#I was home making scenarios in my heads and writing in absence

[captainkurosolaire]

I’m always impressed by the quality of your writing and the sheer creativity that you put into everything you do. If I could be one tenth as talented I should count myself blessed indeed. Plus you are kind and supportive towards others in a manner which does you great credit.

ANONYMOUSLY TELL ME YOUR HONEST OPINION ABOUT ME. I CAN’T REPLY, JUST PUBLISH.

[incidentallysunny]

I Was Never There.

Death Island Leon x Reader

Real!Dad Leon

Dead dove warning.

13k word count. Proof read 3 times until I got to around 11k then I stopped worrying and just skimmed. Critique is welcomed and my skin is thick for it.

I’d like to appear in the tagz pls so here’s a warning. My writing is not ever meant to be taken literally and is just for the sake of writing f*cked up content that I enjoy writing. If you do not wish to read this, please do not as my intentions are not to offend or make you intentionally uncomfortable but if you choose to read- don’t be hateful. With that out of the way, extremely sensitive content and dead dove material ahead.

Specifically blood-related incest, smut, suicidal ideation, mentions of grotesque imagery, light mentions of gore in a hypothetical scenario, daddy-issues, age-gap, overall disturbing topics.

As far as smut specifically: this includes talking of public sex, mentions of oral, fingering, unprotected sex, cream-pie (wrap your willy irl pls) praise, dirty talk, any probably some other irrelevant shit I’m forgetting my b.

PROCEED if you read the above, are okay with it, and are mentally unwell like I am. Happy reading, it’s a long one.

The drive from your college town to where your home had been all your life was as expected. Nostalgia and homesickness being mixed in your gut like a can of paint in one of those weird machines at the hardware store that your dad would take you to. Speaking of dad, you hardly remember him. He was present for a short while, your mom always excusing his absence with work this and work that. He really did get busy, though. Almost dying several times. You still remember your moms panicked phone calls, her countless prescription drugs for the same problems you now suffer from, and her late-night bathroom breakdowns. Apparently he couldn’t get out of this job though. Some real fucked up government shit he was tied to, your mom explained. All you know about him is that he saved the president’s daughter. Whatever.

So yeah- a perfect life with a perfect set of parents. One being mentally driven through the dirt and the other that you haven’t seen in 8 years or maybe more. You can’t seem to remember if the last few times you saw your dad were daisied dreams or reality. Bastard has never FaceTimed or video called you, either. Dunno if he even had a phone capable of that. Either way, it must be for the better, because your grades had been sufficient without stressors on your mind. And we all know a low-effort dad would definitely be one. But perhaps he’d rather just be there in person. Older people are like that.

You grunted, trying to drag your over-packed suitcase up the steep suburban driveway before sighing and standing in place. Sure, you didn’t need to bring so much shit home, but would you really want to risk some bitch at college stealing anything from your quad-dorm?

Before you could think and figure out how you’d even get the plastic luggage up the pristine, hand-painted porch steps and inside (without scratching them up and having your parents on your ass about their perfect house having a flaw) a voice called out to you. Unrecognized and not ringing any of the bells in your head. (If there were any left)

“Hey there, sweetheart. It’s been a while, huh?”

You turned to see a middle-aged man, similar to the last memory of your dad that had been printing-pressed into your mind for safe keeping. He was just emerging from the front door, broad chest accentuated by a well-fitted T-shirt. You immediately felt angry that his tits were bigger than yours. Would probably look better with a bra, too.

You didn’t answer.

Fuck- nerves were getting the better of you. Your palms were slick with sweat and you didn’t know if it was from the building summer humidity or anxiety. Was this normal? No the fuck it wasn’t.

“Uhh.. dad?” You queried- almost certain the gorgeous man at the door was just a hotter, older version of your dad and not actually him. The fuck is wrong with you? You’re getting this worked up over your father? Did college drinking really rewire your brain to be this fucked or is it all of the anxiety meds? Maybe both. Maybe you’re just overwhelmed. Maybe it’s because you rarely saw him and have zero attachment.

“Yeah, it’s me. Your old man. Missed you, kiddo.” There’s a pause for a moment- because you’re not sure why he’s talking so casually as if you see each other every weekend- like it hasn’t been years and years since you’ve seen him.

“Don’t remember me,huh?” He laughs satirically- like you’re supposed to be so sure. It makes you slightly furious and the feeling of anger bubbles up again- replacing any strange thoughts you were having moments ago.

No, my apologies dearest dad. I totally recognize you despite having met you enough times to count on almost two hands.

But the better part of you that managed to exist underneath the scores of problems you had just replied in jest- like someone without said scores of problems. It was best to keep the peace for now.

“You look a little different… sorry.” Is that all you can manage? It’s pitiful the state that your sullied mind is in.

He chuckles, though, like he knows your’re right. The sound is more pleasant and striking when it’s genuine. Makes you feel damp in other areas than just your armpits (thank you, heatwave).

“I suppose there’s truth to that. But It’s alright, sweetheart. I know it’s been a long time. People change, right?” His eyes scan you in an undecided way.

“But you, shit. You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman. College treating you well?” His words sound a little huffed then, he’s clearly beating around the bigger issue with a stick. But him calling you beautiful and being all fucking sappy makes your face feel hot and sticky like it’ll melt off. Got you wanting to rip the hair from your scalp to hear him say it again.

“Please?” You called out gently- gesturing to the suitcase and ignoring any other question. You were very much overstimulated- having overexerted muscles in your arms by being a weak bitch about a crammed carry-on. Just get your ass out here and help your daughter, thanks.

He shook his head- again laughing hotly while looking down as he stepped off the porch- his brown bangs were peppered with greys and they brushed his face on one side, his hair somehow pornographic on its own. Christ. He looked like one of those men you saw on Viagra commercials that obviously didn’t actually need it. Even the sight of your perfectly trimmed lawn and faux-looking home completed the scene. Where was the camera?

He walked over to you- there was a slight stiff in his stride; like he had a bad back or something. Maybe he did. Almost dying was the likely cause for that. Serves him right for leaving you with issues on top of issues. Maybe you should stop being mean, you’re the one getting hot over your own father. Again- because of him. Circle back to square one.

Leon towered over your frame as he hinged at the hips, picking up the suitcase with ease- the muscles in his arm flexed with each small movement. His face was a tinge of smug with a mix of something else…satisfaction? Maybe he was just pleased he was able to lift it without rupturing a hernia. Jesus Christ, his veins. You wonder if he has them anywhere else. No- maybe you should be wondering about taking your ass to an inpatient facility immediately. A few screws are loose and you don’t exactly have the tools to tighten them.

“I guess college did treat you well. You’re here in one piece.” He says- cutting you thickly from your thoughts and answering his own question from earlier. His blue eyes are sweet and gently lined with signs of aging. Which only makes him hotter- just like the fiery pits of hell that await you.

You scoff.

“Well, it’s not like I went to war or something.”

“Still. It’s nice to see you, sweetheart.” The word rolls off his tongue again. Your insides are trapezing around in their own miniature, fleshy circus- you’re wishing you could stab yourself in the stomach to stop the swarm of butterflies that don’t even feel metaphorical anymore. You’re sure they’re real now.

He continues, though.

“I know I haven’t been around much in your life- this fucking job and-“ You stare up at him- glossy doe-eyes and stupid look on your face. An apology- or even an explanation from your daddy might be part of what your scrambled brain needs.

“Work kept me away, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t think about you every day. I’m sorry if I wasn’t there for you like I should have been. Shit… What I mean to say, is- things will be different. I’ve retired. Your mother wanted me to tell you over dinner later but I figured you’d be happy to know. I’m not the best at keeping secrets.” He jokes at the end, but how is that true in the slightest? He’s kept his job a secret for your entire life, so he clearly can’t be that horrible at it.

“Oh.” Leaves your lips quietly, ghosting over Leon and leaving him wondering if he said something wrong. But then he realizes it’s probably just overwhelming for you. The worst part of him thinks you hate him. A feeling overcomes you though, and you rush in to wrap your arms around his waist- hugging him tightly. You now wonder why he didn’t hug you to begin with. Maybe he wasn’t an affectionate guy.

He says nothing at first- he’s even more awkward than you are if it’s possible. But he’s trying. He sets down your suitcase before returning your hold. One arm comes around the back of you and the other is overlapped on top- a hand nestling on the back of your head. Seems he’s getting a bit emotional, too. The attention from him is nice, though.

When you make a small grunt as to wanting to end the hug, his hands linger on your shoulders and he smiles at you. You actually return to, not feeling anything horrid become of your thoughts right now. Whether it be anger or incestual lust.

—

Your dad pushes the front door open with one of his large hands encased on the knob. Hands you immediately find attractive, wondering if they’d feel nice scissoring your cunt open. You now begin to understand why your mom was getting suicidal over him possibly not returning home. You’d kill yourself over him too. But that’s too morbid- especially after the moment you just shared.

That’s already lost to you.

He shut the door firmly, sighing, then gestures to the stairs.

You went up first, self conscious about your backside being right in front of his view but he was your dad. Wouldn’t be looking at you that way. You’re just brain-rotted and have an ill opinion of men.

Your old bedroom still looked the same, basically. Just emptier and more hollow without your things. But the walls were still painted a babydoll-pink and lined with the few girlish decorations you left on the wall. No way you would have been caught dead with those in your dorm. Not unless you wanted to endure torment and bullying that’d lead you to jumping off the dormitory roof.

He sets your luggage down and takes a seat on your bed. A groan escapes him as he puts a hand on his lower back for a moment.

“I see this room hasn’t changed much, has it?” he muses, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Your mom and I had a blast putting it together for you when she was pregnant.”

Yikes. You almost feel guilt for both the incestuous thoughts and the fact you may have ruined your parents' marriage. Maybe that’s not true. It was his work- not you. After all, he’s insinuating how happy they were to have you brought into this world. Plus- they were fine. Never argued or anything.

“I’m sorry. I dont- I don’t know what to say.” You laughed awkwardly, throwing your hands slightly up by your side.

His face doesn’t drop, though. It seems he understands perfectly fine.

“It’s okay. We can start from scratch. Not talk about… your room or childhood stuff. I know it’s a sore spot for you, sweetheart.”

Wrong. It’s more like a festering wound with the rusted knife still wedged in it. The knife being Leon and the wound your daddy issues, by the way. And having no attachment to him as a father figure makes the attraction worse. Notably when he calls you any term of endearment. He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

What the fuck. Was he sculpted by Satan himself as some kind of hell-on-earth punishment? Is this purgatory? Everything he did now was driving you up the wall like a roach- every movement and small flex showing a vein or bulge of muscle. And his arm hair didn’t help. Fucking Christ- shave it off or something. You don’t know how you’ll be able to stand it.

“Okay…. How does that work?” You cocked your head to the side a little, shifting your weight onto one leg. A nervous habit.

“Well- what do most parents do with their kids? We could go out for dinner, catch a movie, just… hang out. I’d like to spend time with my daughter, you know.”

Okay, so maybe he did care. That’s a start.

“Uh… all three?” You questioned, an eyebrow lifting along with the infliction of your voice towards the end of your sentence. You’re indecisive like your mom.

He smiled, lines and the corners of his mouth pressed. Happy. Something you heard wasn’t common for him, anyways.

“Of course. We can go out tomorrow, honey. Your mom just wants us to all have dinner together when she gets home. She missed you- not as much as I did, I bet.” He does that stupid fucking wink again. It makes you switch emotions and want to throw something at his head. Maybe your lamp. You feel bad, It’s not his fault you’re acting like a mental freak about him. You don’t even bother to fixate on the fact you’ll have to have dinner with your cunt of a mom. Okay, maybe that’s harsh.

“Okay.” You breathe out, looking around your room. Leon takes that as a cue to stand up from your old bed- the thing creaking from his weight and leaving an indent on your comforter.

“It’s a date, then. I’m going to start dinner. As much as I love your mother, she can be…scary.” He says, still rocking that pressed-in-cheek smile and cracking your door closed behind him. By the way, what he really meant was probably ‘bitchy’- not scary. But dad seems too kind to say that. He loves your mom.

You can breathe again without his presence. It was smothering, like you had to overperform. You find yourself rushing to your dresser mirror to check how you looked. Hair looks great, face too- though a little tired from college over-studying and then driving 4 hours home with no break.

You might as well write ‘whore’ on your mirror with lipstick. Or a marker- since that’s a more permanent reminder with the way you’re acting. But part of you wanted to know what he thought of you- how he perceived you. For now though, it doesn’t matter. Had barely been 15 minutes since you arrived. You turn your attention to your suitcase and push it over flat, unzipping it before the teeth give out and some of your things spill from inside.

You had less than a sufficient amount of energy to care about it being broken now- so you just put your things away quickly before plopping onto the bed and indulging your senses with the smell of the floral detergent your mom always used on your sheets.

—

It’s some time later when you’re abruptly awoken by your moms manicured hand shaking you awake by the shoulder.

“I can’t believe you’re sleeping when you could be spending time with your father. He was excited for you to be home.”

‘Way to wake me up.’ You thought. She was always having a stick up her ass about this kind of thing. Or anything, really..

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Besides, we’re going out tomorrow to do a bunch of stuff.” You argue sleepily, sitting up as your back aches with your vision still adjusting. She cuts on the lamp, sizzling your retinas.

Her face perks up but is pleasantly surprised.

“Oh, okay..” silence.

“I’m sorry, honey. It was just a long day at work and I’m just over-the-moon for you two to finally have some daddy-daughter time.”

You wrinkle your face in disgust, but not fully disgust since you were just fawning over your hot dad earlier. Maybe daddy doesn’t sound so bad.

“Ew- mom. He’s just my dad. I’m not five.” She laughs, waving her hand off at you.

“Well anyhow- come down for dinner, will you? He put in a lot of effort to cook something for us.”

You cursed under your breath and straighten out your shirt- hoping she wouldn’t bitch about it being slightly wrinkled from you sleeping in it. You seat yourself at the table- adjacent from your mother sitting at the end. She’s already changed out of her office clothes and sure enough, here comes your daddy dad from the kitchen with utensils.

“Sorry ladies- almost forgot these.” He laughs, placing down everyone’s set before seating himself next to you. Fuck.

“You know- your father has only been home a few months and he’s already shown the extent of his memory loss.” She jokes, giving him a loving yet teasing look that makes you want to vomit. And yet jealousy curls up like a cat in your lap, wanting to be lavished with attention from you. The metaphorical jealousy pounces off your lap as you’re met with your dad’s hand on your denim-clad thigh. It’s an innocent gesture but you want to his hand to go further than just sitting politely.

“She’s right, but I can be useful otherwise.” He’s bantering back with her- and you realize he’s making an innuendo when you look over at his face. But it’s weird that he’s saying it while his digits cradle your thigh so gently.

“Gross.” You take a bite of your food- momentarily shocked that a dad of any sort could make such a pleasant meal, especially when he’s spent such little time doing domestic duties.

“Oh honey- you’re grown. We’re just teasing each other.” Your mom nods to Leon, taking a bite off of her fork. His hand slides off of your thigh and he grabs his whiskey glass to take a proper sip.

Jeez, he drinks that shit like its water. No grimacing. No face was made when he swallowed it. Just a guy thing you suppose.

Dinner drags on- the both of them forcing you to talk about your less-than-thrilling college experience. No mom, no boyfriend. No dad, I’m not failing. No you two, I’m not having unprotected sex- fuck off.

After that eventful meal and conversation where your parents basically eye-fucked each other over dinner, you’re left to clean up the mess while your mom gets ready for bed. She has to leave for work early in the morning- as usual. Guess she’s going to take your dad’s spot for the absent parent now that you’re grown and traumatized full and proper.

-

Sleep came and went- leaving you to trudge out of bed and do your morning routine. It felt out of place trying to do it back at home- but it was also a sentimental feeling to be doing just that.

Leon is already in the kitchen, shirtless and cooking. Seems impractical, but holy fuck. You’d gorilla glue your eyelids open just to not miss a single second of what you’re seeing. Maybe that wasn’t needed- because you've been staring long enough that your eyes prick with tears. You remind yourself to blink and you seat yourself at the high-top, the stool swiveling slightly when your bottom meets the material.

“Morning, sweetheart. Sleep well?” He asks, turning to look at you over his shoulder. His traps are distracting you. You want to chew your fingernails past the nail bed- bite a finger off too. You can’t stand it. For a moment- the way he talks to you- you’re pretending you’re not his daughter. And then a moment later, you’re not being delusional anymore.

“Mhm.” You mumble sleepily- wishing you’d have stayed in bed longer. But piercing morning light, lack of blackout curtains, and the chirping of birds outside made that idea inconceivable. Leon chuckled to himself- turned away from you.

You decide to scroll through your phone for a moment’s time before he slides a plate to you from across the island.

“Breakfast a la Leon.” He says- clearly being silly. Corny as fuck, anyways.

“You’re old.” You snort, setting aside your phone and grabbing a fork to pick at your food until he turns away again. You didn’t enjoy the idea of having a hot, shirtless man watching you eat.

He shakes his head, sitting down next to you at the island.

Christ. Fucking go away. It’s actually enraging now.

You want to scream at him- it’s irrational and crazy- but you do. Screaming at him and being sent away to a ward sounds more appealing than the anxiety crawling up your spine like a horde of fire ants. Potentially- just like the butterflies- they’re real too.

He seems undisturbed as he settles- taking a bite. You do the same- trying to ignore the fact he's so close you can nearly feel his arm hair touching you every second or so. He breaks the silence after a moment.

“So- after this, I’ve got a whole day planned out. Mall, movies, and dinner. Sound good?” You nod, a soft ‘mhm’ reverberating on the roof of your mouth.

He finishes before you and makes his way upstairs- the occasional pain in his back unmistakeable every few steps. And yet he wants to take you to the mall to walk around? You didn’t even know how to feel about a day with your dad. What’s a dad? What’s daddy-daughter bonding? That’s lost to you- well- more like it was never even discovered. Not even Columbus could have ventured out and conquered it.

Since he’s no longer in the room, you hastily eat the rest of your breakfast before you discard the plate and fork into the way-too-elaborate dishwasher your mom had installed (you totally didn’t spend 10 minutes trying to turn it on).

Back in your room, you settle on a simple, totally not underlyingly slutty outfit. Shorts and a crop top. Can never go wrong with that. It’s just soft/core prom enough for an outing with your dad. When you leave your room- Leon is just headed down the stairs. He turns to look at you, his smile is as jovial as it has been since you’ve seen him. For a moment though, you think you catch his eyes landing on your exposed legs- but you know you’re just crazy. You’re the one lusting after him, not the other way around. Your dad isn’t abnormal like you. His head is on correctly- even if it’s been battered and spun on his shoulders throughout the years.

