,” he continued with a beaming smile.

“Pregnant!” Lucien blurted out, and you glared at him as a fellow guest slapped him on the arm.

“Not that,” Neil laughed, “maybe I shouldn’t have said it that way but, uh, anyways…”

“This isn’t just our engagement party,” you admitted with a grin, “it’s our wedding!”

You pulled the mini-veil out from where you’d hidden it in a fake VHS clamshell and quickly clipped it on, the crowd clapping and gasping, and you motioned for Jonathan to come forward to do the honors.

“The bride and groom have prepared special, joint vows,” Jonathan explained as he stepped up beside you both, pulling notecards out of his pocket.  You and Neil faced each other, holding your hands together between you; he even swung your hands a little as he smiled at you, and you laughed softly.  “Do you take each other in marriage, for life, no takebacksies?”

“We do,” you both replied.

“Do you swear to tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” he asked, and you gave him a confused look.  “Sorry— wrong line.  Watching too much Law & Order…”

Your spectating friends and family chuckled, though some seemed nervous with Jonathan making a joke like that during your literal wedding ceremony— but you thought it was perfect.  You wouldn’t have asked Jonathan to officiate if you didn’t want some ill-timed, goofy joke.

“Do you promise to keep each other close in body and spirit, to share your joy and pain, and to face every day together as best friends and life partners?”

“We do.”

“And do you swear,” Jonathan went on, suddenly getting very serious and lowering his voice, “to always, without fail… be kind and rewind?”

The crowd chuckled, and you and Neil agreed enthusiastically: “We do.”

“Then, by the power vested in me by a very shady website that I think might have been some kind of minister license scam out of Estonia… I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Jonathan beamed, throwing his notecards in the air triumphantly.  “Now kiss each other, ya idiots!”

It was one of those wedding kisses that went on a little too long, a few whistles and whoops from the crowd alerting you that it might be too steamy for such a public moment— but damn, was it perfect.  As much as you just wanted to grab onto your husband and never let go, both of you were instantly swarmed by loved ones wanting hugs and to offer their congratulations.  You obviously obliged, thanking everyone you could for being a part of this impromptu ceremony… and basking in the joy when most of them said something about how they always expected this or couldn’t believe it took so long.

“Congrats, man,” Jonathan mumbled to Neil as he grabbed him by the shoulder.  “I think this is the part where she fucks me and kills Lucien.”

“Shut up,” Neil scoffed as he shoved Jonathan away, but he couldn’t stop smiling— and he couldn’t stop staring at you. Here's looking at you, kid.

[jackactuallywrites]

Hidden Paradise

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit (detailed shagging)

Warnings: Unprotected sex and also shower sex which we all know is unsafe

Summary: You walk in on a man in the shower, it takes you seeing him in the skull mask a week later to realise it was Ghost, and he is very intrigued by your reaction

Notes: This absolutely wouldn’t be possible without @xxven my muse and pookie and beta reader who gave me the plot 🤍❤️ (also raven on TikTok for making a hot thirst trap that inspired a whole scene)

Word Count: 4,195 (I am very horny for ghost)

ao3 link

There was very little luxury to be found on a military base; your military fatigues were never soft, your boots were the cheapest given by the contractors, your bed squeaked every time you so much as moved an inch, and there wasn’t so much as a tealight allowed in the barracks.

However, you’d found a quiet sanctuary. Far from the rest of the buildings on the base, there was a small shower block, disused and forgotten about in favour of the newer, more convenient showers. The water pressure wasn’t all that great, and the tiles would probably never return to whatever shade of white they’d started out as, but all that mattered was that it was so wonderfully, blissfully quiet.

Silence was one of the hardest commodities to come across on a military base; there was always something going on, whether it be a training exercise with a hard-edged sergeant screaming at recruits or the grunts trying out whatever shiny new piece of equipment the government had seen fit to waste money on, but out there in the shower block, muffled by a copse of trees, there was nothing. Beautiful, precious, nothing.

Today had been yet another long lesson in tedium, worsened by the fact that your most beloved friends were out in the field, busy repairing the vehicles with whatever they could scavenge from the base. You already felt exhausted at the idea of how much paperwork you’d have to do after they’d torn through the place, and the day proved you right, with you having to go to every single place in the garages to check what stock had been taken as mechanics had an annoying habit of forgetting to write down what they’d used. It was long into the evening by the time you’d finally finished putting in the orders to replace every strange bit of junk the mechanics had used, and all you could think about was the long shower you were going to take.

The route through the forest was one of the only places you could get away with wearing your headphones and listening to music without getting scolded by the sergeant on patrol, and you took advantage of this privilege every time, blasting some classic disco music in your ears as you approached the shower block, blissfully unaware of the world outside. If not, you might have noticed the sound of the shower running.

As such, you walked into the block thinking of nothing but how your new eucalyptus shower steamer would smell, having got fairly good reviews online. You already had a favourite shower at this point, the one on the very end, with the best water pressure that the rusted old pipes could provide, though it had no door to speak of. You walked along the yellowed tile floor, passing by the empty showers until you finally reached your favourite one, only to find that it was very much not empty.

Standing under the sputtering stream of water was a tall, well-built man, his tan back glistening under the hundreds of droplets of water, highlighting the various white scars on his back, some of them small, some of them intimidatingly large. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander down, admiring the muscles in his back and perfectly toned legs, as well as a surprisingly sculpted ass. Whoever he was, he was statuesque in his beauty, as though he had been carved out of marble, and as he turned around to face you, showcasing the golden hair that trailed down from his abs, you caught a glimpse of his shaft, thick and long, yet quickly covered by a large hand.

It was that movement that broke the lustful spell you were under, and your eyes finally stopped ogling his body and flicked up to his face. You didn’t recognise him, not his pale green eyes or his crooked nose, but you could absolutely recognise the outrage on his face, and you yanked down your headphones, keeping your eyes firmly above his waist, “I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was in here.” His voice was little more than a snarl, “Get out.” You had absolutely no desire to argue with a man built like that, so you gave a quick nod and hurried back out of the shower block, not willing to spend a single second more in his presence.

~

Since your encounter in the showers, not a single night had gone past where you hadn’t dreamed about the man, his body, his hands, the dark blond hair that led down his navel, and the thick veins on his forearms. It lurked in the back of your mind, eternally present as a lustful little memory to entertain you during the more boring moments of your day.

Yet again, you were in another meeting writing down what items had been used over the week and what needed to be ordered for the next month's exercise. It was made slightly more interesting by the fact that this time, you were working with the SAS, and not just that, but with some of the most feared soldiers there were, including the worst of the worst, Ghost .

You swore you could almost feel the insidious aura coming from the man in the skull mask, as though it was radiating off him in dark waves. When he spoke, his words were sharp and to the point, never expending more energy than was strictly necessary, and rarely directing his attention to you, sitting in silence and taking notes, not that you were complaining. Every time the man spoke, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as though your body was trying to warn you that he was dangerous. It was only toward the end of the meeting that you finally spoke up, standing and reciting everything that you’d written down in your notebook.

It was times like that where you’d have to put on a brave face as if you feared the room of men no more than a pack of kittens, making sure your voice was loud and firm, forcing them to listen to you. None of them seemed particularly interested; after all, you were a perfect, albeit boring professional, yet you remained undeterred, making eye contact with each of them. Even Ghost was looking at you; you could see those pale green eyes watching you from underneath his skull mask with a strange intensity. You remained undeterred, staring back at the man as you read out the various things that were in stock and what would have to be ordered, yet there was something niggling at the back of your head. Those eyes were strangely familiar.

It took you a second to remember, and then the barely buried memory came back: the beautiful man in the shower, his body glistening, his toned muscles, and the dark blond hair that covered his navel. The words in your mouth died on your tongue, and you saw Ghost’s eyebrow raise underneath his mask as if he was intrigued by your reaction to him. You cleared your throat, hoping that the heat you felt in your cheeks wouldn’t show up on your skin as you dropped your eyes back down to your notebook, pointedly ignoring him as you focused back on your task, ensuring that you hadn’t missed anything.

