#and i finally watched it earlier this year

[clarkeybabey]

Please can you write something about clarkey loving a cuddle and the boys come home and tease him 🙈🙈

❝ cuddle up to me ❞

# playlist; watch you sleep. - girl in red, cuddle up - the beach boys, LOVE - kendrick lamar ft. zecari

# word count; 1.2k

# note; I love writing fluff but I always feel so repetitive idk ?! 😝

George had finally convinced you to start going out for drinks with his friends again. The last time you joined them on a night out, you mistakenly read them Zayn Malik fanfiction you'd written well over ten years prior and posted to Wattpad, which they have yet to let you live down and you still have no recollection of.

After two hours of chatting with them about nothing and everything all at once, you couldn't help but recoil into him, your social battery was dangerously low. Despite how fresh your relationship still is, your boyfriend was quick to notice, excusing the two of you, saying something about Max wanting to film the pod early the next morning amidst goodbyes on your way out the door.

As you distance yourself from the bustling bar, he turns towards you with a knowing grin. His arm reaches out effortlessly and finds its way around your shoulders. His cool gaze meets yours as he softly asks, "You holding up okay, love?" You nod with a hum, your smile mirroring his, leaning into him as you reach up to lace your fingers together.

The two of you walk back to his flat in comfortable silence, London's side streets are quiet and almost peaceful. When you make your way into his building he unwraps himself from you slightly only to fish his keys from the pocket of his jeans though he keeps a protective grip on your waist as he unlocks the door.

Now that he's got it open, he steps aside patting your hip in a motion to get you inside ahead of him. He watches you walk stealing shameless glances at your figure as you struggle a bit with your shoes, he tears his eyes away as you straighten quickly distracting himself by hanging his coat on the rack and dropping his keys in the bowl next to the door.

Whilst he kicks off his shoes haphazardly you shed your jacket as well, holding it out to him with a smile, "Hang mine up too, please?"

"Yes ma'am," he nods, you thank him, heading off to the kitchen for some water. You step up onto your toes your shirt lifting with your arms snagging a glass, he comes up behind you, his cold hands meeting the now-exposed skin of your stomach making you jump, goosebumps rising on your skin.

"Y'scared me and your hands are freezing," you whine wiggling out of his grasp, filling your cup from the fridge, and side-eyeing him as he steps toward you again.

"But I just wanna cuddle, you can't deprive me like this," he throws his head back dramatically making you scoff. "We walked home practically glued together, darling."

George takes a deep breath and shakes his head frantically, continuing his fit, "'s just not enough," he sniffs wiping his eyes and fanning himself, making you roll yours. He follows close behind like a puppy as you cross through the dining room into the living room, pulling the throw blanket off the back of the couch, and reach out for him, "C'mon y'big baby."

And he does, basically jumping on top of you, and you fall back into the festive throw pillows. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck, his beard tickling you a bit.

Your fingers twirl the curls at the nape of his neck, "I missed you today," he mumbles against your skin, making the column of your throat vibrate with his words. "Missed you too, so much," you pause, thinking back to what had been said earlier, "You don't actually have to do podcast stuff tomorrow right?"

He can't help but chuckle at how nervous you sound, "Don't be silly, you know my Sundays are reserved for us," he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel your heartbeat jump in speed at his reassurance, but he doesn't acknowledge it.

More comfortable silence envelopes the two of you, as your breathing slows, unintentionally synchronized, he drifts off to the sound of soft breaths escaping your agape lips.

A drunk Chris and an even more drunk Arthur fumble into the apartment, completely oblivious to their sleeping friends, that is until Arthur attempts to make his way into the sitting room in search of George, his charger has miraculously disappeared from his bedroom once again.

As you come into his field of view, he's tapping through his phone, his fingers tingling and oddly heavy, in search of his camera.

You wake to a quick flash of light, followed by the sound of a picture being taken, making you groan a bit louder than intended. "Piss off," you don't bother opening your eyes, that is until you realize you can't exactly turn away from the flash because of the dead weight of the man on top of you.

He begins to stir at the sudden, jerk of movement beneath him, your shouting, the sound of a flurry more of photos being taken, and Arthur's drunken wheezing has Chris emerging from the kitchen, clapping a hand over his mouth, to suppress his obnoxious laughter. George turns in the direction of the noise, blinking the sleep from his eyes, "Hello, sleeping beauty," His friends' phones in hand and giggles make him sigh against your chest.