“Ready?” He asks, stopping in place to wait for you. You nod stupidly, breaking from your trance to follow him in a descent down the stairs.

He’s dressed similar to how he was yesterday- jeans and a t-shirt that should be considered indecent. If you were your mom, you’d beg him to wear something that doesn’t highlight every curve and dip of his chest. Hell, if you were your mom, you’d never let him go outside. Too risky. But you’re not your mom. You’re just unusual.

As a perfect man does, he opens the door for you. Then opens the SUV door, allowing you in before shutting it behind. You’re sure you've never met a guy that does that in real life, but maybe it was a ‘you’ problem and not the guy. Who knows.

When he gets in, he cranks the vehicle only for rock music to start playing from the radio- making the corners of his mouth dimple with a pleased look. Really are the simple things for him. As for you, you’re suffocated in a Hellish torment by both his presence and the expensive scent of cologne and leather seats combo.

The ride isn’t long, nor bad. Albeit you two only talk here and there so he can focus on the road- and so you can focus on not dying (he’s not a perfect driver, but not terrible either). Just enough to keep your nerves teetering between a light anxiety attack and full blown panic.

You’re relieved to get there alive. Maybe not. Your thoughts have you thinking suicide may be your only option for now disgusting they are. And it only gets worse when he helps you down from the step up of the SUV- a hand on your exposed waist and the other on your shoulder. It’s harmless. Just a dad being gentlemanly. He was shaped and carved out in that perfect, chivalrous image with only a mallet and hammer. No reason to make it weird.

Inside the mall is a tad busy- the perfect amount to be comforting. You feel a bit more at ease in a public setting since you can now focus on anything but your dad’s chest. As long as he doesn’t require eye contact or talk to you, that is.

He looks around, arms crossed. It’s almost whorish. He has to know his arms look good. Or that his everything looks good. The fuck.

“So…” He cranes his head to the side, bangs brushing over his nose for a moment. The way he looks around makes his Adam’s apple and neck muscles a little more prominent. A perfect, stubbled spot to attack with your lips.

“What do you feel like doing first, kiddo?”

You. Is what you want to say.

He looks back to you, smiling down amused. He seems genuinely happy to be able to take you out. But really- his face is making you nauseous. Obviously not because it’s bad. But because it’s good-bad. Too good it’s bad.

“Uhh… “ you look away from him, scanning the entrance area and looking at any signs. Almost like an escape.

“How about new clothes maybe? Seems like something got ahold to the other half of your pants anyways.” He nudges you with an elbow, gesturing to your shorts with his head.

So he probably did look at your legs earlier. Maybe not in the way you think, though.

You glare at him.

“Seriously?”

Leon puts his hands up in defense. He’s always on the defense in life anyways.

“Joking, joking. You’re…grown.” His forehead lines crease when he raises his brows. You did get rather annoyed at his comment, however.

“I could always buy some even shorter.” You spit sarcastically.

“Yes- because every father wants to walk around with their daughter who has her ass out.” He’s quick to remark, this time he seems grumpier when he talks. Sorta like he’s uncomfortable with the conversation. Or that he’s mad.

“Sorry my legs make you so uncomfortable. I guess I should’ve left them at home.” The back and forth here could go on forever between you two but he catches you off guard.

“Shit- no. It’s not that- ‘s just you’ve got nice legs. Can’t have these…shitheads eying down my little girl. I may be old, but I can fight when I need to.”

You know he meant his words innocently enough, but the fact that he said nice legs has you giddy inside. Same feeling when your crush calls you pretty. Yeah- that sorta feeling. And his little girl. It has a ring to it. Could even legally change your name to it so that he can call you by it more often. Maybe he’ll even let you jump on his dick right away.

Your face is pure rose-shaded. A perfect, neutral shade to make your embarrassment pop on your skin. You’re sure it’s visible to him, too. Your mom always teased you about how blotchy it would get when you were humiliated. Particularly when she would tell awkward stories about you at family dinners. Bitch.

“What’s wrong? Don’t be pissed at me, sweetheart. I was just teasin-“

“It’s not that.” You interrupt- heart thumping into your rib cage. If it doesn’t stop, or you don’t stop your word-vomit, it might crack a rib or four. Probably more. Better have hospital bill and therapy money ready, dad.

“Then what’s the matter? I just want us to have a good time together. I’m not trying to upset y-“

“You said I have nice legs.” You’re quick to cut him off again.

“And…?” He trails off, cocking his head to the side like he’s confused. Because he is confused. You stare off to the side- eyes glued to the fountain. Maybe you could go drown yourself in the penny-flavored water that you guarantee hasn’t been changed out since you were still the unlucky sperm in your dad’s ball-sack.

“I like that. You saying that.” You speak a little lower now- afraid someone will hear. Or because the tinnitus is so loud in your ears. What you’re getting at is almost clear now. Or at least clear enough.

Leon’s expression is taken aback but still confused to an extent because he’s not even certain what you’re saying. Though, he has an idea.

“Oh- uh. Okay. Sweethea-“

“Holy fuck- stop calling me that. You’re not making this easy. Wanting to fuck you. I know- I sound mental.” You spill it out, guts on the floor and the sword still in hand. Holy shit. Just told your dad you want to fuck him. You could have backtracked- fucking dumbass. You won’t be shocked if he packs his bags and leaves off again tomorrow.

He’s silent for a moment.

“Okay- clearly I wasn’t around enough. I get that. But I mean- fuck.” He runs his hand through his hair, looking around. Probably thinking the same thing about the fountain that you did. Still- he looked hot while having a crisis and contemplating immediate suicide. He paces while your nerves are being electrocuted in your body. Why couldn’t you just be normal?

“Just- sweetheart, no. None of that’s.. I can’t.” He starts, turning back to you. It seems he can look you in the eyes now. So maybe he’s not entirely disgusted by you. His face isn’t contorted with disgust, so there’s a chance. Yeah, you’re off your rocker now. You know.

“Look- let’s not talk about this. C’mon. Let’s go catch a movie like I promised.” He starts walking- leaving you standing in a puddle of shame and embarrassment for a moment before stopping to let you catch up.

Luckily- the theater is joined to the mall. It’ll be a short walk.

—

Leon is lax on the couch until he hears the crunchy sound of tires on concrete. You’re home. Despite his shitty back, he's huffing as he gets up fast and is already opening the door. The air is hot as it greets his skin and he watches you struggle with your suitcase through the heat-haze that spans over the distance.

He calls out to you- making your head snap in his direction. Your face is that of awe and confusion. You don’t seem to immediately recognize him- okay. He gets it. It’s been a while. Nevertheless, you’re beautiful. He’d seen pictures of you from your mother, but he’s in awe just as you are. Though, he doesn’t think that highly of himself so he often wonders if you’re even his kid. Couldn’t have made something that perfect, in his mind. He helps you with your bag and follows you to your room. But your demeanor around him is noticeably mousey. At first, it doesn't seem like much. You’re just getting used to him.

Plus, Leon knows he can come off intimidating. Sometimes. But for him, he’s got a good eye and his job has led him to being able to read even the tiniest bits of body language. Doesn’t take him long to see how you’re worming around shyly- subconsciously smoothing your hair down and biting at your lip. Same way your mom acted around him before they started dating. But again- maybe it’s just in his head. Leon’s been wrong a time or two.

A better man would have left it alone. Leon gets that. But an innocent thigh squeeze at dinner can help him test his theory. A thigh squeeze that’s under the guise of friendly, fatherly touch. You tense- he can hear your small, sucked in breaths as long as his hand is there, along with heat radiating off your body like a wildfire. If wildfires could be horny college-aged daughters with daddy issues, that is.

The idea disgusts him. Because he should feel disgusted and just kill himself. Where did these thoughts come from? He even has the urge to let his hand wander other places. Bets that you have a cute pussy. No matter what it does or doesn’t look like, it’s yours and he knows it's cute. He’d give you two thick digits in your hole (three if you allow him) and have his tongue kitten-lick your clit.

“There we go. Good girl.” Is what he envisions saying before diving back in for a mouth full of you. Girls like you love being praised. Especially by their estranged father-figure or a middle aged man. It’s all the same. He’d pry the daddy issues right out of you with his dick. It’s long and fat enough, and solves all of his matters properly. Your mom is in a bad mood? His dick will fix that. He can’t sleep? His dick will fix that. His daughter is a horny freak and begging for it? His dick will fix that, too- obviously.

It’s only when your mom makes some stupid fucking joke about his memory loss that he snaps back into reality and he loses the momentum he had going for an erection. Which is good. Maybe thinking about fucking your mom will make him normal again. So he drops a quip right back- something about… being useful. Yeah. Again, his cock is useful. Your mom bites at his words, but you’re annoyed and disgusted with his comment- especially with his hand on you while he says it.

Trust me, baby. Much rather be splitting you open than having performative, mandatory spousal sex. It’s like a switch flipped. He’s not interested in your mom. Should’ve had that realization years ago, even. Technically he did. He’s just now saying it in his head finally. Mostly he was exhausted because she had nothing to do with Leon even when he was home (unless it was for dick). Too bad he was a golden retriever following after her every step like a good doggy. Marriage did that to a guy. He just did what he was supposed to. Kept the lights on, blew out her back occasionally, listened to her complain, and took care of the lawn when he could. Easy enough. That’s what men do, right? He doesn’t really know what being a man is, honestly. Thanks, Major Krauser. Anyhow- he chokes down his food with a smile. The need to upchuck after everything he just thought up is a given.

He takes the liberty to fuck your mom later that night as promised per (faux) flirting over dinner. He has her face down-ass up, though. For… imagination’s sake. At least fucking a pussy and imagining you is better than his hand and imagining you. Or so he tells himself. Call it killing two birds with one stone, satisfying your mom and quelling his own desires. And it’s not hard to imagine any of it, because you look so much like your mother. He lies awake for a short while after- contemplating his existence and fucked up thoughts. He’s still holding back vomit and the urge to grab his gun from the nightstand and off himself all over the wallpaper, while in the process, traumatizing your mom. After an hour of this- he figures it’s fine, men think of perverted or weird shit sometimes. Jerk off to weird shit too. He hasn’t technically done anything morally wrong… sort of. It’s denial. At least he’s good at playing the part of a genuine, loving father. Because he is! He loves his family. Always has!

Spending time with you would make you happy, him happy, your mom happy. He loves you dearly. All is great. He’s swearing that his brain won’t be smoothied in his skull by tomorrow. It’ll be normal and function rationally.

But Leon wakes up with the thoughts being real as ever while he stretches an arm out to feel around for your mother- bed empty since she leaves at the ass crack of dawn. Leon had just missed her leave, he’s still getting used to sleeping in ever since he retired.

He gets up and heads downstairs- immediately starting breakfast to take his mind off his…mind. Breakfast is his favorite meal of the day, it makes him feel better to indulge in it right now. Though, he doesn’t bother putting a shirt on at any point- just rocking those generic, green and blue tartan patterned pajama pants. Cooking shirtless is weird- but he’s hungry and part of him wonders if he’ll get to see your priceless face when you walk into the kitchen. He shakes his head- telling himself that he just had this talk with himself last night. None of that shit.

He was right about one thing. God, he could make a killing in betting. He sees your reflection behind him in the small window above the counter but you didn’t know that. Just stood, gawking. It’s okay. He’s observative, you’re not. You’re his dumb little girl. Dumb in the way you shift in your stool next to him when he sits down, dumb how you hold your breath when he’s near, dumb how you can’t even eat next to him, and dumb how your thighs seem to wriggle when his arm ‘accidentally’ brushes yours. Oh, he’s definitely not wrong.

Still- he knows when to back off. He hounds down his food, before you even make a dent in your plate, and heads upstairs to shower. He’s analyzing every detail of himself, contemplating how he can get under your skin the most- his knuckles gripping the sink with distaste for himself. Because it’s wrong. He’s acting like a teenager. This is a date with his daughter, not his highschool girlfriend.

Leon skips over shaving his face. Likes to keep it a little grown out but not too much so. Just in case he gets the chance to eat (your) pussy or kiss (your) a neck. Then comes the Dior ‘Sauvage’ body wash he never failed to keep with him. He takes pride in smelling good if anything. And this particularly expensive wash, plus the cologne, was his lifeline for that. When he traveled for work- the D.S.O. better have god damned had some sent to his room as courtesy. Ever since Raccoon City- he’s adamant about not smelling less than great. He swears he can still smell the sewer on himself sometimes, even if it’s not really there.

His hair routine was even more extensive and involved a weekly hair mask. Hey- it wasn’t wrong for a guy to have nice hair. It paid off.

Heat protectant, blow dry, hot-comb to get any cow licks or fly-aways he might have- though it’s unlikely- and a little spritz of biotin spray to keep it healthy and shiny. All of that in reasonable time, too. And no- it's not weird for him to spend longer on his hair than your mom does.

Besides, you seem to appreciate the way he looks when you come out of your bedroom- watching him descend the stairs. Leon looks back at you- eyes on your legs momentarily then coming back up. He knows it was a quick look- quick enough to make you question it. You do. Very much. Still, taking you out in public wearing those shorts is less than ideal for him, but he’s the one who needs to be watched closely. Aforementioned, Leon’s great at pretending. Pretending to be normal. Pretending to not have ulterior motives. Pretending to not want your legs on his shoulders as he-

“All ready?” He interrupts himself here. Can’t let his thoughts keep going too far. Even if he does want to rest a hand on your leg while he drives. Or veer off the road and into a tree so that he can’t continue to be disgusting. He’d die with the image of being a good, wholesome dad in everyone’s mind. And if you did or didn’t die too, at least you would have died not having been fucked silly by your old man. He manages to not kill you both, though. He wasn’t planning to- his driving is just ass. He knows whiskey with his breakfast isn’t ideal but when you’re a recovering alcoholic plus post traumatic stressed failure of a father, it helps.

Can’t complain though since he gets to put his hands on you while helping you out of the vehicle.

Now you’re both in the mall- Leon questioning what exactly he’s supposed to do now. He hasn’t been to one since… he doesn’t have enough fingers for that. But you’re seemingly calm. Until he makes a stupid joke about your shorts. Sure. As much as he’s thinking about ripping a hole in the crotch to fuck you cause he’s impatient and stupid- he said it out of genuine concern.

He still has fatherly instinct. Some sick bastard could get a glimpse of your exposed legs and go jerk off to it or take a photo. Ironic coming from him right now. The call is coming from inside the house but the dad is too busy fiending after his own daughter to answer.

You’re royally pissed. He knows it. Women don’t like having it insinuated that they’re dressed like a whore. Big whoop, though. Someone has to say it. Then you blindside him. Big, needy eyes and saying you like it when he tells you your legs are nice. Then something about how you want to fuck him. Christ. What the fuck. He’s not sure if this is some kind of screwy set-up or you’re actually just so slutty that the only dick you’ll accept is your dad’s. He’s rocking a semi now. Would be a full hard-on if he weren’t in public but his head spins cause all the blood went to his loins too fast.

Leon doesn’t accept the advances yet. Not now, anyways. He’s mortified. He really thought he had himself going in delusion about how you were behaving- but he was actually right. And now being confronted with it… he’s fucking scared - that’s for sure. Hmm. Be a morally acceptable human or fuck your needy, whore daughter silly? He shakes his head and lets out an exhale.

That question needs some thought. No, it doesn’t. He knows better than to do any of that shit, right? He takes a moment to start walking while you follow along shamefully- the two of you headed to the theater. A movie is perfect. Don’t have to talk or anything. No interacting, really. But how the fuck is he just going to forget what you said? Sure, he’s been having questionable thoughts but they’re just thoughts. Your words, however, spoke it into existence. Like a fucked up, frankenstein’s monster of father-daughter reality.

Don’t mind us, everyone. Daughter’s got it real bad for me but I’m just going to take her to the movies and pretend it’s normal. Reality was distorted for him ever since the existence of zombies and BOWs anyway.

He lets you pick the movie- telling the attendant that he needs two tickets. It’s a horror movie. Of course. Something to trigger his PTSD, maybe. Then he could say anything he did after that was just accidental. A mental slip. He goes to fork over the $60 for tickets and popcorn- god, when did shit get so expensive? As he’s pulling out the cash, he sees you give him a look like you want to say something. His mind is racing looking at you- it makes him nervous.

“Uh.. what about candy?” You ask, looking away from him and at the display.

“What? Sour worms?” He questions you, laughing. Not in a mean way- but because it’s your favorite. So insignificant but he remembers. You were still a kid when he and your mom took you to see some milked out children’s movie that was a part of an entirely too long series. He bought you two boxes of sour worms then. You were a weird kid, though. The worms were split into two colors, and you’d always bite them down the middle and make him eat the side you didn’t like. But he’d do it. Gladly.

You nod, a little befuddled that he’d remember something like that. Cute. Too bad your weird ass just told him you wanted to fuck him about 15 minutes ago. So not entirely a cute moment.

“Oh- and two boxes of Sour Worms, please.” He adds, now pulling out a little more cash.

You both respectively grab your own drinks- Leon with popcorn in tow and you, your worms and cherry soda. His hands are full but he manages to flash the movie ticket between his index and middle finger to the usher, who then ripped it in half and pointed to the left end of the hallway.

You both don’t say anything, but you immediately race to the very top row like a child once inside the screening. Leon swears under his breath as he follows you like a geriatric snail. If a snail could have lumbar issues. He’s able to make it up the stairs to you quite some time after and takes the seat next to you that’s closest to the aisle. Safety and all that jazz.

Previews are already playing so it gives him peace of mind to not address the awkwardness between the two of you. Your soda is in the cup holder that’s separating you both, but you lean over to take a sip, cheeks hollowed out while you drink. Of course Leon looks over, fuck.

Pretty little lips wrapped around the straw until you pull off of it with a satisfied sigh. Cause you were thirsty from anxiety- like someone shoved gauze and cotton into your mouth.

He shifts in his seat and looks back at the screen. He doesn’t even know if you’re doing it on purpose. You’re not, however. He’s just a perverted dickhead.

Time passes and not a single soul has come into this screening. It’s Monday at 11am, after all. Who the hell would come watch a horror movie at this time? No one except two fucking weirdos. It’s making Leon’s nails dig into the armrest with the other set scratching at his jeans.

The movie doesn’t start off bad, to Leon’s shock. He’s actually enjoying it and you seem just as entranced, pulling open the box of Sour Worms without looking down. You do wind up looking down, however, to bite one in half because it just so happened to be a blue and orange combo, and you hated the orange side.

“Here.” Leon turns to look at you- your eyes coming up to meet his blue ones that are oddly blue enough to the point that any light from the screen makes them pop. Pretty.