Inexplicably, Ghost spoke up, interrupting your admittedly dull recital of your list, “How soon can we get a restock of the M16 mags?” His question forced you to look over at him, and his pale green eyes seemed as though they were trying to drill right through your head. You refused to back down this time, meeting his gaze no matter how prevalent the image of his naked body was in your mind, even if you did stumble over your words as you flipped through the pages, “Those mags, uh, the ammo for the M16 that is, we ordered those last Tues-Wednesday , so they’ll be in by the end of this week.”

You couldn’t see his expression under his mask, but you could have sworn that it tugged in a way that suggested he was smirking underneath the black fabric, a touch of smugness in his eyes. Was he flirting with you? There was no possible way for you to find out in the middle of a full room, so you decided to put that tantalising idea to the side, wrapping up the last few items on your list and then glancing around the room, “If there’s anything else, please send me an itemised list by the end of the day.”

With that, the meeting was over, every soldier packing up their files, undoubtedly each one as bored as you, and you had little desire to spend any more time with them, especially with the suspiciously intense look Ghost was giving you, so you gave your farewells and left the room as quickly as you could, doing your best to rid your mind of the confusing thoughts whirling around in your mind. Ghost, the supposed ‘psycho’ killer, was flirting with you. Or perhaps threatening you. You weren’t entirely sure which. And yet, you had a strange desire to find out, that small part of you that longed to step into dangerous territory. But how could you? That meeting had been the only time you’d ever interacted with the man; other than your brief encounter in the shower, it didn’t seem like there would ever be another opportunity to be alone with him.

Unless.

Regardless of how outraged he’d been previously, he’d seemed entirely intrigued by you in the meeting, almost amused. You’d seen the direction he was headed; if your mind wasn’t already overtaken with delusional optimism, you could have sworn that he was striding in the direction of the old shower block with what seemed like great determination.

This was one of those deciding moments, a fork in the path where you got to choose what the outcome would be: adherence to your usual routine or something far more thrilling. You could almost feel the clock ticking in your head, your time running short, and for once, you decided to be brave and at least a little bit stupid, heading to your barracks to pick up your things before heading out toward the shower block, adrenaline pounding in your veins as you made your way through the small woods to the brick building.

Even from the outside, you could hear the shuddering of the pipes as they desperately pumped water, your heart beginning to pick up the pace as you pushed open the heavy wooden door, closing it softly behind you, now able to hear the pattering of water on the tile floor and see the black clothing draped over the bench that ran the length of the wall. You walked down the centre of the block, approaching the last stall on the end, and yet, you couldn’t take that final step. Everything below the waist was screaming at you to leap into the shower with the man, yet your brain conjured images of the humiliating HR meeting you’d be in if you had, in fact, entirely misinterpreted what were admittedly very subtle hints. You didn’t dare push over that line with a man so far above you in rank, but you weren’t prepared to entirely give up, so you merely slunk into the stall next to his, stripping off your uniform and hanging it on the backside of the door, pulling it to and surrendering yourself to an unsatisfying shower.

The shower head shuddered as you twisted the knob for water, a few spats of water dripping out, yet nothing more. There was a good reason you stuck to that end stall; almost every other shower there had been neglected to the point of failure. You took this as a sign to give up, turning around to get your things, only to find Ghost standing in the now open doorway.

There was nothing but a towel lazily wrapped around his hips to cover him up, his blond hair already soaked, water leaving little trails down his body, pulling your eyes down. You quickly snapped your attention back to his face, your hands already going to cover your chest and between your legs instinctually. Ghost’s eyes lingered on your body before finally flicking to the broken shower head, then back to your face. You could see that intrigued twinkle in his eyes as he gave you a slightly smug smirk, gesturing toward the other shower stall with his head, “Mine works. We should share.”

You almost couldn’t believe what he was suggesting. The exact situation had been playing out in your mind ever since you’d seen him naked, yet never once had you made the connection between your shower Adonis and Lieutenant Ghost. The two couldn’t be reconciled in your head, but you quickly decided that this was a problem to be solved later, if at all. You turned your non-functioning shower off, though slightly reluctant to use the hand covering your chest to do so, and then walked out of the stall, ducking under Ghost’s arm holding the door open for you, and rounding the corner into the warm stream of the only functional shower, allowing the water to wash away all the important questions that should have been asked, only focusing on the present moment.

Though you’d chosen to face away from him, you could still hear the noise of his towel hitting the wall as he tossed it aside, your entire body tensing up as you felt his presence behind you, the nerves nipping at the back of your mind. You didn’t dare turn to look at him, trying to find something else to focus on to quiet your frenzied brain, your eyes flicking to the one bottle of his on the floor in the shower, trying to figure out what scent ‘original’ was supposed to be, and whether one liquid really could be shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

Your thoughts on his toiletries were brought to an instant halt at the first touch of his hand on your hip, a questioning touch as though he was gauging your interest before moving any further. He might have been feared special forces, yet here, you retained a level of control, of security. You relaxed into his touch, leaning back until you bumped up against his chest, and his arm snaked around your stomach, wrapping tightly around your waist as he stepped forward into the stream from the shower, his head dipping down to rest in the crook of your neck. You could feel his other hand trail a path up your thigh before it, too, wrapped around you, pulling you snug against him in a tight embrace, like a man starved for any sort of touch.

For a moment, the two of you remained in that simple intimacy, your arms resting on top of his, enjoying the sheer pleasure of his embrace. Your hands were the first to move, your fingertips gently trailing over the muscles in his forearms, admiring the strength in them, unable to hold back a smile as you saw the not-so-subtle way he flexed them for you. His hand moved then, and you followed them with your own, one trailing down over your hipbone to the top of your thigh, gently stroking the skin there, the other one shifting up until it was just underneath your breast, pausing right before he touched anywhere interesting.

Clearly, he wasn’t about to touch anywhere without your explicit permission, and you decided to test him, pulling his left hand up until it was settled over your breast. His fingers paused, and you felt the tenseness in his arms, yet after a beat, he stretched out his fingers, tracing a little pattern over the swell of your breast, circling your nipple before his hand covered your boob entirely, gently squeezing it in his hand. You could feel his breathing growing heavier, every exhale blowing air over the skin of your neck, but you had no intention of stopping, relaxing into his touch, letting your head fall back against his shoulder, your eyes closed. The hand on your thigh had grown tight, fingers digging into your flesh, and you began to move his hand further in to where you could feel a growing need for his touch.

The further you moved his hand, the tighter his grip on your chest got, pulling you closer against him until you could finally feel his hardness pressed against the small of your back. His clear excitement emboldened you further, and you pushed his hand firmly between your legs, letting his fingers slightly part your labia to rest on your clit. That action earned you a low growl from him, and he buried his face into your shoulder as he pushed his fingers further down, touching the slick wetness beginning to leak out of your needy pussy. The second he felt your wetness, he drew his fingers back from you, digging them into your hip and pulling you firmly against him, rubbing the bridge of his nose against your neck as though he was trying to ground himself in the moment.

You had no problem allowing him to take his time, focusing on the simple pleasure of the warm water on your skin and the heat emanating from his chest to your back. His hand moved back to your pussy, more determined than before, as he slid his fingers down your slit, gently probing your slick hole with his fingers. As he slowly slid one in, he let out a strangled groan, shifting his face so he could bite down on the flesh of your neck, his other hand massaging your breast as his finger began to easily slip inside you. He stretched his thumb up to rest on your clit as he gently began to pump his finger in and out of you, rubbing in little circles, and you couldn’t help but let out a little moan.

The slightest of noises from you seemed to spur him on, and he pushed another finger inside you, beginning to kiss and suck at your neck as he did so, your body easily accepting his two fingers, and so he followed it with a third, his dick twitching with excitement against your back as all three of his fingers sank inside you without resistance.

Whatever good sense you had left was beginning to dissipate in the haze of your lust, and you reached your hand behind you to wrap around his cock, slowly beginning to stroke him as he gently fucked you with his fingers. He rewarded you with a soft groan in your ear, and so you quickened your pace, beginning to pump his dick in earnest, wanting him to receive the same pleasure as you. Your body was eagerly opening up around him, and the last bit of your intelligence vanished as your desperation for him overpowered you, and you begged for stupidity in two words.

“Fuck me.”

There was no hesitance in Ghost’s touch now as he pulled his fingers out of you, turning you to face him and then bending down to grab your thighs and lift you up, pinning you to the cool, damp wall of the shower stall. You could see the lust in his eyes as he shifted to hold you with only one hand, the other quickly moving to his dick, positioning it at your slick entrance and then slowly beginning to lower you down onto him. There was no comparison to the pleasure you felt, not only from feeling him slide into you, but to watch his face as he did so, his open lips, the desperate look in his eyes, his gaze entirely focused on you as though you were Aphrodite herself. You sunk your teeth into your lip to stop yourself from moaning out loud as you felt him stretch out your insides, yet you let your hands dig into his shoulders, your nails raking his skin as you felt every inch of him.

When you finally sunk down to the base of his cock, he leant forwards to rest his head on the wall beside you, clearly struggling to contain his composure, his hand digging into the flesh of your thigh, the other splayed out on the cool tile wall. He took a second to breathe before he began to slowly thrust up into you, his hand shifting from your thigh to your hip to pin you in place. Even in your wetness, you could feel how big he was, filling you up so perfectly, and you arched your back against him, desperate to feel every inch of him inside you. His eyes were on you now, and he moved his hands from the wall to your lips, tugging your bottom lip out from between your teeth and issuing you a singular command, his gaze intense.

“I want to hear you.”

Even in your pleasure, you couldn’t stop yourself from obeying a command from your superior officer, and you let out the moans you’d been holding back, tightening your legs around his waist to pull him into you as much as possible, your fingers raking against his back as he fucked you, his hips beginning to move more forcefully against you. His fingers now moved to your hair, brushing the errant strands out of your face and then shifting down to cup your cheek, lifting your face, his voice soft, “Look at me.”

There was no mistaking the utter lust in his gaze when you looked up at him, yet you could also see quite a great deal of tenderness, of genuine care, which only served to heighten your pleasure, your hands moving from his shoulders to the back of his neck as you clung to him, desperately grinding your hips against him. He picked up his pace further yet still restrained himself from fully slamming into you, his grip like a vice on your thigh. His voice grew hoarser as he caressed your cheek with his thumb, clearly strained, “Touch yourself.”

In another situation, you might have felt insecure, yet you were entirely awash in lustful pleasure, and so you obeyed, reaching down with one hand to begin rubbing circles around your increasingly sensitive clit, feeling that same build of pleasure in your core as Ghost fucked you faster still, his expression growing more desperate by the second. He leant forward to whisper his final command against your lips.

“Come for me.”

Your body seemed honour-bound to obey him as your pussy clenched around his dick, your pleasure building until it finally crescendoed, with Ghost’s lips crashing onto yours as you finished, his hips moving frantically as he desperately fucked you, his thrusts stuttering as he finally shot his load deep inside you, his body crushing yours into the wall in a tight embrace. Your kisses became softer as the both of you came down from your frenzied high, his grip on your body loosening slightly, your death grip around his neck becoming less deadly.

With a satisfied groan, Ghost let himself sink to the floor, pulling you down along with him into his lap, letting his dick remain inside you as you settled more comfortably on top of him, resting against his chest as he lazily wrapped his arms around your lower back, cradling you against him. After such bodily heat, the comparatively cool water of the shower felt heavenly on your skin, washing away your intermingled sweat.

You probably could have slept there, with Ghost still buried inside you, yet he was not so spellbound. With a gentle movement, he pulled his softening length out of you, reaching over to grab the bottle of soapy liquid he’d left on the floor. Then, he repositioned you so you were now sitting in between his legs, his thick thighs boxing you in as he opened the bottle behind you. You weren’t entirely sure what he was doing, nor did you care, still awash in a pleasant afterglow. The touch of his fingers gently massaging the liquid into your hair was a heavenly surprise, and you practically melted into his hands, a human-sized pile of putty perfectly manipulated by him. He ran his fingers through the length of your hair, thoroughly soaping up every strand before he let the cool water wash away the suds.

Then, he got to work on your body. Never had you been so grateful for three-in-one soap as it meant you didn’t have to miss a second of his warm chest against your back as he began to soap up your body, his fingers incredibly gentle against your skin, paying attention to every single part of you, and then letting you lean back against his chest as the water washed everything away, his arms coming to rest around your waist. Every single care of yours seemed to follow the soap down the train as you relaxed into him, enjoying the way he rested his chin on your head as you closed your eyes, finally entirely at ease.

[minniesmutt]

Oooh okay congrats btw and I have TWO b/c I can't make up my mind and you can just pick one PLEASE!!

1. Wolf!Chan X human!reader

'Oh no not until you beg'

OR...

1. Siren!Hyunjin X human!reader

'You look good enough to eat'

Because get it??? He's a siren haha

Hope these are good! Thank you 🙏

☾ ━━━ PAIRING: HYUNJIN X READER ☾ ━━━ PROMPT: 25 “You look just about good enough to eat.” ☾ ━━━ CONTENT: SIREN!HYUNJIN, HUMAN!READER, FEAR OF THE OCEAN, ORAL (F. REC), PORN W/O PLOT, FINGERING, IMPLIED MORE ROUNDS ☾ ━━━ WC: 0.5K ☾ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog

     The ocean was dangerous; heavily unexplored and no one knew what lurked below. But if the creatures below wanted to be seen, they’d show.

     “You’re back,” Hyunjin smiled as he swam from the ocean entrance to the enclosed cove.

     “I promised I would be,” Y/n smiled as she dropped her bag down and sat on the ledge, dipping her feet in the water as the siren swam closer.

     “Going to actually get in the water with me today?” Hyunjin asked

     “I’m not going out in the ocean,” Y/n told him

     “We won’t. Just float in here,” Hyunjin offered 

     “Alright,” Y/n agreed, standing up and taking off her shorts and top, leaving her in the swimsuit she wore underneath. 

     Hyunjin helped her into the water, instantly pulling her close to him to lap her afloat easier. He’d never deny his attraction to the human, but that didn’t mean he’d say it to her either. He knew their relationship could never work. Two different worlds and they were sneaking around in coves. But having her this close and the way she looked in the swimsuit was making him question all of it. 

     “Hyunjin?” Y/n asked 

     “Hm?” He hummed

     “What are you thinking about?” She asked, brushing back his wet hair

     “Thinking how you look just about good enough to eat.”

     “Coming from a siren, that’s a little scary.”

     “Not like that.”

     Even in the cold water, Y/n felt like her body was on fire. Hyunjin just weirdly confessed to her and all she could do was kiss him. The siren wrapped her legs around his hips and pushed them up against the rocky wall of the cave. “Hyunjin,” Y/n moaned

     “Need you,” Hyunjin said, practically tearing the fabric off her before disappearing underwater. Y/n looked down, seeing the black hair floating as he moved her legs over his shoulders.

     Y/n barely managed to grab hold of the rocks behind her when she felt his plump lips she spent hours staring at wrap around her clit. A gasp left her as he sucked on the bud, his nails digging into the tops of her thighs to keep her close to him. 

     She felt a twinge of guilt that she might be covering his gills but the way his tongue danced with her clit made her forget quickly. She let her head fall back against the rocky wall. Her moans echoing off the walls as Hyunjin pushed tw webbed fingers into her. She managed to reach underwater and grab a handful of his hair. 

     She couldn’t hear him moan but she could definetly feel the sound vibrating her clit. His lips and tongue working the small bundle of nerves all while his fingers brushed up against her walls. She didn’t know how much longer she was going to last between his lips and fingers. 