“The orange half. I know you don’t like them.” His voice is husky and low since the speakers are blaring some generic string-quartet horror piece. He nods down to the half chewed candy in your palm.

You pinch it between your fingers, bringing it to his mouth as your cunt throbs. He was expecting you to hand it to him, but the way you confidentially yet instinctively brought it to his lips isn’t entirely unwelcome. The emptiness of the theater makes it that way. Allows room for incest of whatever. He opens his mouth for you, and you go to place the sour treat on his tongue. His lips gently close around it, before he grabs your wrist to hold your arm in place. A hold gentle enough to tell you that if you want to snatch your hand away- feel free to do so. But you don’t. And you won’t. He knows.

Candy in cheek, he brings your fingers to his lips and nurses your knuckles with a kiss before puppeteering your hand with his larger one, working each digit so that he can equally suck each one clean. You’re amazed, aroused, and alarmed all at the same time. Amazed because he looks so gorgeous sucking on your fingers. Aroused for the obvious reason. Alarmed because duh, he’s your father and things can only go further from here.

Leon places your hand back onto the arm rest between you, chewing the halved sour worm now. As if he didn’t just give you the most visually appealing form of sexual affection in the history of womankind. The dryness of your mouth returns and you take another sip of your Cherry soda. Maybe you can drown yourself in it. No, stupid. That’s what the public bathroom toilets are for.

Right before you set the plastic cup into the cupholder again, Leon speaks.

“Ah, ah. Put it over there.” You don’t even hesitate to listen. Record timing for you doing anything. You don’t even know why you followed his instructions so quick.

“Good girl.” His words send lightning of excitement down your nerves and straight to your clit as he pushes the armrest between you upwards and out of the way. Because that’s a thing, for some reason. It’s like theaters want people to fuck, give head, and spread their diseases everywhere. And why does he know they move? You don’t even want to question it. Maybe he’s just a knowledgeable guy.

“Come here, honey. Let daddy kiss that pretty mouth.” Fucking Christ. This can’t be real. Doesn’t matter, ‘cause again, there’s zero hesitation on your part. Leon likes that. A woman that can follow orders. He’s so used to taking them, not giving them. And your mom isn’t one to listen to other people. Either way, if this goes south, Leon can always just off himself. He wasn’t around much so what difference would it make if he was permanently gone? The reassurance of being able to log out forever gives him courage here. It’s rational.

You scoot over since you’re free from any barriers or restrictions, and he puts an arm over you. You swear you almost hear your skin sizzle from the contact. You’re not a witch- and as far as you know, he’s not water. Even if he gets you wet. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek and swipe a thumb over your bottom lip- teasing you.

“D-dad.” You stutter a protest- cringing that you sounded the way you did just now. Maybe you shouldn’t be embarrassed ‘cause he’s your dad- but you are embarrassed ‘cause he’s hot. You can’t even figure out why you wanna back out suddenly. Probably because the idea was better than betraying your mom and knowing yourself as someone who fucks their dad. Anywho- didn’t he say something about kissing you? Cause he’s not even doing as promised.

Your dad leans in, his free hand is now on your neck and angling it just to show you how easy he can manhandle your body. He plants a kiss on your earlobe before saying anything.

“What’s wrong, baby? Can’t go giving daddy blue-balls now. It’s not polite to start things you don’t wanna finish.”

Leon’s words simultaneously gross you out and turn you on in a self-deprecating, disgusting kind of way. Not to mention he’s literally contradicting himself since he would gladly eat the half of the sour worms you didn’t want to finish- therefore entirely enabling you to start things you couldn’t finish. Hm. That must explain a large portion of your life, then. And besides all do that, doesn’t the know blue-balls is some kinda stupid myth or whatever?

His thumb falls down your lip and traces your jawline with intentional slowness while his eyes look over your face appreciatively- but it also seems as if he’s looking for or at something specific.

You get the courage to speak, air sucked fully into your lungs.

“Sorry, daddy.” The fuck is wrong with you? You could have said anything but that. It’ll only spur him on. But you want that, obviously.

He smirks, lips pressed together as the corners of his mouth do that same, pitted thing they do that you like so much. Must go hand in hand with how his chin is also dimpled. It’s sexy. But little do you know, it’s one of the reasons he keeps his stubble. Doesn’t feel like having his butt chin on display to the world- even if every woman that’s ever laid eye on him sees it and wants it buried in their cunt.

“That’s my girl. Didn’t even have to be around much to teach you that, did I?” Leon queries, grabbing your chin to crane your head just so that he can plant his lips onto your neck. His other hand is on your knee, unmoving. You want it to move, though. God- you’re sure whatever higher power is in the great sky is throwing up right now, moments away from pressing the reset button. The same higher power will make a new rule on humanity.

No free will and absolutely no incest. Yeah. Probably should have written that into the books ages ago, one fears.

You fidget as he kisses your neck, stubble scratching your epidermis yet tickling all the same.

“Not gonna answer me, sweetheart?” He murmurs against your throat, the neck kiss he gives it uses a bit of tongue- making your body jolt. “I know your mother taught you manners.”’

You mumble something pathetically apologetic, hands gripping the fabric over his shoulders. Hopefully your mom won’t notice his shirt being stretched out there- cause she notices everything.

“N-no, daddy. I knew it on my own.” You huff, that hand you wanted him to move is slowly doing so- fingers dragging along your inner thigh as if everything he’s doing to you is purposefully meant to be some kind of forewarning. But for what, exactly?

“Such a smart girl. Get that from daddy, you know it?” Ok, cocky…

Leon kisses his way back up your neck, jawbone, and then your cheek. It’s sweet- if being lavished with saccharine, sexual and inappropriate attention from your dad could be sweet.

You nod, feeling his grip loosen from your chin and now sliding up the back of your neck to tangle in your hair, threading it. He’s slow and deliberate- part of you wishes he’d not give you time to think about your actions. Not that you can really think anyways. Your heartbeat is muddled in your ears and the movie is still rumbling through the speakers while someone gets murdered on screen. Lucky them.

The hand on your thigh presses firmer into the skin just below the edge of your shorts, a silent telling for you to keep your attention on him.

“Sorry baby, daddy got distracted. Just so pretty.” He must be able to tell you’re impatient because he kisses your cheek (with an oddly dark undertone to it) before slimming the distance between your lips. He pauses right when they touch and you’re breathing in the taste-turned-scent of the sour worm you fed him earlier. Sugar and that weird orange flavor that is only specific to orange candy. You’re obviously not a fan, but it suits him.

You don’t get any time left to process before it’s a full on kiss- well, make out, actually. It’s slow. You can’t recall being kissed like this, ever. Normally it’s straight to tongue with guys, and not in, like, the good way. The ‘having an eel invading your oral cavity’ kind of way. Eugh.

But your dad’s tongue does brush yours, tastefully. You can actually feel the texture and it’s easy to tell there’s an erection fueling his actions- but not so much so that it takes over the whole kiss.

He uses your hair to pull you closer, teeth clashing momentarily. Not exactly the best feeling but everything else envelops your senses to the point that it’s only a flash of a moment. Your thigh is neglected by his touch, hand moving up and around onto your backside. He gives a squeeze to the fat of your ass and groans against your mouth before pulling you into his lap- legs folded on either side of his thighs.

You break the kiss, looking over your shoulder and to where the entrance is- the exit sign casting a nearby glow that gives you anxiety..

“Can’t- we’ll get caught.” You pant, that weird feeling that’s the grotesque love child of nervousness and excitement is swimming in your gut like a parasite before settling. The severity and realness of the situation sinks in.

Leon laughs low and mean, retracting his hand from your hair and moving to run it through the top of your scalp to push it back. He juts his hips upwards to prod his denimed erection into the cunt of your shorts. You mewl quietly, or maybe it was loud. The movie is just too deafening to distinguish which.

“Suppose you’re right, baby.” He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, leaning in to give you a light peck on the lips. “Told you you’re a smart girl, didn’t I? Can’t let me go around thinking with my dick, huh?”

His hand pats your thigh as if to tell you to get off.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Up.” He commands you with a huffed voice- not because he’s annoyed but because he’s a middle-aged man. Moving is hard. You ignominiously climb off of his lap, putting your bottom back onto the seat next to him. He’s looking at you, meandering a hand back onto your thigh just to rest in place.

You stare at the screen- but you can’t even register it because you’re too disassociated from what just happened. You almost want to beg him to fuck you right here- plead for forgiveness that you suggested stopping in the first place. And you can still taste that damned orange sour worm in your mouth.

Leon behaves, though. He’s good about that. Respectful. In the way of consent- not in the way of not tongue fucking his daughter in a public space. When the movie ends, he gestures for you to stand and you walk past him, carrying your empty cup and boxes of sour worms while the uncomfortable feeling of your slick clinging the gusset of your panties to your cunt. You look back at your father, the sight of him in the palely lit theater is a bit intimidating. He’s adjusting his pants for obvious reasons. You look away quickly and keep walking- a giddy feeling of satisfaction overcoming you. Shortly enough, you’re both back in the main area of the mall. You brush your shirt out and fix your hair- the thought occurs to you that maybe you look a little mussed and should have straightened up sooner.

But the daylight beaming through the sky roof brings you back to your senses.

“Hmm. What does my sweet girl want to get up to now?” Leon asks, intersecting his arms as he looks over you.

You think, mind fizzling as it short circuits. You almost smell smoke emanating from your head, too. How can you look him in the face right now?

“Uhh..” You really don’t know what to say. What can you focus on doing after everything that’s happened today?

“How about this? We can go home a little early and I’ll cook something up for lunch. The drive will give us time to work up an appetite.” He says, nonchalant. Right back to his same fatherly tone from earlier today instead of the ‘I want to split you open with my dick’ tone he had moments ago. Maybe he’s just being sweet and you’re overthinking.

You’re befuddled that he’s not saying anything else about… that. How can he so easily go from publicly groping you to acting cheery and normal? It’s frustrating. Disturbing even. Leon can see the disappointment on your face- but you don’t know that. You assume it’s well hidden, just like the fact you kissed your own father. He thinks it’s cute though. You’re just cock dumb for him. On the other hand, this whole situation is something he has to deal with.

“Got it.” You manage to say, walking a little faster than he does. This is the second time you’ve walked off from your dad, and it does irritate him because he can’t keep up like he used to. Displaced disc in his spine or whatever. Plus, he thinks you’re pissed. Which is worrying. Should have known better than to mess around with his own daughter, he supposes.

The drive back is silent and less terrifying than the previous, part of you thankful. Maybe he was only a bad driver in the morning. Unlikely, but not impossible. Maybe it was the fact that he drank whiskey with his breakfast. Hm. ‘Responsible’ in hindsight.

It’s still early in the afternoon when you arrive back home. The concrete is sizzling from the heat and the sun beats down way too uncomfortably for even a walk from the driveway to the front door.

Leon side-steps you to unlock the house before he urges you in. He may be morally reprehensible but he still didn’t want to let any cool air out- AC’s expensive. You plop down on the couch and he locks the door, walking past you and straight to the kitchen.

The tension is thick for you- but for Leon- not at all. You watch him disappear through the doorway as he goes to prep food. Why is it so hard to read his emotions? He’s like a fucking light switch. You’re annoyed- leaning back on the couch, until he calls for you. You’re quick to get up, scrambling into the kitchen.

“Hey, sweetheart. Mind giving me a hand?”

“Yeah. What is it?” You faintly cock your head to the side.

Leon looks to the side- directly at you. You’re cute when you’re confused. He can tell that all you’re thinking about is continuing where you two left off earlier. Shit, you’re no better than your mother. ‘S just that you’re not crabby and sour all the time like she is.

“Can you grab the saucepan from the bottom cabinet. Your old dad can’t exactly bend over too well.” He laughs- shaking his head. Yes, dad. I get it. I know you have a bad back.

You walk over to the cabinet where he’s leaned onto one hand which is rested on the marbled countertop. You feel a bit apprehensive to be close to him again. Mostly because you don’t trust yourself to not jump his bones, but Leon’s already ahead of you. As soon as you bend over, he pulls you back by the hips so that your ass is flush with his groin.

You’re taken aback but definitely not surprised. He’s a dirty old man, as you’ve learned.

“Gonna let daddy fuck this pussy now, or are you getting flaky on me?” He coos against your ear while he runs his hands up your sides and down again- creeping his hands to your front and over the buttons of your shorts- unhooking them through the slits.

“Yes.. want it.” You breathe in quick- the word coming out on its own. If god could hear you right now, he’d set your house ablaze with lightning.

“Need you to loosen up if I’m going to. You’re way too stiff.” Your shorts are the opposite of you, loose and unfastened fully so they fall to your ankles, and Leon nudges your feet apart with his boot. You realize he’s got a point as you feel his calloused hand glide down your hip and yank you in place. The other hand is spreading your pussy lips apart before finding that fleshy bud between them. A moan rumbles in your throat as your legs almost give out below you. He mutters a curse under his breath, and you realize his cock is now out while he rubs up against your ass- getting off on not only playing with your pussy but from dry humping you.

“Fucking christ. Got the prettiest ass, baby. Think daddy needs to see it bouncing on his cock.” You can practically feel that stupid, smug look as he grabs his dick- slapping it on your ass. It makes you cringe a little, but maybe you should be cringing at the fact your dad is the one doing it. You figure it’s just something he saw in porn, so it doesn’t leave your expectations high at the moment. Great. Leon adjusted himself back into his pants, for now.

His finger continues circling that bundle of nerves, your legs shaky as you’re being pressed into the counter, a hand is on your lower back to keep you down so he can do what he wants. You sound stupid- tears welling in your eyes as you babble nonsensically about wanting to cum. He moves his hand off of your back and sinks to his knees to be face level with you (even if it makes his back hurt a little), sliding his fingers up your inner thigh until there’s a digit prodding your hole, slowly pushing in.

He watches your cunt swallow his finger, barely able to fit it inside.

“Fucking shit, baby. Gonna have to stretch this pussy out if I want my cock in you, huh? Think you can let daddy do that?” He asks, breathy and sounding like he’s trying not to bust all over himself.

You eagerly shake your head.

“Yes, daddy. Need you to get me loose.” The words spill like a hot cup of tea from your lips, scalding Leon with desire.

“God damned. Such a polite fucking girl I’ve got. Might have to eat your mother out later to thank her for making you so respectful.”

You scrunch your face in disgust.

“That’s fucking gross.” You moan, Leon slipping a second finger into you, which should technically feel like four with how worn and big his hands are.

He tuts, planting a kiss to your asscheek.

“Now, didn’t daddy just compliment you? Could be a bit more grateful since he’s trying to make you cum” He grits, sounding a bit (terrifyingly) stern.

You apologize again.

“Sorry, daddy. Just don’t wanna hear about you and mom. Makes me jealous.” You admit, briefly thinking about their dinner conversation last night. Then about how fucking weird you are. You’re really hoping you get the courage to bash your head on the marble countertop and get amnesia.

Leon laughs, but in a way that makes you think he’s amused more than actually laughing.

“God. Want me to stop fucking my own wife just ‘cause you’ve got a needy pussy?” A third finger slips in, making an almost unbearable stretch as you feel a slight ache, but the previous two fingers already did enough work that it’s not completely unbearable.

“Maybe you’re not that grateful. Giving you three fingers here and she’s still too tight.” He twists his hand, letting the inside of you feel every inch of his knuckles and calluses. Your knuckles, however, are ghost-white as you grip at nothing.

“Maybe your fingers are just too small.” You say- mostly from built up tension and annoyance that you didn’t get to let out yet. But you regret the words.

He’s silent- which scares you. He pulls his fingers out of you- the stark contrast in emptiness is clear and the cool air stings you.

Leon groans as he stands up, kicking off his boots before yanking you by the arms to stand straight. He leans into your ear.

“C’mon. You’re gonna come sit on daddy’s dick, since you’re too fucking picky.” Goosebumps form all over you as he leads you to the couch. Leon leaves you standing there so he can get comfortable and discard his clothing, lying back with his hands behind his head. You make a mental note of how his biceps look with his arms bent in this position, even if you kinda feel like it’s lazy. But holy fuck, his toned stomach is perfect- sprinkled with a happy trail that will definitely lead you somewhere that will make you happy. Speaking of, his dick is nice. Fat. Not sure how big it is since you have not much to compare to, but you’d imagine taking it would be a bit of a proper challenge.

You step a little closer- crawling awkwardly over his lap- ass faced towards him so that you settle on his waist. It’s hard not to feel self conscious about your backside in this position, even considering the fact that he was just fingering you from the back moments ago. You’re mostly just upset you can’t gawk at his tits or stomach.

You grab him by the base, shifting yourself to hover directly over him, letting the tip graze your wet hole before slowly sinking down- a drawn out moan escaping you.

“Fuckkk. That’s it. Sit down on it. Take all of daddy.” You glance over your shoulder as you bottom him out; his eyes are half-lidded. Well, at least he’s got a pretty face while you’re fucking him. You almost failed to realize his hands moved from behind his head to your ass- gliding up your back and down again.

You take a moment to adjust, breathing shakily ‘cause his dick is so fat you think you might die. Or maybe you’re having a heart attack at your ripe age.

“Didn’t tell you to take any breaks, did I baby?” You’re annoyed at his pushiness, but you did have a bit of a sour attitude earlier. So you can only blame yourself.

You’re not sure how to entirely do this, but you move yourself up and down. Not at a fast pace, yet. Just that savoring your dad’s dick seems like a reasonable ordeal.

He doesn’t shut up, though. You’re learning just how much he likes to talk- as if he just wants to hear himself. Is he even getting off on you or the sound of his own voice? It makes you roll your eyes even if you do like hearing him say dirty shit.

"That’s my girl. So fucking good. Ride it nice and slow... Work that sweet pussy on daddy's cock.” You just might fall over dead hearing him say any of it- it’s disgusting but sweet Jesus are you eating it up. He must know it too because of how you clench around him involuntarily when he talks like that.

“You like when daddy praises you? Yeah, you love me telling you how good you are.” His words are husky and yet pleased with the previous tidbit of information.

“See how nice I am? Letting you sit on my cock after you made me wait earlier. Wasn’t very nice of you, now was it, baby?” His words have an underlyingly mocking tone, but you’d do anything to make him change it.

“No, daddy. Was really mean of me.” You whine pitifully, bouncing yourself on his dick like it’s your major in college and you’re trying to pass with flying colors.

“I know, baby. But daddy forgives you.” He murmurs, sitting up with you still on top of him. He’s flush against your back now- reaching in front of you to make those same tight circles on your clit. You both exchange your pitchy moans and his grunting and groaning- working up to a good point in both of your impending orgasms.

“Gonna cum in this pussy, got it? Daddy doesn’t like to pull out.”

You scramble a bit, squirming on his lap.