     Her body felt hot as her back arched off the wall of the cave and the knot she barely felt forming snapped. Cumming on the siren’s fingers and feeling his tongue on her entrance too. If it wasn’t for Hyunjin holding her up she would sink into the water. He came up from the water and wrapped his arms around her waist to keep her steady.

     “Taste better than I thought,” he teased

     “Think you’re tongue works better than a siren song,” Y/n told him, arms wrapping around his shoulders

      “Let’s get you on land, maybe get to our main course.”

☾ ━━━━━━ M.LIST    TIP JAR     WANNA JOIN MY TAGLIST?

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© 2024 MINNIESMUTT. DO NOT COPY, REPUBLISH OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE

[macgyvermedical]

I encountered a drug called "Dextromethorphan" when looking up things that react with grapefruits for a fic. I found out it's been banned in Sweden since the 90s, so I couldn't use it for this specific story, but if you've got any interesting history I'd be happy so know!

Are you ready for this? Like. Ask yourself. Are you really ready for this?

In 1954, a researcher with the US Public Health Service received $282,215 (1954 dollars) from the US Navy, ostensibly to find a non-addictive alternative to an opiate drug called codeine (used for pain and and as a cough suppressant).

So the researcher found a bunch of people who had substance abuse disorder and tested 800 substances on them, trying to find ones that couldn't cause physical or psychological dependence, even on people who were prone to that sort of thing.

(Now, you might be asking if this experiment was ethical. The USPHS was concurrently doing the infamous Tuskegee Syphilis Study, so while I couldn't find any concrete answer, imma guess no.)

Out of these 800 tested substances, we use 3 today: propoxyphene (used as a painkiller), diphenoxylate (used as a diarrhea medication), and dextromethophan (a cough suppressant (and, as of 2022, part of a fast-acting antidepressant)).

Importantly, it was later noted that all of these are addictive substances and today most of them require a prescription. Though depending on where you are in the world, you might just have to be over 21 and show an ID.

You might think this sounds like a pretty standard story.

You would be wrong.

Because while the US Navy was the one handing the money to the USPHS, the US Navy had come by it via the Central Intelligence Agency.

Yes. The good ol' CIA.

So what stake did the CIA have in a non-addictive codeine replacement? Nothing, it turns out. That's just what they'd told the US Navy. What they really wanted was an incapacitant- a drug that causes incapacitation like unconsciousness or continuous hallucinations- without killing. Incapacitants are also useful for discrediting prominent political figures by making them look like they have severe mental health concerns, which was another reason the CIA wanted them.

This was part of a project called MKPILOT.

And wouldn't you like to know which of the three listed above they liked the most? Dextromethorphan. Because at high doses it causes severe- and incapacitating- hallucinations (this is also why it is banned in Sweden).

The problem with it is that it requires really, really high doses (about 3 grams, which would have to be packaged in some other substrate)- this would make it difficult to slip into a drink or food.

(It should be noted that around the same time, the US Army was doing research into a much more usable incapacitant called 3-Quinuclidinyl Benzilate which required as little as 150mg of the substance to be useful- it was featured in a MacGyver episode and I did a nice little review of it here. While I have no sources that say the CIA was directly involved in funding this, based on their extensive funding of similar DoD projects at the time, they probably did.)

But you wanted to know about how grapefruit interacts with dextromethorphan:

A substance in grapefruit (along with seville oranges, limes, pomelos, and possibly pomegranates) blocks the pathway by which many drugs are metabolized in the liver. This causes the levels of drug in the body to be much higher than expected. In the case of dextromethorphan in particular, it can mean that the drug stays in the body a lot longer- up to 24 hours instead of the usual 3-4 hours. It can also make side effects and toxic effects significantly worse, leading to hallucinations and sedation, even at low doses normally used for coughing.

[gluion]

safe haven (how much longer do we have?) ➵ leehan

leehan x reader, slight sungho x reader

you can only hope for more tomorrows with leehan.

genre/warnings ➵ strangers to lovers, heavy angst with a happy ending, touch of fluff, gender-neutral reader, reader is shorter than leehan and sungho, lowercase intended, apocalypse au, hurt/comfort (both physical and emotional), depictions of grief, descriptions of gore/blood, use of guns, allusions and discussions of suicide, minor character deaths, sungho is your ex, myungjae and taesan appearance :’), elements of the last of us (don’t support neil druckmann!), mostly written in past tense (because u’re remembering!)

word count ➵ 6.2k words

inspired by ➵ “anaheim” by niki, “are you happy?” by wavesmp3, “love wins all” by iu, episode three of hbo’s the last of us, and “you’re gonna carry that weight” quote from cowboy bebop

a/n ➵ i really love this piece with everything in me so i thought i'd release it to bonedoblr as well!! you can check out the jacob & taerae versions as well. if you enjoyed reading, please do reblog and leave feedback!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

time was the one thing that occupied everyone’s minds. it held value, something that shouldn’t be wasted, and people revolved their lives around it.

questions flew around with every tick and tock—what day is it today? when’s your next doctor’s appointment? how long has it been since you’ve last seen your friends from high school? until when does this meeting last? 

as the hands of the clock continue to rotate, the calendar pages would flip along. birthdays were celebrated with every revolution as candles on cakes were lit up, awaiting the puff of celebrants as they wished for their desires. holidays were ones to look forward to; people dressed up to celebrate periods of the year that mattered to them while others slept in until noon. and days were spent counting down until graduations, where caps with tassels would fly to the expanse of blue and orange as cheers and sobs sound throughout.

but now, no one keeps track of time. clocks stopped moving and calendars weren’t produced annually. once the surge of the infected took over, grabbing on humans—taking them away from the lives they’ve lived—everyone ran like they were running out of time. with every second that passes, people are ridden with possibilities of how they might bid farewell to life itself—would it be through the hands of the infected or their own?

now, only one question echoes within their minds: how long do we have?

yet, the clock continues—tick, tock, tick, tock. it keeps going, and going, and going, like how everyone expects it. while everyone seemed to let time go, you still kept track of it all: birthdays, holidays, a graduation you never had.

the outbreak hit two years ago on the day of sungho’s graduation. cheers turned into screams. white togas and diplomas were splattered with red. the lively became lifeless.

you remember sungho’s hand in yours, fingers gripping you as if you were his life, as you charged out of the gymnasium, legs keeping up with the speed of his. you darted off to nowhere as images of the infected tearing people apart took up every block, all the way from skin to bone.

and while it was a rush of tragedies, sungho was the only hope you had.

“keep your eyes on me,” he glanced at you, “don’t look at them. only look at me.”

it was impossible to ignore the wails that filled your ears, but you would repeat his words—his soft-spoken voice—to drown them out.

by nightfall, you and sungho found yourselves in a motel room, skin cleaned from blood splatters and dressed in clothes that engulfed your figures, and in each other’s arms on a twin-sized bed. the duvet that wrapped around you two is thin, not at all keeping you warm for the night, but the warmth of sungho was enough to provide you a sense of security—stability amidst the ever-changing world.

he whispered into the crown of your head, words meant to dispel your fears, all while you sobbed into his shirt. there was nothing that he could do but stay strong for you.

and for a few days, that room acted as your safe haven. the time spent within those four walls is the life you imagined your future with sungho. it would’ve been in a two-story house with a garden where a singular orange tree stands, lounging on the couch as you played movies to fall asleep to, but all you had was an old room with a carpeted floor with unrecognizable stains and a bathroom unable to fit two.

yet, you would choose this over anything. even if it meant eating instant noodles for every meal or sleeping on a mattress that ruins your backs, you would choose this if it meant sungho would be with you.

still, time continues to move. sungho knew that you both couldn’t stay in that room or else the infected may reach you. so when you both went to bed on that last night, you outlined his features from the space between his eyebrows all the way to his lips, and you spent that time memorizing his warmth to carry with you for the rest of your life. you could only hope that he stays with you until the end.

after a month passed, you and sungho met jaehyun, an injured boy who only wanted to live. at first, sungho was hesitant to take the stranger in, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to live with the idea of abandoning someone in need. in a world where the infected have taken over, it only seemed right to help out others; save them from a fate they’re not ready to meet.

what started off as a pair turned into a trio. you’ve learned more about what it takes to survive in this life. long gone is the need for money to buy necessities; you need to scavenge for supplies if you want to live in an infected-ridden world. thanks to jaehyun, you and sungho got to learn about how to find them in every building that you pass on the journey.

but it’s not enough to know where to find food and bullets. sungho decided that it was only right to teach you how to use a gun. with every morning that came, you two spent hours learning how to hold, reload, and fire.

“don’t worry,” he told you as his chin hovered over your shoulder. you both stared at the tin can situated on a stack of boxes only a few meters away. “you won’t have to worry about fighting alone. i’ll be here with you.” as you exhaled, your eyes zeroed in on the target. “now, shoot.”

six months have passed, and you were happy that you were still a trio. jaehyun became your best friend over that time. his laughs were enough to shine glimmers of hope onto you. you were glad that you decided to help him off the ground and tend to his bullet wound that day.

until you found yourselves retreating from the horde of infected.

time moves at a constant speed but it can become swift if it decides to. when you and jaehyun reached the doors leading to safety, you remember seeing sungho fighting off those who were once like you, bullets firing at their heads. you remember your screams, telling him to run to you—go to where it’s safe—so that you can keep having tomorrows with him.

yet, sungho glanced at jaehyun, nodding at him before his eyes met yours. you watched how his mouth moved, a soundless three-word phrase leaving him before the doors shut before you. you would’ve pried them open but jaehyun kept his arms around you, holding you back. from letting the infected reach you. from letting sungho come back to you.

the wails that left you were enough to attract the infected. if only they were to burst through the doors, grab onto you and bring you to sungho, then maybe you would stop crying. yet, jaehyun dragged you away. you never saw him as your best friend after that.

a month passed, and you still refused to talk to him. the boy tried to strike up a conversation with you, trying to earn your laugh like he used to, but he was only met with a cold shoulder. with every brick he put, you smashed your sledgehammer against it, dispelling any hope he had in rekindling his friendship with you.

the two of you learned to live in silence, fighting for survival while dealing with the loss of the one who would always bring you both to safety.

until you came across another boy who pointed his gun toward you. his defensive demeanor reminded you of sungho, and you wondered if this was his doing—his reincarnation. but before he could pull the trigger, jaehyun saved you from meeting your fate.

somehow, the duo had turned into a trio once more. you still refused to talk to jaehyun but would eavesdrop on the conversations he shared with the stranger. you learned that the new addition is named leehan.

but even the stranger wasn’t enough to fill the void that sungho left. with every nightfall, when the soft snores of the two boys filled your ears, tears streamed down your face as sobs threatened to spill out. the palm of your hand wasn’t enough to muffle your weeps. behind your eyelids, sungho’s last words to you play on repeat. the ones he failed to say. the ones you’ll never hear again.

maybe if you didn’t leave that motel room then he would’ve still been with you, arms finding their place around your waist as he trails kisses all over you. if the outbreak didn’t happen, then maybe you would be living in that two-story house with him. maybe you would wake up to a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice by the bedside table and the warmth of his lips on your forehead. and maybe you could finally tell him yes before he slips the silver band on your finger—you could’ve grown with him until your hair turns grey.

the weight you carry never got lighter with time. the void continued to consume you whole with the goal of ripping you apart. as another month passed, another life was lost—not to the infected but to the raiders.

“myungjae, you have to stay with me.” those were the first words you told him since sungho’s death. crimson continued to spill out of his abdomen through the gaps between your fingertips in the same way tears flow out. “leehan! find gauze, betadine, anything!” you never glanced at the stranger, keeping your gaze on your best friend whose eyes continued to droop.

still, jaehyun caressed your face, thumb wiping teardrops. as he slowly entered territories that you both knew he would never escape, he grinned at you one last time. “i missed hearing you. i’m glad you’ll be the last thing i hear.”

but you tried to tell him that you couldn’t be the last voice he heard. it should’ve been with someone he can imagine his future with, maybe in a two-story house or a cramped flat in an apartment complex. he deserves more tomorrows in the same way sungho did.

but time continues to move. it took him away from you in a matter of minutes, slithering away without a second thought and no regard for the value of life, and all you were left with was his temple—still. lifeless. as you sobbed into his shirt, still holding the wound, the warmth of leehan’s hand stayed on your back, moving along with your wails. 

now, you carry the loss of two. it never got easier with time.

leehan still sticks with you. it only seemed right. stay strong in numbers as you wander off to nowhere, grasping at the loose ends of survival.

two weeks have passed. you and leehan got used to the new dynamic; while he went hunting and you were tasked with scavenging, you both played your roles in combat, ready for any raid or horde. when night comes, you both took shifts, keeping watch while the other got some shut-eye.

until that one evening.

you recall the sounds of wood crackling from the fire. it stood strong against the breeze—burning, shining—surrounded by greens that latch on browns. hues of amber cascaded over your skin, painting you with warmth—it’ll never compare to the one you craved. your eyes drifted to leehan who sat across from you, his eyes trained on the fire as he rubbed his palms together. perhaps he craved the same type of warmth you longed for.

“we used to be three.” his eyes snapped towards yours. “before you came, we used to be three—jaehyun, me, and—” it rose in you like bile, wanting to escape but never leaving. “we were three then.”

you glanced at the wood that continued to burn. “we met jaehyun a month after the outbreak, spent six months together until—” the claws of the void struck against your throat, holding you back from sharing with the stranger what your life was before he came. while you never found the right words to say, leehan never pushed, letting you say what you wanted to share while filling in the blanks on his own. 

“i resented jaehyun after what happened.” you moved your gaze to leehan whose eyes never left you. “refused to talk to him. refused to forgive.” and you remember how you hesitated, taking a deep breath in before sputtering out the next sentence. “refused to accept.”

nine months ago, the outbreak didn’t happen. nine months ago, you were attending sungho’s graduation. nine months ago, you two were imagining your tomorrows together—for eternity.

and those nine months fractured all hopes and dreams; the glass is now littered with cracks, ready to burst into shards.

“but i think about the last time we saw jaehyun,” the image of him sitting in front of you all frail, treading the line between life and death, flashed in front of you; it’s quick but strong to remind you of what’s lost. “and i wish i could’ve learned how to forgive during those two months.”

but it was an impossible request. how could you ever forgive a boy you’ve known for only six months for taking your future away? how could you forgive a world that took him away? how could you forgive and live?

and still, you did.

you left it at that. they were enough. so when you told leehan that you’ll take over tonight’s shift, he never asked to hear more. instead, he laid near the campfire as you kept an eye out.

and once enough hours have passed, you allowed yourself to sob like other nights. the breeze that passed through branches reminded you of jaehyun; rustling leaves imitated the giggles of the boy you’ve only known during the apocalypse.

the wind that grazed against your skin should’ve been a nuisance, but the warmth of the fire wrapped you up like the duvet in that motel room. and you don’t complain—it’s the only part of sungho you have left.

the heat was enough to last you the night, but the chill of reality sent you back to the void.

that night, leehan listened to your sobs. not one of you got enough rest for the journey.

another two weeks went by. you two got into a better groove of the routine; instead of hunting and scavenging in silence, you and leehan found yourselves talking more about your lives before the outbreak. you learned that he’s only a year younger than sungho, and he shared that he had plans to pursue music.

“if the world finds a cure to this mess, you have to promise me that you’ll get me front-row tickets to your first show.” it was a joke. in what world could there be a cure for the infected? but the wishful thinking of what could be—what could’ve been—is all you had left.

still, leehan promised you that.

that night, you two stayed in the living room of an abandoned house. instead of lighting the fireplace, candles were placed on the coffee table. they shined in the middle of you two, you who stayed on the couch and leehan who sat on the mattress lying on the floor.