“Fuck, dad! You can’t do that!” You whine as his other arm holds you onto him- wrapped around your stomach. Your nails dig into his forearms, hopefully not leaving noticeable scratches.

“I think I can, baby. You’re squeezing me at the idea- I’m not fucking stupid.” He’s quick to be mean again, but you’d be a liar to say you’d don’t want him to cum in you. And you’re not a liar, that’s just deplorable- coming from someone who is literally fucking their dad with enough energy to power a small village for a month. And yet, you don’t stop riding him.

And your silence tells it all.

“Yeah- my baby wants a nice creampie.” He sounds more strained now, letting go of his hold on your stomach and using his hand to now guide you to roll your hips on him.

Sweat beads down Leon’s forehead, bangs sticking to his face as he watches your ass grinding against his lap.

“Fuck, baby. Just like that. I’m gonna cream this tight fucking pussy. Want that, don’t you? ‘Cause daddy’s gonna give it to you whether you want it or not.”

You should be a little more upset or concerned in any regard right now, but the last two days have made you into a proper whore to the point that you don’t even give a shit. Self respect crawled itself into a space shuttle and launched off of the planet, probably to never be seen again. Stuck in orbit, if you will.

You’re sucked out of the motions when Leon speaks again.

“Stop, stop.” He pats your bottom.

“Turn around, baby. I wanna see your face. Wanna kiss those lips while you’re on my dick.” Your stomach flutters with nervousness and a sickly sweet feeling. You lifted yourself from him with a trail of arousal to follow and maneuvered to turn around- this time he was holding his cock ready for you. Moments went by of you staring, getting a proper look of him since everything had been a quick blur so far.

“Come on, baby. Need you to mount daddy’s cock again. Told you I wanted to kiss you, didn’t I?” He exhaled, sounding a bit pent up. Jeez- seconds without pussy and he’s getting upset. Maybe he needs a therapist and anger management, not his college-aged daughter spearing herself on him.

You replied, yes, daddy. Sorry, daddy. Didn’t mean to make you wait, daddy.

You dropped yourself down onto him once more- only this time it was easier since you were able to get accustomed to his dick.

“Start moving sweetheart, make daddy cum.” He instructed, leaning in to take you in a kiss. It was more dirty than the last kiss, somehow. His tongue slipped between your lips- Leon lifted you with his hands on your waist before jutting his hips up to slam his cock snugly into your heat, groaning against your mouth delightfully.

His teeth nipped your lower lip- giving you a little further taste of just what kind of lover he is. Or maybe this is just the version you get. Either way, you can’t complain in any area. You feel lucky to receive even a sliver of it.

The familiar roughness of his thumb returns to your already throbbing bud- circling at the same pace he’s now moving at. Despite his age, he seems awfully enthusiastic to do strenuous work involving his hips. Bad back, my ass. Or maybe he’s able to put that on the back burner to please you. Probably worried if he doesn’t give you good dick then you’ll go tattle on him.

Leon didn’t break the kiss whatsoever while he pounded into you ruthlessly, he swallowed up every moan and noise you made like it was alcohol. ‘Cause that was his favorite, obviously.

When he pulled his mouth off of yours, a trail of saliva lingered- stretching out while you giggled on top of him. Something about you laughing almost made him nut immediately, but he held out just to prolong this and let it engrain into his mind for certain.

“Got the prettiest baby- look so good on my cock like this. Want daddy to bust in that pretty pussy?” He asked, looking for your approval.

“Uh-huh. Need daddy to knock me up.” The words came from god knows where, making even your eyes look bewildered for a second.

Leon laughed darkly at you.

“God, baby. Daddy’s so fucking close.” He muttered stupidly, almost like he was drunk. At least this could be an ego boost for you- but the fact it was your dad canceled that out. Dick only counts if it’s from someone that’s not related to you. His eyes did that half-lidded thing from earlier that you found so hot, and he pulled you down onto his cock one last time, spilling thick ropes into your blood-related hole. His dick pulsed as he let out a muted grunt, head lolling back and his adam's apple on full, stubbly display. You could bite it, just like a real apple.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He moaned. Jeez. He was a whore, honestly. The way he made noises and didn’t shut the fuck up was honestly… a case that should be studied. Maybe he had been turned out a time or two himself.

His cock didn’t soften though, nor did he not forget about you cumming. He lifted his head back up, looking down at where his thumb was. It was almost like he read your thoughts, not saying a word as he concentrated on making you cum. ‘Cause earlier he had been too eager to get in you and you were too eager to get on him.

Your nails dug into his shoulders (hopefully your mom wouldn’t notice any marks on him when she gets home from work later) and he gently fucked into you while you received proper attention on your aching clit. The combination of his dick keeping you full and the sensation of his digit sent you throbbing through your orgasm around him- low curses and other disgusting things coming out of both your mouths.

‘Cause you’re both disgusting.

[clawsdevour]

hii can i have a kuroo x fem reader who is sick pls??

in kuroo's care

wc: 0.7k content warning: fluff, kuroo x reader who's sick, not proofread, my shitty writing

note: YOU FREAKING GET ME. SICK READER X KUROO WHO TAKES CARE OF YOU UGGHHHHH HE'S SO HUSBAND. HOPEFULLY U ENJOYYYY THIS SHORT SCENARIO !!!!

୭ ˚○,.

Waking up later than usual, your mind was so hazed and scrambled. Your forehead felt like a hot firework about to be released in the sky in the smelting humid air on the Fourth of July. Mustering all your strength to shuffle your head to turn to your left. Kuroo wasn’t at your side in bed with you, he’d already left for work as he usually leaves earlier than you. You groan, feeling horribly cold as you quiver under your warm covers. 

Occupied with promoting volleyball across the nation, Kuroo gets a phonecall from your workplace. He’s been informed as your emergency contact, and learns that you didn’t show up to work today. Kuroo furrows his brows in suspicion from hearing your work tell him about your unexplained absence. Ending the call, getting up from where he sat. Kuroo hurriedly grabs his blazer that was hanging on the back of his desk chair and calls off the rest of his day for work to see you.

You’re laying in bed eyes shut, soundly snoozing until you heard your bedroom door open with a slight clunk. Holding his blazer over his right shoulder, his heart sinks at the sight of you laying in bed with the covers wrapped around you. You’re overheating and struggling to breathe through your stuffed nosed. Rushing towards your side, Kuroo’s hand is feeling the warm temperature all over your face. 

“Kuroo… is that you?” Shifting your heavy head your hoarse low voice muttered out. Through your eyelashes you see Kuroo with an expression of worry spread across his face. You’re trying your best to keep your gaze on him as he’s feeling the heat emit from your face.

“Yes, I’m here. Why didn’t you tell me you’re sick?” Looking into your eyes, whispering to prevent your head from throbbing. “Hold on, let me get you a wet washcloth really quick.”

Nodding your head before he heads to the bathroom. Your eyes droop, letting your drowsiness consume you. Hearing his steps grow louder in your direction, you feel a cool dampness press against your forehead and a large hand caress your furiously warm cheek. Seeing him in the corner of your vision you avert your gaze to see what he has to say.

“I’m gonna head out to get you some medical rememdies to make you feel better, m’kay? Don’t move, I’ll be back.” He’s stepping back, grabbing his wallet out from his pants pocket. Kuroo slips on his blazer, making adjustments as he swiftly strides out of the bedroom.

At the corner of your house, Kuroo’s looking at the medicine and health aisle. He picks up what he believes would be the best remedies to fight back against your cold. Reading all the colored labels that say things that best fits the description of the state you’re currently bedridden in. Scanning and paying for the items, Kuroo dashes back home knowing your sickness wouldn’t get any better if he walked.

Back in your bedroom, he switched out your current washcloth for a cooler one, freshly dipped and wrang out for your warm forehead. Pulling a chair to sit next to you, he’s put all of the remedies on your side table.

Spoon in hand, pouring the thick liquid that takes shape of the utensil. In your deep slumber, you feel a cold metal prob against the opening of your mouth. You fight back against your eyes, peeking at him through your heavy eyelids, Kuroo’s spoonfeeding you some bright blue cough syrup that tasted like mint.

“Say, ‘Ahh’ and take this medicine will you? You won’t get any better if you don’t open up.” Kuroo’s soft silky voice cooes at you. Parting open your lips, the minty syrup enters your mouth which you swallow down feeling the cool mint drip down your throat. Putting the spoon down, he’s observing you with his mouth curved into a gentle smile. “Rest up, before dinner. I’m gonna cook you a nice warm soup to eat.” Kuroo fluffs your pillow at the sides and tucks you into bed, one last glance at you before turning off the lights to let you recover.

masterlist here

[hellodarling1357]

Tiny Toes: Part 6.3 - Cassian x Reader

I turned on my laptop to write the next part of Flames and Embers (got half way through) but ended up finishing this instead...

Again, this is part of the mini series within the Tiny Toes series that explores different scenarios where Ottie calls Y/N mum for the first time. There's 3ish parts left then we'll be getting back on track!

Summary: Girl's trip + an emotional Ottie + lots of Cassian/Ottie moments

Word Count: 2k

You can read the previous part here

You had been away for the past three nights on a girl’s trip and Cassian hated the fact that he was struggling so much without you by his side. Initially, you had been hesitant, knowing that it was a busy and crucial time for Cassian when it came to his work, and you hadn’t wanted to leave him alone to juggle Ottie as well as everything else by himself but, at his insistence that you deserved a getaway with your friends, you had finally agreed.

Cassian was more than willing to admit that, after just a few days without you, he was missing you like nothing else. Just knowing that you wouldn’t be there when he got home, wouldn’t be there to witness Ottie growing more and more every day, or be there to simply talk to at the end of the day when you were finally cuddled up together in bed was driving him crazy. But it was Ottie who seemed to be struggling the most.

Even though you and Cassian had only been together for a little over a year, you had been a constant in Ottie’s life since she was just a few months old. Now, the temperamental three-year-old was at a complete and utter loss without you being around all the time and hadn’t adjusted all that well to the changes in her daily routine that came from your absence. Cassian did his best to fill the space you left but there was only so much he could shift his work around at the moment, especially with the newest intake of Valkyries being almost double compared to the previous year.

He had left Ottie with the new babysitter for a few hours that morning while he met up with Azriel to undergo the initial Valkyrie training session then, after a quick grocery run, he had returned home to find Ottie sobbing into a couch cushion as the babysitter helplessly watched on from the doorway.

“I’m so sorry, I tried everything, but she just wouldn’t stop. I don’t know what’s wrong. I didn’t know what to do…”

Cassian brushed off her words, noting the babysitter looked close to tears herself. “It’s fine, she’s been a bit out of sorts the past few days, it’s got nothing to do with you. Don’t worry about it.” He offered her a tentative smile as she made her escape out the front door and then made his way over to Ottie, brows furrowing as he took in the scene before him.

“Hi, princess,” He cooed, carefully picking Ottie up and sitting back down on the couch with her cuddled against his chest. Cassian felt his heart break as her increasing sobs wracked through her body, little fists desperately clinging to his shirt as she hid her face in the crook of his neck, tears quickly dampening his skin. “What are we going to do with you, hey?”

The minutes ticked by as they sat in silence, Cassian rubbing soothing circles along her back while his other hand cupped the back of her head where he pressed gentle kisses against her hair. When Ottie’s sobs started to turn into quiet sniffles, Cassian stood up, shifting her to rest on his hip as he walked into the kitchen. He began to silently pull out all of the ingredients he needed to make their ‘special’ hot chocolate – milk, chocolate power, solid chocolate, and sprinkles.

“Daddy?” Ottie’s voice was hoarse when she finally lifted her head away from his chest. “Are you – are you making special hot chocolate?”

“I am,” he replied, wanting to keep things simple so as not to overwhelm her. Without a word, he passed her a piece of the chocolate which she cautiously took, it wasn’t until he popped a piece in his own mouth and wiggled his eyebrows at her did she finally eat her piece with a small, shaky giggle.

“There she is,” Cassian marvelled at the immediate relief that came from seeing his daughter smile after being so upset only moments ago. “Want to talk about what happened, sweet pea? Or should we have our hot chocolates first?”

Ottie hid her face against his neck again and remained silent – clearly it would be hot chocolates then talking.

A few more moments passed by as Cassian haphazardly put the two drinks together with one hand, the other still tightly holding Ottie against him. “Alright, princess, I’m going to put you down now, alright? Just so I can carry over our hot chocolates to the couch.”

Her bottom lip trembled slightly as she looked up at Cassian with wide and wary eyes, “then we can cuddle?”

“Then we can cuddle.” Cassian affirmed, waiting until Ottie gave a small nod of her head before lowering her back down to the ground.

Stacking the dishes in the sink, Cassian picked up both mugs and walked over to the couch, Ottie, with a hand clutching the hem of his shirt, didn’t leave his side for a moment. As soon as the mugs were set down on the coffee table, she was scrambling back into his arms, sniffing again as her eyes teared up and her lip pouted out in a slight tremble.

Cassian let out a soft sigh and wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her cheek then the top of her head as she rested her face against his chest, murmuring soothing words before the tears could start falling again.

“You’re alright, princess. It’s alright.”

As much as his heart ached seeing her like this, there was a small part of him that relished in the fact that she still found comfort in his arms, that she was still his little girl despite having seemingly picked up the attitude of a teenager ten years too early for his liking.

Noticing Ottie making grabbing hands for her hot chocolate, Cassian leant forward to pick the mug up, carefully blowing on its contents to check the temperature before holding it out to her. Ottie sat up against him as she took the mug in both hands, silently taking small sips as she stared at him with a small frown over the rim of the mug.

“Why aren’t you drinking your hot chocolate, daddy?”

Cassian blinked, realising he had been so caught up in watching over her, making sure she was alright, that his own drink sat untouched. “Oh, I forgot about it. I would lose my head if I didn’t have you looking out for me, Otts,” he said, taking a sip from his own mug and letting a grin spread across his face as Ottie giggled.

“You’re silly, daddy.”

They sat in silence as they finished their drinks, Ottie letting out a big sigh when she was done before slumping against Cassian, clear exhaustion taking over her whole body as she sank into him, pulling his arms tightly around her once the now-empty mugs were back on the coffee table.

Soft, even breathing soon filled the room, and, with a small glance down at his daughter, Cassian could see that Ottie was now fast asleep against him. He shifted into a more comfortable position, keeping one arm tightly wrapped around her as he picked up a discarded book and started reading through it to pass the time.

*****

An hour or so had slipped by and Cassian knew he should be getting a start on dinner, but the thought of disturbing Ottie now when she finally looked so peaceful kept him in his spot. He let his mind slip to you, an easy feeling filling his chest as he realised you would be coming home tomorrow.

Cassian was incredibly grateful for how his life had turned out, despite the bumps along the way, as it had ultimately led him to Ottie and then to you. He knew none of it would have been possible without the mating bond with Nesta yet… a part of him yearned to have that with you, to be tied and connected to you in such an intimate way. He wanted there to be a way for you to know he was thinking about you, even if you were hundreds of miles apart. Cassian sighed at the resentment that churned within him at the thought of that wasted mating bond with Nesta, not understanding how such a thing had been granted by the Cauldron when they were clearly so wrong for one another.

A sudden intake of breath followed by a yawn pulled Cassian from his thoughts as he looked down at Ottie who was sleepily blinking up at him.

“Looks like someone was a bit sleepy,” he teased, pressing a kiss to the top of Ottie’s head as she shifted in his lap to sit up properly. “Do you want to play for a bit while I get a start on dinner?” Ottie made a disgruntled noise and clung to him again, tears welling in her eyes once more. “Or we can both make dinner? How does that sound?”

Cassian stood up, carefully placing her back onto the ground, only realising it was the wrong thing to do a second too late as her bottom lip began to tremble.

“Ottie…” he tried, but whether it was the pent-up emotions from the past few days or the fact that she had just woken up, Cassian knew there would be no quick fix in consoling her this time. He pulled her back into his arms as she started sobbing again. “Ottie, you need to tell me what’s wrong, otherwise daddy won’t be able to help you.”

Tightening her arms around him, Ottie took in a few deep breaths between sobs, “w-where – where’s my m-mum…”

Fuck, this was not good.

Cassian forced himself not to tense up as her words processed in his mind. “Princess–”

“I-I want my mummy.” Once the words were out, Ottie immediately dissolved into another fit of tears, the sobs wracking throughout her whole body as Cassian desperately tried to think of something, anything, that would help him navigate this. He had told Ottie about Nesta before, explained what had happened in a way that she would understand, but she hadn’t been in an inconsolable state then, desperately asking for her mum. Was that the best thing for Ottie? Reaching out to Nesta? Seeing if she wanted to be in her life in some way… His thoughts began to spiral at all the possibilities and potential outcomes. What if Nesta agreed and then decided she wanted Ottie with her now that she was a bit older. Complete and utter dread filled him at the thought –

“What’s going on here?”

Cassian’s eyes shot up, not knowing a time when he had ever felt so flooded with relief and longing at the sight of you standing in the doorway, bag slung over your shoulder as you took in the scene before you in concern.

Ottie’s head shot up just as quickly as the sound of your voice filled the space between her sobs, then she was pulling out of Cassian’s arms and running, reaching you just in time as you dropped your bag and knelt down on the ground before her.

Cassian leant back on his knees and let out a sigh as he gave you a smile that you instantly returned over Ottie’s shoulder, then you were turning your attention back to the small Illyrian, gently wiping away her tears as you ran a hand through her curls before pulling her into a hug.

He watched as Ottie immediately melted into you, he could visibly see the tension and uncertainty she had been carrying for the past few days slip away as she tightly held onto you. And as he watched you pull away, pressing a kiss to her cheek before whispering something in her ear that had the room filling with the melodic sound of his daughter’s laughter, he knew Nesta hadn’t been the mum she was asking for.

*****

Read Part 6.4 now!

*****

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Let me know if you want to be added! 🥰

[crguang]

now i bend like a willow thinking of you

You don’t do sleepless nights. But tonight, Kafka’s absence feels heavier than usual.

fem!reader, 1.2K words of fluff really

A/N: can’t believe kafka of all people got me writing… i thought of this cute scenario and it wouldn’t leave my mind until i wrote it. curse you, sexy woman!!!!