“where were you?” his eyes met yours. “on the day of the outbreak, i mean.”

he leaned back, hands resting on the mattress before he looked once more at the wax that continued to melt. “i was there for my upperclassmen’s graduation.” it hit you like sudden downpour on a sunny day. “i knew people in the music program and we were going to celebrate after. until the infected came.”

and when you said the name of the university, his gaze met yours as his shoulders stiffened. “m—my sungho.” it’s the first time you spoke of his name, and the sight of leehan’s eyes widening over it was enough to speak for himself.

“i—i didn’t know,” he whispered, but his words were loud enough to shatter glass. “i only spoke to him a few times. he talked about you with so much love.”

your heart skipped beats; it should’ve been enough to send you off into the same territories where sungho and jaehyun now stay. your mouth turned dry as leehan’s voice morphed into radio silence.

before you knew it, the two of you left the information to hang in the air as you tried to drift into slumber.

the clock continues to tick. minutes turned into hours; time moves like it usually does once more.

yet, you were stuck in the same gymnasium, fixing sungho’s toga as you scolded him about how wrinkled it’s become—hey! you’ll go up on stage soon. we can’t take pictures of you like this. despite your words, he smiled at you before grazing his lips on your temple—his silent way of telling you the three-word phrase.

in a split second, you were off the couch. you barged out of the house, clutching your chest as the knot constricted your throat, and your feet dragged you off to nowhere. every sound has turned into a buzz—only the voice of sungho being the one clear thing amidst the hysteria.

before you knew it, you stood before a horizon of green. it takes only one step into the woods, alone with no protection, for you to meet your demise. you would’ve charged into it in the same way you would’ve charged out to save sungho that day.

all it takes is one step, and—

“what are you doing?!” a pair of hands gripped your shoulders, spinning you around until you were face-to-face with the last form of life that you know of. his breaths were short as his fingers dug into your arms. “you can’t just rush out in the middle of the night! i woke up worried sick.” his eyebrows knitted in frustration. confusion. distress. the voice was caught in your throat.

how does one begin to unpack the baggage they’ve learned to carry? when the items they bring are revolting, rotten, repugnant, how does someone not feel shame about showing all the tattered-up objects?

how do you learn to open up to someone you’ve only known for three months?

your hands trembled; you’ve carried the weight of it all for too long.

in that split second, your nose met the juncture between his chin and shoulder. the material of his shirt against your cheek allowed you to bathe in what you miss—the hand of jaehyun that once caressed your face. the lips of sungho that lingered with every kiss. all the moments that you hoped time would freeze just for you lives in the boy you stick with for survival.

all it took were leehan’s hands to rest on the lower side of your back for the tears to begin their stream. the sobs spill out. for once, they weren’t muffled like those other nights. they sounded throughout the space that surrounded you two. you allowed yourself to drop the baggage only for a few minutes.

leehan took you back to the house that night, allowing you to sob about all that you’ve kept under the wraps.

when sunrise came, you found your legs mixed with his as his arms remained wrapped around you and your ear pressed against his chest. the sound of his breathing is the one reminder of what a safe haven is. 

half a year went by. leehan still stays by your side. the baggage got lighter.

it should’ve been the same routine; leehan goes off to hunt while you scavenge, and you’ll take turns on the night shifts. but that night shifted something between you two. stolen glances. quiet giggles. linked fingers.

two months have gone by. the moon shined through the trees, their shadows cascading on an abandoned cabin that you and leehan decided to stay in for that night.

it should’ve been the same set-up as other nights spent in abandoned houses; you’ll sleep on the couch while he sleeps on a dragged-out mattress. instead, he sat with you, your back resting on his chest along with his hand staying on your arm. 

a lit candle rested on the table; its amber tones painted leehan’s skin—close to the fruit tree that stands in your lost future.

“what would you do if there is a cure to this?” you watched how his fingers danced across your skin, calloused from plucking guitar strings or wielding a gun. 

leehan’s chest rumbled against your back as he hummed. “what would you do?”

a giggle left as you looked at the boy. “i was the one who asked you first!”

he shot you a grin as his hand slipped into yours. the candle continued to burn; it did a poor job of giving you light and warmth that night. but he did it all—one smile. one exhale. one indication to show that he lives.

“travel, maybe? or i’ll go back to writing music.” you nodded at his plans before looking back at the light source. “what about you?”

“i don’t know.”

there was no point in going back to university after such a catastrophe. if anything, the year spent surrounded by the infected, fighting for survival, has shown you that there’s more to life than the perpetual cycle of working a nine-to-five.

so…

“i would settle down if i could.” the wax continued to melt. “i think i’ve seen enough of the world. for once, i just want to stay home. indulge in my hobbies. live the life that i want.”

his breath grazed the top of your head. “with someone?” and suddenly, you became aware of it all—the heat that emitted from his palm. the movement of his chest against your back. the gravity of his question.

the words get caught in your throat. your heartbeat rang in your ears. for the first time since sungho’s death, you considered it. 

“with someone.”

before you knew it, his hand caressed your cheek. you were forced to meet his eyes which glistened with devotion. he leaned forward, his breath grazing your skin while you held in yours. you didn’t miss how his gaze flickered to your lips before he met your eyes once more.

then, he held back. it’s a choice, one only you can make. but when your eyes shut, it’s a quiet plea—a silent yes.

his lips met yours. 

the warmth that blossomed in your chest wasn’t like the one in that motel room. not like the embrace of the one you’ve lost. it was one of all seasons—changing with the weather, bringing comfort throughout the everchanging times.

it’s a perpetual cycle of fighting for survival.

you’ll endure through it all.

a month passed by, and you came across another boy on the journey. he’s named taesan, and he told you of a safe haven located in the town that you and leehan grew up in.

for a moment, it was an internal debate—should you go back to where the downfall started? can you go to where the memory of sungho still lives?

but one glance at leehan was enough to settle it. the three of you embarked on your journey.

you remember that day. it was a walk with the goal of finding a car to make the journey back an easy one. the heat of the sun prickled against your skin but you still kept your arms crossed.

“are you two together?” taesan asked, causing you to whip your head towards him. your eyes met leehan’s for a split second—confusion. dejection—before they landed back at the stranger who kept his eyes on the path you took.

“no, we aren’t.”

for the rest of the journey, it was quiet.

sundown came, and you found yourselves in a convenience store for that night’s shelter. leehan was in charge of taking the night shift, allowing you and taesan to rest up. when the stranger went off to sleep on the makeshift bed, you were left alone with leehan.

you watched how he cleaned his gun with a rag stained with dark splotches. the moon gleamed through the window—it can’t compare to how leehan shines.

you needed to get some sleep, is what you tell yourself. with one spin, you were about to make your way to where you’d sleep for that night.

“are we really not?” you halted in your tracks. “did it mean nothing?”

not a single answer left your mouth. your eyes remained straightforward as you refused to meet his gaze.

the warmth vanished with a lack of an answer. instead, it was replaced once more with the cold—the void—that attempted to consume you whole.

and when a scornful chuckle left leehan, you knew that you’d burnt the bridge. you walked away, leaving him to do his job, bidding farewell to the closest form of a safe haven.

two weeks went by and another goodbye had to be done. taesan stood in front of you two, a grin on his lips while tears streamed down his face. his arm was out, revealing a bite mark. the veins near the wound had already turned black. he would’ve turned in a few hours.

“go out.” those were leehan’s first words to you since that night in the convenience store.

you remember the last thing you told taesan before you left the room—you’ll get to your safe haven. the sobs that spilled out of him are ones you’ll never forget. and when you shut the door behind you, it took 20 seconds until you heard a gunshot. 

the weight got heavier once more.

another two weeks went by, and you and leehan found yourselves standing in front of the remains of a safe haven. the fences were torn down. streaks of dark red littered over pavements. not a single sight of a soul lived.

still, you two trudged your way through the town, all the way until you reached leehan’s house. like others, his was abandoned. the cream walls were littered with red strokes and vines. when you both entered, you didn’t miss how leehan’s eyes lingered on a photo hung on the wall—a picture of him and his parents.

you gave him all the time he needed to explore, to sit with the mess, while you stayed in the living room. as you sat on the couch that had gathered dust, you caught sight of a bowl of plastic produce that rested on the coffee table. it held a variety of fruits whose paint had chipped: watermelon, chestnut, and fig.

but amidst the crowd of old, torn-down, plastic fruits, a pear and an orange leaned against each other as grime collected on them. once your hands reached out to the fruits, you pulled them apart—a mess of green and orange stained the two.

he came back to you in 30 minutes, eyes glistening with tears. yet, he only gave you a nod, and you two went to another house. 

you then stood in front of your old house with leehan by your side. weeds grew in the front yard, and the wooden exterior has turned a few shades darker. silence settled between you two. 

to be back in a place you grew up in, where all your memories live, is a process—a grieving one. being face-to-face with the damage brought by the infected can only remind you of what you had and could’ve had.

and once you made your way to your childhood room, you were reminded of all your hopes and dreams before the outbreak. dust rested on top of books. the laptop on your desk had no charge. potted plants have withered.

when you approached the picture frames found on your table, your hand darted out to a photograph of you and sungho. there was no occasion when that picture was taken—the fact that you two were together was enough for it to be remembered. memorialized.

as you made your way back down the stairs, you saw leehan crouched in front of the console table with eyes trained on photographs. “was this your high school graduation?” you approached him and saw the picture he was referring to, you who stood beside sungho with a big grin as his lips were on your temple.

“yeah,” you said as you crouched beside leehan. “we knew each other back when i was a freshman.” your fingers trailed on the wooden frame, gathering the dust before flicking it away. despite your efforts, it was still covered in grime, but you didn’t mind. 

“and you stayed together since?” all you did was hum. “did you find anything up there?”

for the first time since you entered your old house, you looked at leehan and he met your gaze. your eyes trailed his features. the eyes that speak of a thousand words. the lips that once kissed yours.

and it hit you like the gunshot that filled your ears, the breeze that rustled the leaves that one night, the doors that shut close. it was 20 months since the outbreak happened, 13 months since you lost sungho, and 11 months since jaehyun told you his last words.

but it was also 13 months spent with leehan, choosing to survive with him. 

“yeah.”

you found a lot of things within those four walls. there were books you once read growing up, stuffed toys you slept with, and the one picture of you and sungho; they’re the remaining pieces you have left of a life that was good.

you would’ve kept it all, rebuilt the life that was ripped away by the hands of the infected—

“but nothing to hold on to.”

they’re memories, ones you’ll carry with you, but ones worth moving on from. 

“oh,” he said as his eyes still held your gaze. “okay.”

and with one exhale, you said, “let’s rebuild it, just a place for us two.”

it was a whirlwind of emotions in leehan’s eyes, ones you can’t identify. for a moment, you thought he’d say no. maybe he decided that 13 months was enough. one more day with you would be too much, and—

“okay.” when his hand reached out for yours, linking fingers with you like all other times, you gave him a small smile.

when you and leehan stood up, you made your way out of the house, off to find a place just for you two—a safe haven to last you many tomorrows with him.

a month passed. the safe haven was rebuilt; the fences stood strong with electrical wires and barbed wires, and the town was cleaned of all remnants of grime and blood. the two of you took up different tasks ranging from cleaning, cooking, building, and maintaining the haven.

but while you were okay with a knife, accidents did happen. “fuck!”

“what happened?” you remember how leehan came rushing in, only to see you pressing on the skin around the cut on your finger.

before you knew it, you were sitting down with him as he wrapped gauze around the wound. “leehan, it’s just a cut. i’ll be fine.”

“still, i don’t want you getting hurt.” you watched how his eyes were focused on treating your finger. “i’ll be in charge of cooking now.”

you shook your head. “no, i like to cook. i want to cook for us.” his gaze then met yours, his filled with worry while yours filled with determination. they flickered back to your finger and his hands busied themselves with covering it up.

once he was done, his hand continued to hold yours. you remember the heat of his thumb as it drew patterns on your hand. he’s etched himself onto you.

his eyes met yours once more, and he said, “okay, just let me help out.” all you gave him was a nod.

another month went by, and you woke up to the sound of gunshots. you remember how hazy your vision was that night, fresh from sleep but panic coursing through your veins. and when you looked beside you to only see an empty spot, you didn’t think twice about rushing out of bed.

when you exited the house, you saw leehan holding his gun, firing at the people who attempted to tear down the haven’s fences. “leehan!” he looked back at you and you caught sight of the crimson that poured out of his abdomen.

another gunshot was fired, grazing leehan’s leg, and he fell to his knees. you ran to him, reaching out to rest your hand on the wound as you began to sob. “fuck! you have to stay with me.” with his arm resting around your shoulders, you dragged him back to the house.

you set him on the table and moved his hand to hold where he was shot. “hold it.” you rushed to where the medical supplies were stored and gathered whatever you could hold. when you got back, you saw how blood continued to spill out.

you got to work, focused on trying to patch him up, making sure he stays. “you can’t go. i won’t let it happen.” and while your hands busied themselves with treating the injury, you remember how leehan’s hand caressed your cheek, thumb wiping away the spilled tears. 

“in the basement, there’s a piece of paper that has all the codes. if you ever—”

“no, you’ll be okay.”

still, he continued to talk. “if you ever forget the codes, you can always look at the paper. don’t forget that you need to always check the water system every two days, and—”

“leehan!” you croaked out his name in between sobs. “you’ll be okay. you have to, okay?” the more he went on about what to keep in mind, the baggage got heavier. “i can’t do this without you. i won’t allow it.”

because 15 months ago, you would’ve bid farewell to the mayhem. 13 months ago, you hoped for time to drag you away. 12 months ago, you would’ve walked into the forest. but it’s been 22 months, and you were still walking on this earth, choosing to live amidst the chaos—so long as leehan was with you. 

and when you leaned your forehead on his, eyes closed, you felt his breath graze against your lips. “i need you.”

all it took were three words from you. “okay.”

it’s been two months since that happened. the safe haven was rebuilt once more. you and leehan fortified the defense system, hoping they’ll be enough to keep any infected and raiders out. all that matters is that you two were protected—safe—from the chaos.

now, you sit on a couch as you flip through the pages of a book you didn’t have time to read before the outbreak. when all responsibilities vanished, you were able to find enough time to do things you couldn’t do then.

you were ready to get yourself sucked into the world of the novel, but leehan came into the living room with his hands behind his back and a small smile on his lips. “do you remember what you made me promise you before?”

you frown at him, confused, until he shows you an acoustic guitar. “oh my god, you found one?” you put the book on the coffee table.

he takes a seat beside you, body facing towards you as he rests the instrument on his lap. “here, front-row tickets to my first show.” you almost laughed because this is no stadium or club, but a home—one you built with him.

it takes only one smile from him for you to hold it back.

“any song requests?” he strums on the guitar strings, perfectly in tune. it’s almost as if he tuned it before coming to you.

a hum leaves you as you rest your head on your hand propped on the couch. “whatever you want to show me.”

it takes him a few seconds, fingers fiddling with the strings, until he figures out what to play. when he sings out the words—dearest, darling, my universe—you melt like the candles you lit up those nights. as he continues to play a song of a world in hysteria but a love that endures, that’s when you realize what you’ve had all this time.

time is the one thing that occupies your mind. it holds value, something that shouldn’t be wasted, and you learned to revolve your life around it.

it takes you two years to figure out that life doesn’t end after the outbreak—and 17 months to realize that your safe haven is not a two-story house with an orange tree in the garden but the boy in front of you.

when you lean closer to him, his fingers falter, messing up the chords. your hand reaches out to caress his face as your eyes flicker to his lips. you don’t miss how leehan holds his breath, how he stops playing the guitar, how his eyes look back at yours—it’s a slurry of warmth. tenderness.

“i love you.”

all it took was a three-word phrase from you for him to close the distance.

the warmth that spreads within you is like the one you experience in the abandoned cabin. but now, you’re full of hope—a reason to stay—in an infected-ridden world.

now, only one question echoes within your mind: how much longer do we have?

an eternity is what you hope.

tag list: @onedoornet @kflixnet @loserlvrss @lionhanie @nicholasluvbot

@blumisiu @0310s @icyminghao @shegotthewoobies

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Gojo learning that his s/o's ex wants to get back together with her?