Thermostat set to just below room temperature and unable to see a foot in front of you due to the room’s absolute darkness, it won’t be long before you surrender to your body’s fatigue. You stayed up later than usual, your mind restlessly running circles around a certain woman. You’ve willed it to shut up and let you sleep for almost an hour now, to no avail. Your limbs are heavy, your cheek is comfortably buried in your pillow and still you think of her. Honestly, how pathetic can you be— unable to sleep because her presence leaves behind a substantial silence whenever she leaves your sight. It’s strange, it’s the first time quiet has made you uneasy. You’ve built your life in the deep of it and found a home in solitude, yet…

In the past few years you’ve known her, you’ve learned that Kafka leaves an impression in any room she steps into, purposefully or not. She’s elusive and her thoughts even more so, but impossible to overlook. Maybe it’s the obvious disinterest in almost everything that reflects through her eyes. Maybe it’s the fixed curl of her lips into her signature enigmatic smile, leaving you with the sensation that she has something up her sleeve. Perhaps it’s her unusual hair color. You don’t know. Despite her infuriating ways and the amusement she finds in toying with people, you’ve always noticed her; the subtle perfume she wears, the twitch of her mouth when something catches her eye, her ridiculous attention to detail when it comes to coats. You feel you could notice everything about her and still not know who she is. Or rather, still have things to discover like she’s an entire universe compacted into one person. Could you be content learning her if that was the only thing you dedicated your years to?

You bring a palm to your cheek, feeling your skin heat up, and groan in disgust. No way the thought of her was flustering you so. How deplorable. It’s only been four days since she offered you a wink as goodbye and left to complete part of Elio’s Script with Silver Wolf in tow. You’re stuck with Blade and Sam, the brooding ones, and it would be fine if the quiet wasn’t making your skin crawl. Such an unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling. You pat your cheek a couple times and shake your head. You shift into the bed, adjusting the comforter over your body. You will not let Kafka take up any more space in your mind when you should be peacefully asleep, enough is enough.

You’re drowsy and minutes away from finally passing out when the door creaks open. You hear it shut softly seconds later. Your muddled mind only allows your muscles to tense up in the face of a potential threat before the realization hits you when the sound of heels clacking across the floor registers in your brain. You sit up in a flash, reach for the lamp on your bedside table to flick the light open, then turn towards your supposed assailant with narrowed eyes.

Kafka blinks at you when you meet her gaze, and her fingers stop fiddling with the button of her shirt as she stands in the middle of the room without her favourite coat. You stare at each other for a moment before her eyelids lower perceptibly and her lips stretch into that usual smile.

“…Ugh.” You ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at seeing her in the dim yellow light and turn the lamp back off. You can feel her amusement as you settle back into a comfortable position on your side, an arm under the pillow.

You’re still sleepy, but now that she’s actually here your traitorous mind has been lit up again. You hear the rustling of her clothes as she unclasps the various straps and buckles of her outfit. Without saying a word, she fills the silence around you in a way that brings relief to your soul. It’s stupid, you think, how easily she reduces you to a lovestruck fool. You hate the power she holds over you, yet crave its soothing effect.

“How was the mission?” You mutter, eyes still shut.

You hear her clothes hit the floor when she replies with a drawl, “Boring. Long.”

You catch the notes of exasperation in her voice. “At least you got to stretch your legs.”

She hums. You guess she’s rummaging through your closet for something to sleep in when she pauses, presumably finds what she’s looking for, then closes the door.

“Don’t worry,” she says, her tone undoubtedly teasing, “we’ll find a use for you yet.”

“Fuck you,” you utter without a bite, fatigue slurring your words a little.

Her following chuckle makes you smile. There are muted footsteps on the wooden floor as Kafka approaches the bed, tugging on the tie in her hair to set it loose from her ponytail. She runs a hand through the freed locks.

“Move,” she orders simply.

You grumble, brows furrowing in offense even as you comply and make space for her on the left side of the bed. “You’re so bossy. It’s literally my bed.”

She makes a noise of agreement while slipping under the covers. Her chest presses against your back and a hand sneaks under your shirt to slither across your stomach to the valley of your breasts where it rests comfortably. Her thigh lodges itself between yours. You hear the faintest breath of satisfaction as the tip of her nose brushes your exposed nape. Kafka is warm and secure against you, two things you feel a bit silly to associate with her. They best describe her in this moment, however, and you’re too tired to fight how relaxed she makes you feel.

“…You’re wearing my shampoo,” she says suddenly. You feel her breath on your skin.

“No.”

Embarrassment washes over you. You forgot that you washed your hair with her shampoo that morning because you always liked the scent and you missed her. You didn’t think she would be back in at least a couple more days and thought that the smell would have time to fade away before she could notice. Ugh.

You can almost see her teasing, growing smile in your mind’s eye as she makes a show of inhaling your hair more deeply, burying her nose in it and taking a long audible breath.

“That is definitely my shampoo.”

“I ran out of mine and yours was right there,” you reply dismissively.

Kafka smiles. She sees through your charade, of course, she always has. Her index finger traces inconsequential shapes into the skin of your chest.

“You missed me.”

You don’t contradict her. “Whatever.”

Your hand moves under your shirt to lace your fingers with hers and she hums contently behind you. Kafka leaves many statements unsaid, masterfully navigates a conversation to only reveal what she wants you to know, but you know her enough for these words to not get lost in the sensations she gives you. It’s the middle of the night and she came to your room fully dressed in her everyday clothes. She only had the idea to discard her coat before seeking you out moments after coming back from her mission, and now she’s curled around you like a satisfied cat, breathing in the shampoo in your hair. She’s missed you too.

With Kafka’s heartbeat against your back and her controlled breaths on the back of your neck, sleep comes ridiculously easy. You doze off, the sound of her alike a lullaby meant for your ears only.

[waynewifey]

aftermath — b.w

part one - ‘dear mr. wayne’

part two - ‘aftermath’

part three. - ‘aporia’

summary: you escaped that warehouse, but part of you died in there. now, your husband helps you grief your own loss while trying to not murder your relationship.

pairing: bruce wayne/battinson x reader

genre: drama & angst romance

warnings: mentions of sex and alcohol; mentions of ptsd, anxiety and it’s symptoms; hospital setting; dubious science; dubious law enforcement

word count: 2.9k

A/N: thank you for all the positive feedback on part 1! there will be a part three because this post would get too long, so let me know if you’ll like to be tagged in that. my biggest challenge writing this was trying to give bruce the start of a redemption arc, please tell me if you think it worked. comments and constructive criticism is appreciated!

gotham, USA.

the continuous beeping sound wakes you up.

your eyes are still closed, blocking the intense light over your head. your senses are taken by the familiar scent: sandalwood, cinnamon and lemongrass soap. it almost feels like you're home.

but your feet are senseless from the cold and the bedsheets faintly smell like chlorine. there's a pinching ache in your arm and the scenario is complete. oh how you hate hospitals.

"how are you feeling?" back at home, bruce had learned the difference in your breathing as you woke up, which made pretending to sleep hard enough for you to give up. you open your eyes, finding yourself in a luxurious room. if it wasn't for the IV on your left side, it could easily be mistaken for a five star hotel.

bruce sat at a large light green armchair, about four feet from your left hand. you couldn't tell by his voice, but he looked exhausted. for once, he's wearing sweatpants. the puffy face and swollen eyes show he hasn't had much sleep. you, on the other hand, feel like you've slept for a thousand years.

"i have no idea. what's up with me?" his sigh has your heart racing and the fear of being a liability falls over you. a comforting hand lays on yours, his warms fingers grounding you to remember the last time you were awake. it felt like a nightmare and you desperately hoped it was. instead, the pain comes in flashes, the image of your husband being shot and the feeling of hitting ice cold water do too. it's all just so horrible you wish it wasn't real.

"they told me you were going to be fine, but i don't know." bruce feels as if a burden has come off his chest finally seeing you move. the last couple of days have been a torture of expectation and blame for him. "the doctor had you in an induced coma. you had a concussion on the river. your stomach was stitched up. he said..." he stops for a moment, this is obviously way too hard for him to go through again. bruce hasn't left the room ever since he was discharged. everyday, for two weeks, he kept overthinking the night before and the day during. if he had stayed up and talked about your relationship, you wouldn't be in that bed. if he looked for you in the morning, if he noticed your absence at work, if he hadn't put his phone on silent mode... there were a million of things that he could've done different so the most important person in his world wouldn't have gone through all of that. "he said the ptsd would worsen your recovery. this morning the nurses told me you were better, so i have to believe them. that's my only hope."

you need a moment to take in the words, finally deciding that you didn't want to discuss your health. there were way better people to pay attention to that in the building and it would only make you anxious. you can't help but stare at his eyes, your mind bringing up the image of your husband choking the man that kept you hostage.

"you almost killed him." the tone is of disapproval, bruce couldn't be any more confused. he frowns. bile arises from his stomach leaving a acid taste to his mouth.

"i would've, of course i would. y/n, you had no idea what i would do for you. i would fight the devil himself if it meant keeping you safe. that's why i do what i do. the batman, the politics, it's all for you. if i can make this world 1% better for you, for our children, to live on, it's worth it." his gulp is loud, adam's apple going up and down, showing how dry his throat was. the following words have his voice shaking, almost disappearing. "but fate keeps telling me that i'm not enough. no matter what i do, you keep getting hurt and i just-" bruce stares the floor. that's something he always did when saying harsh things, avoiding eye contact and not letting tears slip away. however, this time it doesn't work at all. he can hear his heart tearing up with every syllable, the physical pain striking his chest. he wants to beg you to forgive him, but there is a noble thing to do. his words are cut off by the creaking of the door and the doctor's footsteps. he's smiling, like this isn't hell. bruce shrinks into the couch, making himself ignorable.

"so... i have good news!" the blonde says, clipboard in hand. "we need to run some other tests and an x-ray, but you seem to be healing pretty well. we'll hold you in for a couple of days just to make sure there aren't any complications with your body and then you can go home. how are you feeling so far?"

you're surprised by the sudden change in the conversation and your brain needs a moment to think about something helpful. you do a body scan trying to identify any pain, but overall you feel good.

"hungry. like, starving." the doctor smiles, saying he'll get you a meal as soon as possible. he warns you that you may not be able to eat much just yet, something about your stomach shrinking. you nod, already feeling irritated by the recovery process. then he leaves and there's a loud silence until you get back on the previous topic.

"you just what?" you expect bruce to sit correctly again, but he doesn't. he looks so small in the shadows, so comfortable. you really don't want to talk about that anymore, but curiosity takes over. he doesn't respond immediately, so your heart pounds over the anxiety of hearing bad news. suddenly you feel so tired, you want him to take over all the decisions like he usually does. today, though, he seems open to suggestions, like his own ideas weren't suitable. how could you know someone so well but still have no idea what's on his mind?

"i think maybe you shouldn't be associated with me. any part of me." the world stops with your breathing. bruce wishes he could take it back. going over this conversation in his head made it seem easier to say out loud. you've been married for three years. you knew his ambitions for even longer. you chose this life and he has no right to take that from you. still, the ring on your finger weighs you down.

— DENIAL

you've learned to appreciate the winter winds. at the top of the wayne tower there were barely any, but tonight they caress your face with the gift of numbness. breathing in is both refreshing and painful. the scratched teacup warms your fingers, a small memoir from your childhood home, from times that won't ever come back. you used to be down there, frightened by dark alleys and gunshots. now you're on top of the world and nothing, not even that psychopath, can take that from you. you did relearn discomfort. ache. cold. it all made you appreciate life even more. in fact, the month that followed your hospital discharge was pure bliss. something about renewal, about rebirth.

bruce watched you from the living room, the wrinkled glass distorting your silhouette in the balcony. that was a good representation of how he currently saw you, slightly blurred and shaken. his cup would usually hold whiskey, neat, but it holds coffee instead. you keep saying you're fine and waking up screaming in the middle of the night. then he would hold you and you would be actually fine. so now he's staying awake through the night, sleeping three or four hours during the day while alfred takes care of you. of course they don't let you know, because you've denied every explicit help. as you get ready to sleep, bruce gets ready to stay in bed through the night, alone with his thoughts. part of him was scared to sleep. he was sleeping when you were taken, there's no way he would let that happen again.

it has been almost a year since he stopped patrolling the city. the news cover murders and robberies every day. alfred makes sure to come up with something for both bruce and you to do at those hours. he's taken a pause in promoting his candidacy, he couldn't handle the public eye for now. still, the marketing team insists that your kidnapping was good media, even though he never officially spoke on it. they publish notes about being away, about taking care of family. he can't see how that could be good in any way.

you open the glass doors, flashing your husband a sweet smile. you're in a red silk robe and your hair is still perfectly done. perfectionism was one of the side effects, as one may call it, of the trauma. you visited a psychiatrist about a month ago, since bruce insisted on it, and he marked all of the habits that made you happy as unhealthy. you never told bruce what was said in that appointment in hopes that he'll get over it. him treating you like a porcelain doll made you nauseous.

"ready for bed?" you ask, standing behind the couch and hugging his shoulders. you breathe in his scent, remembering the day you met. you were an executive in an overseas wayne enterprises headquarters that had just gotten transferred to gotham. they offered you six figures to take the second in command position, so you obviously got to know the first in command. in the beginning, you honestly thought he was an entitled brat that didn't work at all. overtime, you realised how much he cared about the company and how much he was pining over you. you gave him an opening and he asked you out. six months into the relationship, he told you about batman. he knew, somehow, that you would be forever.

he sets in bed while you're touching up in the bathroom. the night had to be perfect. you've hadn't made love ever since the fight and ovulation week had gotten you a little crazy. you check yourself in the mirror, thanking the hormones making you sexy. you crawl into his side, slower than needed, hair falling over the shoulder. "hi" you whisper, sitting diagonally from him and cuddling a bit. he says hi back, with a chuckle. you give him a little peck, which is all you've been doing for all of this time. he stays still, not pulling back but also not doing anything either. you try to take it as a good sign. your lips then reach his jawline and neck, leaving wet kisses all over his skin. your hands touch his shirt and go underneath it, tracing your fingers along his defined abdomen. a hand holds your arm, pushing you away. your smile fades and you frown your face to him.

"touch me, bruce" you not so much ask, it's more like a plead. he sighs, channelling all his will to stick with his decision. he puts a string of your hair behind your ear and you think he's going to properly kiss you.

"i don't think we should do this. you're not well enough yet." he doesn't sound so certain, but it hits you like a hard brick wall. this is harder for him than he lets it show, he's a man after all. even so, he can't see you like that for the moment. he sees you scattered and feels like it's his responsibility to assemble you again.

"i'm perfectly fine." you state like a grumpy proud child who's just lost a soccer tournament. he sees right through it.

"you're not, you're in denial." that simple word makes your mood swing: denial. it's the same thing the stupid psychiatrist told you. you can even hear his smoker's voice echoing in the office. it isn't true. you got over it, that's all. maybe some people take more time to do so, but you did just like that. you had a life to get back to.

you get off the bed and pull your robe tight again. "i'm sleeping in the guest room. good night." he doesn't follow and lets you be. in all honesty, he didn't know if he would have the strength to turn you down a second time.

bruce tries to fight the tiredness. even with caffeine running high in his blood system, he falls asleep for a while. the guest room is far enough that he doesn't hear the muffled sobbing. he wakes up not so long after with screaming. his heart races as he runs down the stairs, following the sound of your voice. his mind starts thinking the worst, but he finds you only having nightmares. he crawls in bed with you, without being kicked off. he lets you lay on his chest, one arm over your shoulder. his body warms yours up and you finally stop spasming. it doesn't take too long for both to fall asleep.

— ANGER

the penthouse is quiet. the winter is almost at it's end, so the pre-spring rays lighten the living room bringing warmness to your solitude. you sit uncomfortably, unknown to this feeling of absence. you don't feel him in the tower.

bruce said there was a non deniable meeting with his press team, because eventually he would have to go back to promoting his election, which would take place in the fall. you acted unbothered. yet, he's barely been gone for an hour and you can already feel the anxiety crippling. you only left the apartment for doctors appointment, still too scared to walk on the streets. and he was always there, too, holding your hand. so this is different.

alfred is downstairs upgrading the batman suit with a new technology he created. he invited you, but the darkness of the cave was definitely unrequited. that's how you end up lounging, in silence, staring at window. finally, you decide to try to watch something. you shouldn't really do that, because something could trigger a panic attack. but you're fine, you really are. enough with this nonsense.

shuffling through the channels, nothing gets your attention until there's a juridical show on. the judge is talking to the prosecutor, apparently, announcing the next witness to testify. the camera angle changes to the courtroom and expectant eyes turn to the wooden door. it opens slowly to reveal a knight in dark armour. you hold your breath. the jury buzzes and the room gets loud. heavy steps make his cape swing behind him, as he makes his way to the stand.

bruce had to make a tough decision. while you and him had been cleared from the trial, you with the psychiatrist report on PTSD and him with the marriage, the lawyers mentioned that the batman's testimony could be decisive for the accused to be found guilty by the jury. the public respected him. either they loved or feared him. so, even though he's never made such a public appearance, less even speaking, he had to go to that trial. he owed it to you. but you could never know. he didn't want to spark your interest in the case, you shouldn't have to go through it again. he lays his hand on the constitution and swears on it.

it doesn't feel real until you hear the judge.

"members of the jury, i present to you the batman."

it feels like a dagger has gone through your chest. there's a mix of feelings that have you almost throwing up. you feel like screaming and crying and blowing the fucking world up. how could he do that to you? that was your case, your life. you stand up only to find your legs trembling. you want to run there and testify. you want to tell the world the horrors you've been through and show them, including your husband, that you had overcome it. he was calling you weak right in you face and you couldn't bear the feeling of being chained up again. you're stuck in this hell of a tower like some futile damsel.

you stomp your way to the elevator, your mind set on leaving the building. but your heart stops you in your tracks pounding and almost vomiting itself out; you feel your toes numb and your legs can't stop shaking. the baritone voice still sounds in the apartment. you run to it and scream at the TV. you throw a pillow on it. that doesn't cool you down. your body is in motion while all you can see is red. you knock the coffee table down, shattering the glass and scattering like ashes the books that were on it on the floor. the noise still doesn't muffle his voice and you can't find the fucking remote control. you stumble across the room, throwing lamps and vases around. everything is falling down, in every sense. you grab a candle and let out a scream when you hit the TV with it, the screen going black and the noise finally ceasing.

alfred finds the room trashed, with you kneeling on the broken glass. there's blood on the floor. your body trembles with every sob. he cautiously steps towards you. you feel out of breath, tears burning your eyes. he holds you like a mother does.

"i'm sorry- i'm so sorry," he shakes his head, saying it doesn't matter. you wanna say it does, but there's simply nothing leaving your mouth apart from "i'm so sorry"

part three - aporia

[nocandnc]

Since you're a hardcore shipper for both Yuriloe and Fionky... what if the two couples bumped into each other and had themselves a double date~?

Hi there~ Am I hardcore?! I suppose I do love my shipping outbursts...! Hmm, a double date huh... although I love their potential, I don't see Fionky becoming a couple until much later in the story - not for years even. Yuriloe on the other hand (Yurichlo? Chluri? SSSx2!? The fanbase needs to come to a consensuses!!) I can see happening much sooner.

With that in mind, here is my proposed scenario:

Yuri and Chloe start dating for real, abet tentatively. Eager to meet her brother's girlfriend, Yor gets Loid to arrange a group date between the four of them. However! Something comes up that prevents the Forgers from going. Yor is dismayed at losing a chance to learn about her potential sister-in-law and ruining the double date Yuri was surely looking forward to! (He wasn't.)

In an attempt to cheer Yor up For The Mission Twilight calls on Franky and Fiona to pose as a couple and join Yuri and Chloe instead. He insists it's a good opportunity to probe two SSS officers for info while sussing out the status of their relationship for Operation Strix.

So the group go on their double date. Fiona is less than enthused but it was a direct request from Twilight and she'll do her job damn it. Franky is mildly terrified but hey, it's a date with a pretty lady! Two ladies in fact, and the second one is unexpectedly cute for an SSS officer...? Franky gets distracted by Chloe's (polite, obligatory) friendliness all too soon into the evening. Now Fiona is mad all over again because here she is putting on her very best Girlfriend act and this scouring pad of a man is ignoring her for the enemy? Really? Right in front of her salad??

Yuri meanwhile is still a little unsure about this whole romance thing, but Yor sounded so happy when he accidentally mentioned going on a late night stakeout coffee date the other week, so maybe Chloe was on to something? But Yor wasn't even here, so what was the point? Not even that damn Loidy came! He'd sent a "family friend" over instead, who was currently making eyes at his girlfriend of all things. His girlfriend! Suddenly Yuri is very sure indeed, taking every opportunity to make physical contact with Chloe for rest of the evening while glaring daggers at Franky Franklin.

Chloe hides her disappointment at not getting to meet Yuri's sister and infamous brother-in-law, exchanging pleasantries with the peculiar couple across from her through a well-crafted smile. The other woman at the table has quite the poker face herself, but with all of Fiona's questions rounding back to the topic of work Chloe figures she must be the nervous type. Fiona's... husband? Franky, is much more talkative. So much so that Chloe is troubled to keep up. She glances at her date now and again for assistance, but the young man is still stuck sulking over his sister's absence - or so Chloe thinks before Yuri abruptly takes her hand in his, squeezing tightly.

The two couples claw their way through dinner and part ways with no lives lost, somehow. Yuri's aggression fades exponentially as he drives Chloe home. By the time they reach her doorstep he's clear headed and embarrassingly aware of how touchy he'd been with her out of the blue. He sputters a quick farewell while turning to leave, but a gentle grip on his coat sleeve stops him dead. The goodnight kiss Chloe gives him is even gentler. Fiona's at peak aggression when she slows her car to a crawl along Franky's street. She contemplates telling him to tuck and roll before coming to a complete stop instead. Franky is mentally in shambles - he's convinced Yuri Briar has some kind of ESP with the amount of psychic damage his glares dealt. And even worse, the relationship between the two SSS agents seemed totally lovey-dovey!! Franky heaves a sigh and mumbles to his frosty accomplice about writing a report for Twilight before moving to exit the vehicle. He gets one foot out the door before he's suddenly yanked back towards the driver's seat by his lapel. Franky locks eyes with Fiona as she tells him in the iciest tone possible that he'll be looking at no one but her on their next date - she'll make sure of it.

Mission failed successfully?

...

I think this turned into a shoddy fanfic halfway through sorry 'bout that.

[weirdkpopgirl]

Food is Love | Dream Headcanon #10

Headcanon: Food is Love ♡

Genre: Fluff, fluff, and more fluff!

Warnings: Mentions of food?

Word Count: 2736k

Author's Note: Honestly, I feel like it's been forever since I wrote a headcanon for the Dreamies. And this specific scenario was on my works-in-progress list for weeks! My friend did help me come up with something for Chenle and Jisung, so I really have to thank her for getting me to finish this tonight. It feels nice to write something fluffy after posting a bunch of angsty stuff. An anon did send in a request about something for Haechan, and I am working on it!

Also, I don't think anyone cares. But I did see NCT Dream last week at their TDS2 concert. My bank account may be crying, but it was so worth seeing seven boys I've come to cherish so much. To me, they're more than just handsome K-pop idols. The Dreamies put a smile on my face daily, and I'm forever grateful. I really hope to see them again someday.

Anyway, I apologize for another long author's note. Thank you for reading ^ ^

~ ~ ~

MARK

This has probably been mentioned before, but Mark would be quite the attentive boyfriend. He recalled the other day the two of you were ordering food together late at night. You said something about craving a cheeseburger, but all the American food places were closed. So on your next at-home date, Mark decided he would make you the best burger ever.

Here’s the thing, Mark and cooking did not mix too well. You walked into the kitchen with a questioning look for the man. 

“Mark, dear—what are you doing?” You asked, slightly puzzled.  Ingredients were scattered across the counter, and the paper with the recipe he was using already had a stain.

His lips formed a small pout. “I know you didn’t get to have a burger the last time we hung out. So I thought I could try making one.”

You tried not to laugh at your clueless boyfriend. But you were thankful for how thoughtful he was. As he rambled on, you leaned over the counter to take a peek at the recipe.

“Oh, this doesn’t seem that hard. Let’s do it together,” You suggested, walking around to wash your hands.

Even though you meant for this to be a teamwork thing, Mark just took a step back and let you take over the kitchen. You seemed to know what you were doing, a lot more than he did. He ended up helping with the smaller things like washing the lettuce and slicing the tomatoes.

In the next hour, you and Mark were happily eating the beautiful burgers you made.

“Good job Mark!” You approved, after taking a bite. “We should do this again sometime.”

Mark shook his head and chuckled. “Yeah, but you did like 95% of the work, (Y/n).”

His words caused you to blush and mumble a sorry. Then he’d smile and reassure you with a pat on the head. Even though things didn’t go as planned, Mark was still happy to spend some quality time with you.

✎__________________________________________________________

RENJUN

He was awakened by the morning sunshine peeking through the window shades in your bedroom. A sleepy yawn left the boy’s mouth as his eyes adjusted to the natural light. When his arms reached out to stretch, Renjun noticed the left side of the bed was empty. Your absence compelled him to groggily get up to start the day.

After quickly washing up, Renjun left the room in search of his other half. Though he was at the far end of the hallway, he was still able to take in the glorious smell of something delicious.

He spotted you in the kitchen standing behind the counter with a blue plaid apron on, and your hair tied up. A smile crept on his lips, listening to you softly sing his group’s song, Sorry Heart while you poured some water into a glass.

You nearly jumped out of your spine when you heard another voice join in. Panic immediately filled your eyes.

“Huang Renjun, you’re not supposed to be up yet!”

Your boyfriend chuckled and walked over to back hug you. “Good morning to you too?”

“No no no. I was trying to make you breakfast in bed,” You sulked. This was the first time he’s stayed the night at your place, and you wanted to surprise him.

Renjun peered over your shoulder, to see the neatly arranged dishes set up on a wooden tray. 

“Is that doenjang-jjigae?” He asked, pointing to the stone bowl containing murky brown broth. Standing behind you, he realized that the soup was what he had been smelling, along with the freshly cooked purple rice.

You nodded. “And just some banchan to go with it. I also prepared some iced lemon water, since I know you like it.”

He almost wanted to cry, thinking about how much you care to put into all this. And for him? Renjun’s heart swelled with so much adoration and endearment. He turned you around so he could press his lips to your forehead.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?”

✎__________________________________________________________

JENO

Due to his work schedule, Jeno and you didn’t get to see each other often. But whenever he had that rare day off, he’d typically spend it with you. So he was at your apartment one day, playing with your kitten in the living room. While you were somewhere else doing who knows what. So Jeno was a little upset that you weren’t paying him attention.

Tired of waiting, Jeno placed your pet in her bed and got up to look for you.

“Jagiyaaa!” He began to whine. But then he stopped when he found you in the kitchen. He caught you while setting up your small wooden dining table, full of steaming food. You had made seolleongtang, beef bone soup, and served it with kimchi on the side.

You couldn’t help but smile at your sulky boyfriend. After placing down two bowls of rice, you walked over to hug him.

“Sorry for leaving you alone. I just wanted to make lunch for you,” You murmured.

Instantly, Jeno blushed in embarrassment as you ushered him to sit down. He didn’t expect you to be doing this sort of thing for him. You even prepared his favorite side dishes!

You watched the boy devour his food with a beaming smile. Jeno didn’t think he'd ever seen you look so overjoyed before.

“You’re like a mother watching her child.” Jeno pointed out.

The smile on your lips grew, as you used your chopsticks to place a piece of meat on top of his rice. 

“I can’t help it! Seeing you eat so well makes me happy.”

Your boyfriend laughed and shook his head. “You’re something else, (Y/n).”

Though he was teasing, Jeno was very appreciative of your sweet gesture. In the back of his mind, he was already planning to cook something for you next time.

✎__________________________________________________________

HAECHAN

The two of you only began to date a few months ago. But the moment Haechan saw you, he was already whipped. Not a week went by without his members hearing the singer gushing about your cute habits or the sweet texts you sent twice a week to check up on him. 

Recently he’s learned that you liked to cook, and he would not stop bugging you about it! He was practically dying to try your food. So one day you rushed back home after your morning class to make lunch for him. When you finished making Haechan’s bento, you had a lot of leftover ingredients. So you were able to make six other bento boxes for his members.

The way the boy’s eyes enlarged when he saw you enter the practice room carrying a bag. He had seen your text about coming to visit him but didn’t expect you to bring anything. The Dreamies greeted you with enthusiasm, happy to have a break after hours of dance rehearsal.

“You said you wanted to try my cooking right?” You smiled, placing the bag down on a table before turning to his friends. “I have lunch for you guys too!”

That was how the eight of you sat at the center of the floor in a circle, munching away. The meals you made were pretty simple. Just some bulgogi with rice and vegetables. The night before you had prepared a bunch of side dishes for today.

“Wow, I didn’t know you could cook (Y/n)! Thank you.” Mark’s compliment caused you to blush at the sudden attention. Of course, Haechan took their leader’s praise as an opportunity to brag about you.

“My (Y/n) is the most amazing girlfriend, right guys?” He boasted. “She’s adorable, kind, takes time out of her day to take care of me—”

You shyly nudged the male. “Hyuck, don’t exaggerate.”

“And she’s humble too!” Haechan added.

Jisung shook his head from across the room. “Ugh, you two are insufferable.”

“On a serious note, you better be careful Lee Haechan,” Jaemin warned, flashing a flirtatious smile. “If (Y/n) keeps bringing us home-cooked food, I might just steal her from you.”

Haechan sent a scowl that Jaemin was not fazed by. 

“Don’t try to fool yourself, Na Jaeman,” He sneered, wrapping an arm around you. “(Y/n) is mine, and she loves me very much.”

The amused smile on Jaemin’s face contorted into a look of annoyance. “Yah, I told you not to stop calling me Jaeman!”

You shook your head as the other members joined in on the bickering. Shame on you for presuming that eating with 7Dream would be peaceful.

✎__________________________________________________________

JAEMIN

For someone who thought of herself as a slightly below-average person, you didn’t know you’d have much luck with love. And somehow, you ended up catching the attention of Na Jaemin. He was probably the most caring man you’ve ever encountered. His love was never-ending, and he never held back on giving you affection.

About a month into dating, you were determined to do something for Jaemin. After all, relationships should be 50/50. Expressing your emotions outwardly was not your strong suit. So you spent a sleepless night, thinking of what you could do to show Jaemin your feelings.

Jaemin was coming back to his dorm after a recording session for an upcoming album. Though he didn’t like to admit it, today’s schedule had been a tiring one. All he wanted to do was shower and go to bed. But when he noticed your gray slip-on shoes neatly placed near the doorway, the previous exhaustion he was feeling moved to the back of his mind.

As he padded across the room, a pleasantly familiar aroma filled his nose. His eyes enlarged when he found you standing in the dining area. In front of you was a neatly set table, with two stone bowls full of soup, and a heaping plate of meat at the center surrounded by several side dishes.

Then there was you wearing a nervous smile. “I know you must be tired. But you shouldn’t go to bed on an empty stomach. And I made cheonggukjang and jeyuk bokkeum since they’re your favorite foods.” 

While you rambled, Jaemin thought his heart would explode from how fast it was beating. He sat down without saying anything, which you slowly followed. You held your breath when he picked up the spoon to try the stew.

“I know it’s not as good as your mom’s but…” Your voice trailed off. You remembered Jaemin raving about his mother’s cooking. Obviously, you couldn’t compete with her. But you were hopeful that Jaemin would still appreciate your efforts.

You watched as he took the first bite, but were unable to read his expression. A million worries flooded your head. Did he hate it? Had you seriously screwed up? What if--

“Marry me.” His deep voice put a pause to your thoughts.

It took a few seconds to process what he just said. But oh man, once you did… Instantly, you were blushing profusely and covering your face. 

“Jaemin, you can’t just say stuff like that!” You mumbled. 

Jaemin smiled at you being all flustered. He had to hold back the urge to jump across the table and give you a thousand kisses.

While eating, he listened to you cutely explain how he always took care of you and was determined to show you cared too. After you were done, he’d reach across the table to take your hand and press his lips to the back of it softly.

 “Jagiya, I seriously have the sweetest girlfriend. Thank you.”

Usually, Jaemin was the one cooking for people, especially his members. The fact that you went out of your way to make him a home-cooked meal was so touching to him. When he told you to marry him, he was half-joking. You might not have been dating for long, but Jaemin was already planning his future with you. And this kind gesture of yours just sealed the deal. The simplest actions were what made him fall for you all over again.

✎__________________________________________________________

CHENLE

He was just laying on the couch, watching 7illin’ in the Dream on his phone with Daegal  laying between his legs. Eventually, he got bored of watching himself bicker with his members over foot volleyball. Then he would casually walk into the kitchen while you were prepping some food.

The boy watched as you used a pair of tongs to neatly place some beef chow mein on two plates.

“This was my grandmother’s recipe. I wanted to try making it for us,” You explained, 

Chenle met your grandma before and he had her cooking too. But making Chinese food for him was something you’ve wanted to do since you started dating. So decided to just stick with something you were already familiar with.

You didn’t even need to look up to see the teasing in Chenle’s smile. “You think you can make it better than your grandma?” He challenged.

In response, you merely shrugged and handed him a pair of wooden chopsticks. “Maybe. Try it and tell me.”

Secretly you hoped your boyfriend didn’t notice how nervous you were as he used the utensil to slurp up some noodles. Chenle felt like something exploded in his brain because your food was unexpectedly delicious. Eating this dish brought back memories of when his mom cooked for him.

“What do you think?” You waited for his reaction expectantly.

Despite how much nostalgia Chenle was feeling right now, he wasn’t quite ready to admit your cooking exceeded his expectations.

“It’s alright,” He said. You raised an eyebrow at the boy as he began to dig further into the meal before him. 

“Only alright, huh?”

“It’s because I’m hungry.”

You held back from laughing, clearly not convinced by Chenle’s excuse. 

“Well if my food is just alright, I guess you don’t want to eat it. I’ll feed the rest to Daegal.” You faked a pout and began to pull the food away from him.

Chenle quickly tried to counter his prior words. “Yah, you can’t take away something you offered me first!”

You chuckled and shook your head before telling him to at least eat at the dining table. Later that night, the two of you were laying in his bed. 

“So…when are you going to cook for me again?” He asked out of the blue, sounding all innocent. 

You turned your head to face him. “You really think my cooking is good then?”

“Okay, okay I admit.” Chenle playfully rolled his eyes and pulled you into his arms. “So will you make something tomorrow? You said you know how to make kimchi fried rice too, right?”

Internally, your stomach was doing little flips because of how pleased you were that Chenle approved of your cooking. But you played it off, pretending to give in reluctantly.

“Okay, I guess so.”

“Yes, let’s go man!!!” He shouted in English.

You cursed at him with your eyes for being so loud when you were trying to fall asleep. Chenle laughed in embarrassment and hugged you tighter so you couldn’t escape his embrace. Strangely, the boy’s teasing only made you fall for him more. You guessed it was part of his charm.

✎__________________________________________________________

JISUNG

So Jisung was playing games on his PC when a sweet aroma encompassed him. Acting like a stray puppy, the young dancer followed the smell down the hallway. He waddled into the living room, where you were sitting at the dining table. In front of you was a fish-shaped cake pan, and beside it was a heaping plate of freshly made treats.

Jisung gasped and covered his mouth. “Wah, you made bunggeo-bang?”

“Yeah, it’s your favorite right?” You hummed. “I ordered the pan a while ago, and it finally came yesterday.”

Your boyfriend stared in awe as you picked up a piece for him to try. After the first bite, Jisung’s taste buds exploded.

“Oh, mashiso!” He pouted slightly, out of gratitude. 

Staring into your eyes sparkling with joy, made Jisung wonder where and how he got this beautiful thing from. You giggled at his reaction when the male squeezed you into a hug.

“I really love you.”  Usually saying those words were scary for him. But with you, it just felt so right.

You grinned and patted his back. “I really love you too, Jisung.”

And then the two of you went on to feeding each other bunggeo-bang and sharing a lovely moment.

✎__________________________________________________________

[celestialrose3]

So, I don’t post my writing ever, but Cass and the whole series has been inspiring. The last part of Donatello’s chapter spiked interest for this one-shot.

Taking place between CJ running for his things, and coming back to see Uncle Tello in the bath, thoughts overwhelm Tello and make him question everything they’re about to accomplish.....maybe.

Potentially slightly ooc for Uncle Tello, but it’s my first go. All credit for story line goes to @somerandomdudelmao 

TW: little angsty, (it gets better) anxiety

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

D is for Denial

Uncle Tello woke up in his enormous room with disheveled blankets and a somehow missing mask. He groaned and reached down in an attempt to feel his adoptive nephew. Poor kid passed out midway through his brilliant revival rant last night after being so convincing that sleep wasn’t needed. His hand fell into pure blanket and he glanced over his shoulder to confirm Casey’s absence. 

Rolling over onto the empty blankets, Don muttered to himself, “Where could that kid have gone at this hour of the day?” A sigh escaped his throat as his arm draped over his face. “Maybe ran off to figure out how he found me? …That was a big piece of our puzzle we’re missing.” He dropped his arm above his head, making a mental note that his mask had been found there. Eyes carefully looked over his surroundings. The colors are so vibrant here. Plants were somewhat familiar and thriving. When was the last time he felt rays of sun coming down onto him? The warmth brought a feeling of safety, like there was…hope?