“Who’s that?” Satoru asked when he saw [Y/N] look at their phone and then put it back down.

“It’s nobody.”

Which was all Satoru needed to know who it actually was.

He and [Y/N] had been dating for a while now. It was still casual but getting more serious. They had known each other from years ago when they were still in school. [Y/N] going off into the ‘real world’ for a while like Nanami before inevitably coming back like they all did. Satoru had liked them since they were in school, so he was happy when they decided to come back and he could have another shot at them & their happiness together. Now that he wasn’t some faux jaded kid going on and on about how ‘feelings were for weaklings’. Now he was really jaded, and aware that feelings made you stronger, not weaker, in the grand scheme.

However, a few weeks ago [Y/N] started getting text messages from an old partner who seemed to also want another shot at happiness with them. They told Satoru what was going on, but no more than that. Now, they wouldn’t even make a comment on it. Just ignore it and move on. It was just a little hard to ignore when it was happening right in front of him.

“Do you want to get another cup before we head out?”

“Nah.” Satoru told them as he leaned back in his seat. His long legs sticking out. “If I have anymore I’ll start vibrating. Want me to get you another iced tea though?”

[Y/N] nodded with a smile and Satoru went to go get them a refill and pay the bill. When he came back, drink in hand, he saw [Y/N] was talking to someone on the street. They had just appeared next to their sidewalk table, it seemed, and [Y/N] did not seem happy with their presence. He slowed down to listen in on their conversation, debating on if he should step in.

“Are you following me?” [Y/N] asked.

“What? No. Just on Instagram.” They hiss through their teeth at the stranger’s answer, but they keep talking. “You haven’t returned my calls. I wanted to see you.”

“The not returning your calls should have been the hint.” [Y/N] told them. “I’m not interested in talking to you. Or getting back together, since that’s probably where this conversation is going.”

“You’re not even going to talk to me about it!” Their ex reached out and grabbed [Y/N]’s arm, and Satoru had to remember that the cup in his hand was very fragile.

[Y/N] batted their hand away with a glare and told them, “I don’t owe you anything. You certainly didn’t want to talk about it with me when you left me all of a sudden and wouldn’t return my calls.” They remind them. “Now, I’m here with someone. Someone I care about. So can you just leave and stop calling me. Even if I was single now, I would not be interested. This is the last time we’re going to have a conversation.”

The ex seemed fit to want to argue but sighed in defeat and left. Their shoulders looking like they might hit the ground if they sunk any lower. “Your tea, m’laday.” Satoru announced, after giving it a minute, as he returned to the table.

[Y/N] turned to him. Smiling, but not as bright as it usually was, and took their cup. “Thank you Satoru.”

“You know, I was thinking.” He helped [Y/N] up to their feet by offering them a hand, smiling down at them. “It’s a little too crowded out here for me today. Why don’t we go back to my apartment and watch a movie there, instead of the theater.”

“But…I thought you wanted see that new one…” [Y/N] seemed surprised but looked secretly hopeful. Clear that they didn’t want to be out in case their ex changed their mind and tried again, but not wanting to tell Satoru what just happened.

“Eh. I changed my mind.” Was all he said and was already walking them out of the café perimeter down the block to his place.

He wouldn’t tell them that he saw what had happened, but he also wasn’t going to risk it happening again either. Satoru showed remarkable restraint earlier. The cup in [Y/N]’s hand now was not actually the original one, and their ex was lucky that that was all that had been crushed that afternoon.

[lowkeyremi]

Compatible choso x fem!reader

remi's note: thank u guys again for 1k AHHHHHHH idk where i'd be without your support!! you guys chose choso so here's the 1k special fic!! i am obsessed with the "best friend's older brother trope" yuji is the best friend :3

content: fluff, meeting, yuji doesn't get a break, etc.

Being one of Yuji's closest friends you've seen his "roommate" as you like to call him, every once in awhile. He would always leave his room to grab something to eat or such whenever you were hanging out with your pink haired friend.

Today you finally had the courage to ask who he was. You and Yuji are sitting very close on his couch, practically cuddling, while watching Inuyasha on Netflix when you suddenly ask, "Hey Yuji, who's that black haired guy who lives with you?"

He doesn't turn his attention away from the tv but instead answers you with, "you know how I told you I have a brother?"

He notices you nodding in his peripheral vision. "Yeah, well that's my older half brother Choso."

"Oh.. I thought he was like your roommate or something." Yuji chuckles, "haha.. technically yeah. I'm crashing with him until I get a place of my own. He doesn't mind though."

This whole time you thought this was Yuji's place, but it does make sense. Yuji's been job-hopping lately. He hasn't had a stable career in seven months.

And speak of the devil, Choso came out of his room without a shirt on, he passes by the two of you on his way to the kitchen then he stops, "Sesshomaru is the best character."

The two brothers argued about this for twenty minutes. Apparently it's a hot take in their house hold. "Inuyasha is obviously better than his older brother!" Yuji yells for the 9th time.

"Sesshomaru is cooler, and has a better understanding of the world. Like me. You only like Inuyasha because you're a younger brother." What he's saying actually does make some sense.

"Yuji, I have to agree with your brother. On top of Sesshomaru being smarter he's also hotter." Yuji looks betrayed in a playful way.

"What?? Oh come on! Not you too. Might as well go hang out with my brother, you traitor." Yuji isn't serious about the offer but Choso makes the offer real.

"I mean, if you're not opposed to it we can hang out? I don't mind joining you two." He's standing closer to the couch now with a mug of tea in his hand.

His shirtless body does something to you, because your mouth hangs open trying to form a response but you close it again not knowing what to say.

"We're good thanks! Go on back to your cave, Batman!" Yuji rolls his eyes trying to get his brother to leave.

"I was asking her, dumbass. Not you." He says getting close enough to kick Yuji and the younger retaliates by trying to block it.

"Um sure, you can hang out with us." You mumble and Yuji whines in defeat.

"Seriously?! I'm your friend not him!!" To your ears it sound like the pink haired boy is jealous.

"Scoot over Yuji. I'll sit in the middle." Choso says with a smirk on his face.

"Nuh-uh! I'm sitting next to [name] you don't even know her like that!!"

That was the first time you'd hung out with Choso Kamo.

---------

That was about four months ago, as of current, you're sitting on Choso's bed waiting for him to grab the snacks you two bought a few hours ago.

When he returns you show him a tiktok that reminds you of him, "Cho, you look like this cat!" Upon seeing the cat he chuckles a little bit, "I do not."

Yuji's started working a night job so you usually hang out with Choso until he gets off of work.

"Thanks for the snacks. I love these ones." He nods politely at you and joins you on his bed. The first time the two of you hung out in his room you were very nervous and sat on his floor as to not invade his privacy. He thought it was so cute how you were acting and invited you up on his bed.

You told him it was a mistake on his behalf because now you make yourself comfortable in his bed any time you come over.

"Do you wanna finish that show we were watching?" You turn to him and catch him staring at you. He quickly turns away and fakes a cough. You've been wondering if your accusations were true.

Yuji tells you that all his brother wants to talk about now is you. Yuji suspects his brother has a crush on you, but when he confronted him the gloomy looking male denied it. Yuji doesn't know that you like Choso.

"Yeah sure, do you wanna, like, cuddle? Platonically, though." You wonder if he's making it clear for you that he doesn't like you or he's just trying to keep you from becoming uncomfortable.

"What if I wanted to cuddle romantically??" You ask with a sudden sprout of bravery.

"Um.. I'd be okay with that, heh." He says shyly, you noticed how his face slightly turned red.

"I like hanging out with you, Cho." You crawl into his lap and he wraps his arms around you. He places his head in the crook of your neck and breathes in deeply.

"I lik- no I love hanging out with you too, [name]."