Donnie sat up with a desperate ‘huff’, suddenly extremely aware of what was being planned for his brothers to be revived. Sure, he had done this once before. Sure, he documented the process to a ‘T’ so it could be repeated by almost anyone (including Leo). Sure, Casey Junior was here to help, but something wasn’t sitting right. Something felt wrong about this. Dee’s brows furrowed and his knees came instinctively to his chest.

“What the hell is this?” he questioned himself. “W-we know- I know what needs to be done for this…” Thoughts began flooding his brain like a tsunami. ”Denial”  

“What if these calculations only work for Raph?” “Denial”

“W-what if we can’t find all the materials?” “Denial”

“What if this doesn’t work in this timeline?” “Denial”

“What happens if something goes wrong?” “….”

“Why in the hell am I only thinking of worst-case scenarios?”

“I don’t know, maybe DENIAL?”

Casey’s words from their last conversation silenced his constant questioning. Were any of their combined efforts even worth it? Could this unprecedented experiment even be replicated? Could the Great Donatello…have been wrong? Air had been cut off from his lungs this whole time, like a wall of future regret and past anguish made a home in his throat. Thoughts set fire to his mind- he couldn’t stand losing his brothers a second time, let alone by his own hand. Tears threatened their way into the genius’ eyes, whether from lack of air, or the overwhelming feelings creeping in didn’t matter. Something clicked as the salty water began to creep down his face- he was alive. 

The breath that came after this realization acted like a fire extinguisher to his burning thoughts. 

‘Why wouldn’t it work here?’ a smirk formed on his face as His Brilliance got back to work. ‘It has to, the physics would be the same-mostly-. Calculations can be reworked for any situation. Materials can be bought, made,...or stolen. And replications?’ He looked at his own hands as his legs lowered to the ground. 

“I’m my own proof this is gonna work”

Blinking the remaining water from his vision, Donnie looked back up at the light now pouring in from above. He knew, in some heart-string-pulling way, that for the time being, he was going to need to be the strength, razz, and face-man of the Hamato’s until he and Casey could bring his respective brothers back. Don gave a signature “scoff” to himself.

  “A man of science being ruled by emotion…how embarrassing. The results are here.” A smile replaced the smirk that had been sitting on his face. A small shiver ran down his back. Guess the light can only give so much heat….

Donnie grabbed his mask and robe earnestly and marched his way to the bathroom. “If I’m gonna be thorough, I’m gonna be thorough, comfortably.” With the door partly closed, warm water began to run in hopes the heat would well replace that of the sun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[the-ellia-west]

Hio been thinking about asking you this for a while but kept forgetting

Been thinking about angsty scenarios for characters u see and some questions popped up that now will be yours to answer if you'd like

1-what would your oc do if they meet their younger much happier selve? Or in reverse their older and wiser and more bitter self?

2-your characters are locked in a mysterious space, and they can't get out unless they relive their greatest regret. What will they do? How would they react? Ps: Even if they're reliving that moment, no matter how they choose to act, what happend won't change

3-your original characters are put in a situation where they must face their greatest mental dilemma, be it an inferiority complex or traumatic experience that they still haven't moved on from or even their own self worth issues(if they have any) well basically any thoughts that they always bury deep in their heart and ignore to avoid facing their problems and so these characyers have to del with these mental barriers to solve whatever situation they are in

Ps: its not the mysterious space from #2 it could be any plot relevant situation or any non relevant to plot situation you think of

4-if your characters traveled to an alternate world of their own world, what would they do? Yk like a world where those they lost are still there or a world where their other selves didn't have to abandon whatever it was they abandoned or smth like that

Would they love it?

Would they hate it?

Would they bitterly part ways with it? And why?

Would they leave anything there? Wether accidentally or purposely? What would it be?

Thats all i thought of so far hope these questions aren't bothersome 😅 really wanted to make a post about them with my own characters and tag you in it ro see your take but this week has been chuck full of work and i hadn't managed any time to do that yet 🥲

EHEHEHHEHE THANK YOU FOR THE ASK @supercimi

1. I need to write this as an Au for J&R but for TCOT, Baby Kasi would think she's weird, and Baby Marril would be happy that he looks like his dad

2. OOH THIS ONE IS DARKKKK. Because both characters I thought of when I read this would kill themselves attempting to save the person they lost. Jak would burn himself alive, and Marril would drown himself.

3. Are you asking what they would do or what it is? I'll answer for both. Marril's is the guilt over his first murder, and he would face it head on with his weapons because he knows now he can change something. Meanwhile Jak... all of that mess... he would probably curl up in a corner and cry.

4. Marril's world is where his first murder victim swapped places with him. He would hug her and apologize. She would mistake him for his father.

He would have mixed feelings, bc on one hand, she's alive, on the other hand, she's cursed and an Assassin.

He would be glad to go home because he likes his potential of a happy ending better than the corrupted version of someone he used to love.

He may or may not leave behind tips to escape the curse.

(Eveny & Rune Survived with Finn as their replacement for Rose. J&R both died in this universe) Jak would be SHATTERED in his universe, he wouldn't care about anything really, he'd just be happy he has his wife back. She would also have a COMPLICATED array of Emotional issues bc Eynalis would turn his attention to her in Jak's absence. But because Rune survived, she would be determined to hold out for him.

These two, both disheveled and in mental pieces, would just be happy to have each other back. (Though they'd both mourn this universe's Rose's Loss)

He & this universe's Eveny & Rune would FIGHT to keep him, but when he has to leave, he would leave her some flowers because he has nothing else to give.

I love these questions and I will be writing Aus for #1 & #4

[azems-familiar]

For the shipping preference ask game: 3 & 37 pls!

3. One emotional aspect of a ship that always gets you.

what i really, really like, my absolute bread-and-butter of shipping, is mutual pining. i love, love, love reading about longing, yearning, whether it's "we both know we love each other but we can't do this for outside circumstances and it's killing us", or "we've decided we can't do this for Reasons but those reasons feel so much less binding now", or the classic requited unrequited love scenario, or a really good and juicy betrayal-but-we're-still-in-love vibe - i will just absolutely devour it. angsty yearning is one of the easiest things for me to get in the groove and write, and it has such a good payoff every time!

(for those who have been watching my descent into hell - i think this is what gets me so hard about emetraha/exselch. there's like 15 different layers of pining going on at any one time, and they're both in love with someone else on top of it all - Emet-Selch with Azem, G'raha with the WoL - so you get this really crunchy mix of. genuine feelings for each other that they could act upon but it would be absolutely stupid to mixed up with their other complicated feelings for other people, their duties, the way G'raha thinks he's going to disappear at the end of this anyway...etc. and it all just really scratches that itch in my brain.)

37. Describe one reunion after time apart.

i've talked a lot about the ancients lately, and you didn't specify a ship, so i'll go for Lelesu and Aymeric! they deserve more love, lol.

Aymeric is usually not the first person Lelesu goes to when she arrives in Ishgard after a while away - she checks in with Edmont and Artoirel first, because they're her family as well. going to see Aymeric means checking in with Lucia - or whoever she's deputized to act as his second in her absence - to see what Aymeric's daily schedule is like before she tells him she's there, to make sure she's not interrupting anything; despite his intense focus on his work he has a tendency to drop everything for the rest of the day whenever she returns to Ishgard. they're both critically aware of how any one of these visits could be their last, considering their history and Lelesu's occupation, meaning they like to spend as much time together as possible when they get the opportunity.

once she actually confirms she won't be interrupting anything important, Lelesu will usually make herself known by heading into Aymeric's office - usually their reunions start with the less-pleasant task of her updating him on everything that's happened recently as the Lord Speaker and the Warrior of Light, unofficial leader of the Scions. but once that's done they'll often dress down into more casual clothing and go wander around the city, or just go straight to Aymeric's home to spend time together and talk about the unofficial things Lelesu's been up to - the little details that don't make it into the reports, or the things she'll tell him as her partner that she doesn't want the Alliance to know about (such as lingering effects of Light corruption, or her soul being Rejoined, or what exactly was going on with Emet-Selch, or...). it's usually just a very soft, domestic, fond thing where they both just soak up each other's presence.

[miggylol]

GOOD: my car is home

BAD: after spending a lot of money

GOOD: but only 1/5 of what the worst-case scenario would have been

BAD: I left my garage door remote in the loaner car

WORSE: they gave it out to someone else before I noticed its absence

GOOD: but they noticed the remote while cleaning the car beforehand, and snagged it for safekeeping

??: I had to make a second extra long round trip to pick it up, but while grooving to a writing playlist, I worked out some plot issues in my head

Calling today a (?)win(?)

[naveymoon]

➳ Are You Lonesome Tonight? (Austin!Elvis x Reader) 

Austin!Elvis x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2638

Summary: It's the night before Elvis is scheduled to leave for military service, and your grief at his departure is consuming you and your family.

Note(s): Just some casual family-fluff/angst, at your service <3 I quickly want to make it known that I use the biopic and Austin as my main writing/inspiration port and so details may not always be correct/factual/timed in the right way and in no way am I trying to make assumptions or spread misinformation about the real Elvis Presley. <3 As always, all feedback is appreciated, but please be nice! Thank you, El ᵕ̈

Taglist: @captured-memory@flwersgarden@chaoticbilly@callthedarknessdown@xcallmetaniax@jazmin2211@thatcrazyfangirl22 @swatson06 @heavenlylake @imagineslut01 @k1sses4you @impossibleapricotlampbat @austinbutler17 @poppet05 @xhannahbananax03 @lindsaylop81 <3333

*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The evening before he left had been picture-perfect if such a statement could be claimed in this scenario. Elvis had assembled his closest friends and family to Graceland, and everyone was drinking and eating a great, spectacular meal that compared to a banquet over anything else. Elvis had shared stories and experiences from his first few gigs, his friends had related anecdotes about him on the road, and Elvis had seemed truly happy for the first time in weeks.

Naturally, you blended in with the group's smiles and laughter, fighting off the frown that was always on your face whenever eyes were not directed at you, but you were in no way amused or cheerful. You had no idea how they, particularly Elvis, could play the role of happy families while your entire world is crashing around you.

Maybe it was because you were fixated on the thought of grief this evening, since not only were you losing your partner, your beloved, the one who calmed your every fear and kissed away every concern that filled your expression - but your son, who was only eight months old, was also losing his father. He'd be two when his father returned, and you mourned not just your loss of the man who had given you your baby, but also everything your lover would miss out on while he was gone.

Thomas Jesse Presley was born a few months after Elvis bought Graceland for his family, and it had been the house that had kept him warm, nourished, and happy for his whole short existence, and he had never known any other lifestyle. You, on the other hand, had entered Graceland at age twenty-one with concerns; what if you and Elvis couldn't pull it off? What if he chose fame over family? Where would you and Thomas end up? Those same concerns lingered even now, especially when the news of his deployment became public following that one concert.

When the news was broken to you, Elvis had cradled your cheek with one hand and smoothed over the light wisps of hair that covered Thomas' small head, promising you that Graceland would always be a home to both of you, whether he was there or not.

You're not so sure as you sit in the kitchen, surrounded by litter and empty cartons, bottles, and food packaging, cradling tiny Thomas in your arms after his night feed. The only reason Graceland had always felt like home to you was because Elvis was there. Sure, you got along with Gladys and Vernon, and you know how much they adore Thomas, but you never felt like you completely fit in with them, or with anyone, except for Elvis and Thomas.

Rocking your sleepy son in your arms, you sigh as Elvis says his goodbyes to the few of his friends and family who are leaving Graceland sober. Part of you feels bad for hiding away, but you know that if you didn't, you'd either collapse into tears or start an argument with one of Elvis' overly-jovial family members, and that's the last thing you want Elvis to remember as he's being shipped away.

A tear slides down your cheek as you ponder his absence, and you struggle to fight back the sob that trembles upon your lips, failing miserably as your son startles in your arms. You lift your baby to lay him on your shoulder, caressing along his back and softly shushing him, but it's all in vain.

"Oh dear, someone's a fuss pot this evenin!" Gladys coos, startling you as she walks into the kitchen, resting a hand on the small of your back. She walks through the mess the guests have made and stands in front of you, patting Thomas' back. She examines your features, her expression softening when she discovers your tears. "Oh, my darlin'. What's the matter? What can I do f'ya?"

You sniffle and shake your head, "No, no, I'm good. I should put Thomas to bed."

As you try to flee, she grabs your arm and spins you around, frowning. You can smell the alcohol radiating from her, and you know how much she drank tonight to relieve herself of her problems and sorrows, and you know that having this talk with her when she is intoxicated is not a smart idea.

"I promise, I'm fine." You reassure her as she slowly releases her grasp.

She sighs heavily, muttering something about the value of family as she spins around and goes for the nearly empty wine bottle on the kitchen counter, and as much as you know you should take it from her, you just want to be away with Thomas for a second.

You rush past the swarm of guests assembled at Graceland's front door, carrying Thomas upstairs and directly to his nursery, which is located directly adjacent to yours and Elvis's bedroom.

"Ready for bed, baby? I know, I know, you're so tired. Mama's so tired, too."

You softly close the door, reaching for the pacifier that had been placed carelessly on Thomas' changing table, and make your way to the rocking chair by the moonlit window. As you sit, gently providing your son with his soother, you begin slowly rocking him, closing your eyes as you wait for his faint cries to subside.

"C'mon Tommy, I know you're tired," you say, rubbing your thumb across his brow in continuous, soothing strokes, knowing that this is the technique that would always help him sleep. "Mama's here, she's always gonna be here for you. We are gonna be just fine, you and me. Just you and me against the world for a little while, huh, how's that sound?"

He gradually settles down, sucking on his pacifier as he lets go of all his troubles and enters dreamland, blissful and free. You hum quietly, your fingers casually brushing along your son's brow as you begin to drift off to sleep with him, that is until you feel him beginning to slip from your arms.

You jerk awake and cling to Thomas even tighter before meeting Elvis' gaze as your son rests half on your lap and half in his arms. He chuckles softly and quietly, "Hey, mama. It's all right, let me help you. You look exhausted."

"No," you respond a little harshly, looking down at your sleeping baby. "I can do it."

Elvis seems perplexed by your attitude, but he assists you in securely returning your baby to your arms, observing from the side as you stand to put him in his crib, gradually settling him with a few more reassuring shushes. "Good night, baby," you murmur, stroking his onesie-cladded tummy softly.

You pause over the crib for a few seconds before leaving the room and hearing Elvis telling his son goodnight. You stand at the door for a few seconds, listening as he tells Thomas, "Daddy loves you so much and he's gonna be thinking of you and mama every day. Now, speaking of, you gotta promise to take care of mama for me, now, okay? You're the man of the house til' I get back, son."

You hurry into your shared bedroom, unable to take hearing anymore, intending to change before breaking down again tonight.

.☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

When you emerge from the bathroom almost ten minutes later, your hair is tied back, your face is makeup-free, and you are dressed in a short baby-blue nightgown.

Elvis watches you from the bed, a grin on his face as he runs his eyes up and down your body. "That's a good look on ya, mama," he says quietly, being cautious of your sleeping son next door.

"You're only sayin' that cuz' you bought this dress," you say playfully.

"Mm, I know what my girl looks good in," he flirts while kneeling in front of you on the edge of his bed. He wraps his arms around your waist, drawing you in close. He is shirtless, wearing only a pair of red-checked pyjama trousers, which you can only guess will soon be patterning on the floor. "God, baby, you're so beautiful."

He rubs his face into your cleavage flesh, inhaling your aroma and kissing lower till the fabric of your gown stops him. He glances up at you, his eyes large and lusty, his pupils dilated as if you're the only girl in the world.

You run your hand through his hair as he redirects his attention to pressing kisses on your skin, attempting to soak up the moment. Unfortunately, your brain cannot turn off when Elvis gets a bit more handsy along the bottom of your nightgown, lifting it to reveal your stomach and running his fingertips down your skin.

"Elvis, please.." Elvis misunderstands your whisper. He grins at you, muttering against your skin between kisses, "My girl's so impatient, tonight. Don't worry, baby, 'imma take such good care o' ya."

You exhale, allowing your head to drop back as he kisses farther up your chest, his hands encircling your back and holding you tenderly and securely as he kisses along your neck. "Elvis..I-I wanna talk to you," you murmur slowly.

"Talk to me then, doll." He straightens up, nuzzling his face behind your ear and lightly kissing your skin. He pauses beside your ear, before whispering, "Tell me what you want me to do to ya."

"No, Elvis, I-" you draw away, leaving him with a puzzled expression from the bed. He frowns as he watches you cross your arms over yourself, anxiously caressing your left elbow. You shake your head, "I just- I don't understand how you're so casual right now."

He looks at you, then drops to the bed below and takes a seat on the edge, "What in the hell are you talkin' 'bout, Y/N? Ain't it casual to wanna make love to my girl?"

"You won't even talk to me about it," You keep ranting, mostly to yourself, as you begin to pace in front of him. "We've known for weeks, and we never talk about it! You're always too busy with the Colonel or your Mama or your Daddy or Tommy is with us."

"You talkin' 'bout the army?" Elvis asks, his eyes narrowing.

"God, what else, Elvis?" You exclaim, your irritation visible in your words. "You're leaving tomorrow, and you haven't even talked to me about anything; all you've done is play blasted happy families with your friends and drink all night. Everyone was staring at me like I was the poor little girl left behind and you were just laughing. Nothing was even funny!"

He stands up, "That's right, I am leavin' tomorrow, me! This is happening to me, Y/N, and you're upset because I was havin' a little fun with my friends?"

"No, Elvis! Us! This is happening to us!" You take a step closer to him, angry and upset, and convinced that you have been entirely misunderstood. "Me, you and our son. You're leaving and I'm alone with a baby, our baby. Have you even thought 'bout what that's gonna be like? Elvis, we're s'posed to be a family!"

He expresses his anger with wild gestures, "What y'expect me to do 'bout it? Go to damn prison instead? You're the one who told me to do what made me happy on that stage, Y/N, and that's what I did! We both knew it was gon' have consequences! And will ya keep it down? Our son's next door, damn it!"

"Not for us! Why did it have to have consequences for us?" Your voice is softer now, your rage having dissipated into sheer sadness. "Your son loves you, Elvis, and so do I… I don't want you to go. I…I don't want to be alone. I want you to be at home with us, like a normal, happy family."

Elvis sits quietly, staring down at his lap with a puzzled expression. He has no idea what to say or do, and he knows that neither will make things better, even if he did.

"I want you to be happy, Elvis," you whimper, your hands running across your cheeks and your breathing heavy. "And I want our son to be happy. I just…I just want everything back to the way it was, b'fore all this nonsense. I'm afraid that…that these two years are gonna ruin us."

"Y'don't think we're gonna make it?" he asks, his eyes welling up with tears.

"I want to," you respond as you approach and stand in front of him. "I'm just- I'm scared, Elvis. I can't sleep at night anymore, just thinkin' 'bout you and Tommy and us, our life. After tomorrow, it-it could all be gone."

"You really think I'd just let y'both go like that?" Elvis muses aloud, tentatively reaching up to grasp your hips. He subconsciously brushes his thumb up and down your silk-clothed flesh. "Tommy's my son, my boy, and you're my girl, the one I love most in this damn world. You gave me one of the best gifts in my whole life with that boy, and you think I am just gon' forget that all in two years? I'll be coming home as soon as I can, Y/N, and things will be so much better when I do. We have too much together to just throw away like trash. We're gonna be just fine."

You exhale, your hands caressing his face as you allow him to pull you into his arms and place you on his lap. He watches you closely as you fidget with his hair and continue to be lost in your thoughts, not present in the moment with him. "Sweetheart, tell me what's on your mind. I wanna understand. I don't wanna leave on bad terms with my girl."

"What if…" you feel stupid and unworthy under his eyes, as your gaze falls to your lap, leaving the question unspoken.

"Y/N," he says sternly as he tilts your chin up with his pointer finger.

"What if you meet someone else?"

The question lingers in the tense atmosphere of your shared bedroom, and as quickly as it arises, it is snatched away as Elvis chuckles softly and leans in to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

"Don't laugh, you asked." You whisper against his lips.

He grins as he presses two more kisses to your lips, followed by another long, delicate kiss to the corner of your mouth. "God, you're just precious. You really think I could meet anyone like you out there?"

"Maybe someone better."

"Will you stop that?" Elvis mumbles, adoringly stroking his hand down your cheek. "I love you, just you. You have my heart, baby. I don't want anyone but you. The only one on my mind at night will be you, I swear."

You throw your arms around him and lean on his shoulder. He returns your hug, pressing light kisses to your shoulder.

"I love you so much, Elvis,"  You brush your hand along the back of his head, whispering. "I'm sorry for being mad at you; you deserved to have fun tonight and I'm glad you did. I'm just so scared of losing you."

"I know, baby," he says, softly pulling at your hair to make you look at him. He offers a faint smile, "'m scared, too, but we're gonna be okay. I believe in us, and I want you to believe in us, too. There is proof that you and I, we, can get through anythin', and that's Tommy, right? 'member how mad our mamas were at us? We got through that, and we'll get through this."

"Thought my mama was gonna kill ya," you chuckle.

"I thought so, too, doll," he chuckles, "but look at us now."

You sigh contentedly as you press your forehead against his, quietly inquiring, "We're gonna be okay?"

"We're gonna be okay."

[freedfutura]

Hello it's me again! I might abuse this button from now on because of my fanfic ideas for Robin😭 (I'm so SORRY in advance) So anyways, since my knee is hurting A LOT (It got dislocated) uhm can you do a fanfic where Robin notices us not being in school and then he receives a call from the hospital saying that you got your knee dislocated and that his number is on our "to call in case of emergency" since our parents are busy working overseas and then he's taking care of us in the hospital? Please take your time on writing and i really loved your works. Thank you very much.^^

Hey! I’m finally getting around to doing requests again, and I wanted to apologize for getting this out so late! I sincerely hope your knee is alright Omg!

Right around the time that this came into my inbox, I literally sprained my ankle 💀. I’ve had a lot of problems with it for the past 6 years- breaking it and fracturing and spraining it on numerous occasions. Always the same one. I totally feel your pain, and wish you a successful recovery.

Laughters the Best Medicine

[Robin Arellano]

School seemed to drag on more than usual due to your absence.

Not only was it very alarming that you were absent without notice, it was incredibly inconvenient. Robin had scouted every “spot” you two had at the school, hoping that, for whatever reason, you’d be there waiting to jump out and surprise him.

He checked the corner of the library, in the nonfiction section that is hidden away and goes pretty much untouched or roamed through. He checked behind the guest side bleachers. He checked the janitors closet. He checked the other janitors closet. Hell, he even used your lock combo to check inside your locker. Even though, logically, you obviously could not fit inside of it.

Alas, all led to dead ends, leaving him feeling dejected and bored.

During 5th period math, his gloominess was very noticeable as he kept his head flopped on the desk, doodling random drawings in his notebook, even after lecture was finished.

“No luck?” Finn had asked, knowing all too well by the expression on Robin’s face that he had not been successful in his search for you.

Robin gave him a nonchalant look, not wanting to admit his genuine concern of your whereabouts, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really?” He raised a brow. “So you just coincidentally looked through every spot you and y/n sneak off to make out at?”

He immediately sat up in his chair, looking flustered, “we don’t go there just to make out! S-Sometimes we…study.”

“Yeah right,” Finn snorted, “if that were true you wouldn’t be nearly failing every class. Just admit that you’re worried.”

Robin scrunched his face at him, “ha.ha.ha. Whatever, maybe I’m a little worried. Only because why wouldn’t she say anything? She always calls and lets me know. That’s weird right?”

Finn shrugged, “I don’t know, man. Maybe she forgot.”

“She wouldn’t.”

“Maybe she’s really sick and slept in,” he suggested.

“Yeah, maybe,” Robin agreed, somewhat disbelievingly.

By the time school let out, he practically sprinted to your house, which was very out of character because he often felt “too cool” to run anywhere. He felt like it made him looked stupid or like a pushover. Why? Who’s to say.

He let himself into your house, knowing your parents would be gone, and went straight to your room.

In the end, he made himself look stupid for nothing because you weren’t even home. He literally ransacked your room, and you were no where to be found. That’s when panic really began to set into him.

Reluctantly, he walked himself home feeling an uncomfortable sense of dread, unintentionally imagining all the worst scenarios of what could’ve happened to you.

What if you were kidnapped? What if you were hurt? What if you ran away without telling him? What if you secretly fell in love with someone else and moved away, changed your name, dyed your hair and started a life with them and got a hamster named Greg.

Hell no! That’s supposed to be him! He’s supposed to have a hamster with you named Greg!

The whole thing was making him unnecessarily frustrated and anxious, fogging his brain in a way that made him extra distracted upon entering his house.

It wasn’t until he heated his uncle snap at him that he really came back to reality.

“Robin? ROBIN!”

He shook away his thoughts, quickly redirecting his attention to the man stood before him on the phone.

“Sorry, what?” He hums, embarrassment lighting up his cheeks.

Manuel rolls his eyes, chuckling softly, “you’re too damn distracted, boy. That’s why you’re failing your math class, huh? Ven, hay alguien en el teléfono para usted.”

(Translate: Come, there’s someone on the phone for you.)

Quickly, Robin rushes over and takes the phone from him and puts his ear to the speaker.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mr. Robin Arellano?”

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“My name is Laurie Holman, I’m calling from the North Denver county hospital to inform you that (y/n) (l/n) is here in the emergency room. You’re on her emergency call list, and we tried to reach you earlier today, but you were unavailable,” the woman explains in a monotonous voice.

“E-Emergency room?” He stammers out, again feeling overwhelmed with dread. “Is she alright?”

“She’s fine now, just experiencing some pain and discomfort- which she is receiving pain medication to keep at bay. Her knee was dislocated,” she explains calmly. “Will you be visiting?”

He blinks in disbelief, only feeling slight relief at knowing you’re ok, “uh, yeah. Yeah. Alright. I’ll be there in a few.”

After gently placing the phone back on the receiver, he turns to his uncle who is sat nearby on the dining table, pretending not to have heard a thing as he readers through a magazine.

“Uncle?” He clears his throat, effectively gaining the man’s attention, “can I borrow your truck? I swear I’ll be careful with it! It’s an emergency.”

“What type of emergency?” Manuel pushes, raising a brow.

“My-girl-dislocated-her-knee-and-needs-me-to-be-with-her type of emergency,” he replies with a somewhat smart tone.

The two bare a tense and awkward silence before his uncle heaves a sigh and fumbles a hand into his pocket, sparking a smile on Robin’s face.

“Don’t be driving like a dumbass, Mijito! Yo se como eres,” he warns, tossing him the keys with a pointed look.

(Translation: I know how you are.)

Robin grins, nodding ferociously as he tumbles towards the door, “yeah, yeah! I swear!”

After nearly crashing at least once, he finally makes it to the hospital- thankfully in one piece- and rushes through the doors to ask for you.

“Sign in, please,” the receptionist requests, handing him a clipboard and pen. “Who are you here for?”

“(Y/n) (l/n),” he hurriedly replies, rushing to sign his name and time.

The nurse takes the clipboard back, raising a brow at his horrid handwriting before looking back to him, “room 301”.

He briefly nods before rushing off down the hall.

“Wrong way!” She calls out to him, not even glancing up from her paperwork.

Without even saying so much as a thank you, he hurries off in the other direction, laser focused on finding your room. With the pace he’s going, it doesn’t take him very long, and he practically barges in without even knocking.

You flinch from his sudden presence, unintentionally pulling your leg in an uncomfortable way and immediately hissing in pain.

“Ow, ow, ow!” You grimace, hands hovering over the ache but refraining from touching and applying any further pressure.

Robin throws you an apologetic, “sorry, mi vida.”

(Translation: my dream)

You give him a forced smile and nod, “it’s alright….Um…hi.”

He walks over, taking a gander at her current predicament, “I was so worried about you, I thought you fell in love with someone else and ran off to marry them.”

You snicker, feeling your mood lighten for the first time all day, “really? You really think so lowly of me?”

“Aye! You never know. For real though, are you alright? That looks like it hurts pretty bad,” he questions seriously, moving to sit on the chair by your bed and scooting it closer to you.

You shrug, “it’s…fine.”

“Really? He gives you a disbelieving look.

“…no,” you sigh, glancing down at your swollen knee. “It hurts like fucking hell. I really feel like the universe has it out for me, Robin.”

He frowns, slowly reaching over to grab your hand and secure it with his, “how can I help?”

“You already are,” you chuckle softly, reaching over to fix his misplaced bandanna. “Your presence makes me happy.”

He grins cockily, “I know. I’m pretty great, huh?”

You roll your eyes, “whatever, forget I said anything.”

“Nah, no take backs,” he laughs, shaking his head and making his hair bounce around. “You know you can’t resist my charm.”

“If I could, I would kick your ass,” you laugh back.

“You ain’t gonna be kicking shit with that knee,” he snorts, watching as you roll your eyes yet again.

“I hate you,” you groan playfully.

“Hey, at least I got you laughing though! You know what they say?” He hums happily.

“What?” You softly question.

He kisses your hand softly, “laughters the best medicine.”

[randomreadingtimewithtsuki]

Imagine:

Class 1-A finding out Aizawa have a spouse.

Aizawa x pro hero! Reader.

Tsuki's note: just some fluff and slightly comedy I guess? May be ooc.

Mentions of injury, but I did not describe it. So don't worry!

Some random thought gathering? Ah yes, the quirk and injure is up to you. I hope the format is ok? I am just kinda dumping it here lol.

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Imagine you got hurt doing a pro hero job. So after a stay in the hospital you were told to recover at home.

Well, your beloved husband insisted to take care of you, he even asked for a day off of school! Of course the principal allowed it.

Who wouldn't? The man asked to take care of his spouse and the sight and request is somewhat cute, coming from Aizawa.

Oh, but class 1-A won't be unattended. So Mic was asked to watch over them for this day, is just a day, what could go wrong?

As it is some kind of training activity All Might was required to go with them, but Aizawa's day off was only reported later that day. What it means? All Might didn't know about it.

Imagine his and the class surprise on seeing Mic there, not Aizawa. Mic did his best to not give much details about his friend's absence.

As we all know Aizawa is a reserved person, but it was never really a secret he was married. He just didn't say anything about it to anyone.

But the children started to get worried about their teacher, heck, the man appeared to class after usj so something horrible happened right??

So Mic ended up blurting out: he is just taking care of his spouse, they are both ok.

Chaos was ensured. They looked at All Might, maybe he knew something right? But nope he had no idea about it.

Question after question for Mic, until he just told them to ask man himself if they wanted to know more. The kids were disappointed and a little scared of asking, specially Mina and Hakagure.

Now you could see the engines on All Might's head spinning. After a while he got to the conclusion:

Aizawa have been leaving UA often until yesterday, probably to visit someone at the hospital.

Yesterday was also the day you were sent home.

Today he took a day off so :

1+2+3 = you are his spouse.

At this realization he went to ask Mic in private and whispering, surprisingly Mic can whisper too:

Mic: bingo! He even said " I will take care of my spouse" could you believe that?!

All Might: ... th-that is kind of adorable.

The students see them chatting, questions rises again. Once again it was said : ask the man himself if you want to know.

All kind speculation began. Ah kids and their wild imagination.

Next day, Aizawa was back to class, after making you sure you would be fine on your own.

Bazillion questions and stares. Mina asks first about who could be his spouse.

The answer? " my personal affairs are none of your business" nope he did not answer who.

But they considered a victory to get two things out of him:

He is married and cares a lot about you.

You have been married for almost 2 years now.

Of course this didn't come for free. Mina and Hakagure had to write down 50 times " I should not pry on other people's life"

As for Mic, well, he only got an earful.

All Might felt awkward around you, most of the times he called you by your hero name, but in the scenario you took your husband's last name, he would apologize for using the wrong one. But he promised to keep it to himself!

He got a big sigh and a " fine" from Aizawa.

Did the kids found out that it is you? Maybe later. But definitly not today. Nope! Aizawa shot down any questions about it. Like I said, a reserved man!

What about you? Well you respect his choice of wanting to be reserved. Besides, it's pretty amusing to hear the rumors around school, it's a win-win situation!

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I hope you guys enjoyed!

I feel like this is a bit ooc, so I apologize!

This is not proof read, btw.

Thank you for reading!

[yutaabyss]

Heeeyyyy if you still take requests can you please make a soft Yuta or Jaemin (I can't choose I'm a sucker for both) husband moment? I'm on that time of the month and I just need something soft to read and there's literally so little soft husband Yuta/Jaemin scenarios 😭.

(Sorry for my bad English it's not my first language)

hi, i'm so sorry i'm just now writing this for you! I'm really glad you requested this because I had so much fun writing it. the lack of soft content these days is rough honestly

(and your English is perfect!! no need to ever apologize for it)

requested/ wait

characters: yuta x female!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: soft yuta hours. you take a shower with him

author’s note: i’m always here for a soft moment. like honestly writing smut all the time is great but i live for these soft requests 

Yuta had been gone all day for schedules, it wasn’t something you weren’t used to by now, nonetheless, you missed him a little extra today. Maybe it was the rain pouring down outside, or perhaps it was because you’d just had the whole weekend together without interruption and now you were all alone, either way, you could feel his absence badly and just wanted him to come home. You waited patiently for it to be 9:00, the time he said he’d be done today, but 9:00 turned into 9:30, and soon it was 10:00 at night. You got a cup of tea and made yourself comfortable on the sofa closest to the window. Grabbing your phone, you pressed Yuta’s contact, the phone ringing briefly before he answered. “Hi angel,” his voice sounded tired, probably exhausted from hours of dance practice for their upcoming concert. “Yuta,” you whined at him, “you said 9:00 pm.” “I know, I’m sorry. We ran a little late today, I’ll be home in,” he paused, looking at the time you assumed, “30 minutes, okay?” You swallowed thickly, feeling like you might cry because you just needed him to be home now, “okay,” you said sadly. “I love you baby, I’ll be there soon,” he tried to reassure you. “Okay, I love you,” you waited for him to end the call first. 

The rain was coming down harder as the minutes ticked by and the mood felt somber. You couldn’t understand why you were feeling like this but just as you felt like you might finally cry, Yuta came through the front door. You shot up out of your seat, running to the entryway as if your life depended on it. Before Yuta could even react, you ran straight into his chest, wrapping your arms around his small waist. “I waited all day for you,” you buried your face into his chest, inhaling the scent of his cologne. Yuta smiled down at you, holding you in a warm hug, “I waited all day for you too,” he kissed the top of your head. You sniffled in his embrace, the tears you’d been holding in finally falling. “Are you crying?” Yuta pulled back to get a look at your face. “No,” you lied, turning your face away from him. “Liar,” he moved so he could see you. “What’s wrong?” he pet your hair soothingly. “I don’t know, I just missed you really badly today,” you pouted, angry at yourself for being so dramatic all day. “Awww, angel, did you have a hard day without me?” he cooed at you, finding your longing for him endearing. You nodded silently, resting your head back on his chest. “I’m here now,” his fingers played with your hair. 

You stood like that for a few more minutes in silence. “Do you want to take a shower with me?” he asked you. You hummed in agreement, “will you wash my hair? I like it when you do it,” your eyes looked into his. Yuta broke out into a smile at your request, “of course baby, come on.” Yuta intertwined your fingers, holding your hand as he walked you both to your bathroom. 

The water was warm as it hit your skin, all of the day's sadness washing away with the soft stream that ran down your body. You wet your hair as Yuta got in the shower with you, “here,” he took over, leaning your head back further so the water didn’t get in your eyes. Yuta poured the shampoo into his hand rubbing it into your scalp gently. “Feels nice,” you said. Yuta kissed the corner of your lips, rinsing your hair and reaching for the conditioner. He chuckled lightly as he ran his fingers through each strand. “What?” you smiled at him, your eyes still closed. “You look really cute,” his smile widened even more as you opened your eyes to look at him. Your face felt warm from the compliment. “There, all done,” he cradled your face in his soft hands. Your heart raced a little, Yuta always managed to fluster you even after being together for so long. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. You kissed him back, molding your mouths together. 

After Yuta washed his hair, you both got out of the shower and got ready to lie down. “I washed all the bedding today so it would be warm for you when you got home,” you told him, pulling the freshly cleaned comforter back and climbing in. “Thank you angel,” he tugged you toward his side of the bed. “You’re the best,” his eyes sparkled in the dim lighting. You smiled sheepishly at him, “I love you Yuta,” you caressed his cheek, thumb running over his lips. Yuta kissed your thumb, grabbing your wrist so he could kiss your whole hand. “I love you angel.” He moved closer to you, even though that seemed physically impossible as your bodies were already smooshed together. “Tomorrow, I’ll try to be home on time,” he planted soft kisses all over your face. “And if I’m running late, call me and yell at me,” he smiled as he finally met your lips. You laughed into the kiss, “I’m not going to call and yell at you Yuta,” you kissed him one more time, “I’ll just sulk until you come home.” He laughed this time, watching as you smiled brightly at him, “I’d rather you yell at me than sulk.” You shook your head in disapproval, “I couldn’t yell at you,” you hugged him closely. “Then I guess I’ll just have to be on time,” he nuzzled his face into your chest. “I’ll wait for you regardless,” you whispered in his hair as you began to drift into sleep.