Chris nearly falls over, bumping into the wall as both of you raise a hand, flipping off them and the videos you're almost positive at least one of them is taking, "You two are so cute," Arthur coos, jutting out his bottom lip.

"Stuff like this won't happen to you if you lot are this annoying in the presence of a woman," you shoot back, making Chris clutch his chest, mouth open in shock, "you know, that's really offensive, one direction fanfiction won't help you out either," he crosses his arms, looking pleased with himself.

Your eyes widen, and you laugh dryly "You leave them out of this. Do I need to remind you how you looked before that perm?" George snorts and Arthur's phone is long since in his pocket, deciding he didn't need his ego bruised like his roommate. Chris raises his hands, laughing uncontrollably, his head dropping in defeat "No, please, no."

"Now goodnight, boys," your voice is jokingly stern, but when they don't move in the slightest you nod your head in the direction of their bedrooms, "Yes, Mother," Arthur sighs, a faux frown present on his face as he shoves Chris ahead of him. "She such a bully," You hear Chris mutter, their conversation fades as they make their way across the flat. The only sound was their doors clicking shut, followed by coveted silence.

You lay there still and quiet praying they don't come back out and when they don't you speak up: "Why don't we get in bed, too?" He nods, standing from where he had you trapped beneath him, taking your hand and helping you get up as well.

George grins broadly, his smile as bright as ever, and says, "You humbling my friends is so hot." You can't help but laugh and shake your head at his words. Without another thought, you grab his wrist firmly and start pulling him in the direction of his bed, eager to give in to the exhaustion the day had caused.

[letsgoletsgetit08]

soft hours pt. 1 - christmas

how they would celebrate christmas with you (plus a suprise they have trouble keeping secret)

hyung line

warnings: mdni, christmas fluff, smut

pairings: park seonghwa x f!reader, kim hongjoong x f!reader, jeong yunho x f!reader, kang yeosang x f!reader

word count: 3.4k

author's note: I picture this as slightly aged up members and their significant others, still famous and working in the industry but with solo careers (hence the ability to take actual time off for themselves). But I did try to keep that part vague. I'm not religious but I grew up with Christmas, but feel free to sub in whatever winter holiday tickles your fancy. Maknae line coming soon!

likes, comments, and reblogs always welcome as long as you're not a minor!

Park Seonghwa: Park Seonghwa loves Christmas and even moreso, winter. He has gifts and activities planned every day of December leading up to Christmas Day. He takes you ice skating, sledding, to have your picture made with Santa - even though you're both definitely too old, and yes, some of the gifts are small, like your favorite candy, some are tokens to use for quality time with him, he’s a big fan of an advent calendar. But some of the gifts, the ones closer and on Christmas proper, are very nice. Matching bracelets with both of your birthstones, a purse you had your eye on that you mentioned in passing earlier that year.

The gifts are wonderful but your favorite part is the quality time you get to spend with him. Christmas Eve is spent in the matching pajamas he gifted you, White Christmas playing in the background while the two of you assemble the Lego set you gifted him a day early, sipping on spiked apple cider and taking breaks for long, tender make out sessions and short bursts of aggressive kisses and cuddle attacks.

You take a break from building the set to read your book, curled up behind him on the couch, and when you inevitably nod off, he only pouts for a minute when you don't reply to his excitement about finishing an elaborate section of the Lego set, turning to see you with your chin to your chest, book slipping out of your hand.

You stir only when he's kissing your forehead and urging you to go brush your teeth because, “You always regret it when you don't, my little rein-dear”. He looks at you expectantly when he makes the pun and you try not to laugh at his stupid joke but you can't help it when he's cheesing in anticipation. He stares at you for a while as you fall asleep next to him in bed, watching your eyelashes flutter, resisting the urge to keep kissing your cheeks, lest he disturb you. He's too excited for the morning to fall asleep fast, but watching you is a treat.

He's up at the crack of dawn with anticipation and resists waking you up for as long as he can until eventually, he caves, situating himself between your legs, pulling down your underwear and taking his sweet time as he eats you out, his mouth gentle and languid as he eases you into consciousness. It's one of your favorite ways to wake up and he saves it for special occasions. By the time you're fully awake, you're a whiny mess, begging for him until he gives in, too excited to start the day to make this one of his longer sessions. 

“Merry Christmas to me.” You joke sleepily as he pushes inside of you slowly. 

“Mmh your pussy is the best gift I could have asked for.” He replies as he bottoms out. 

It doesn't take long for either of you to finish, and it takes every fiber in his being to not dash out of the room immediately to go get coffee started and watch you open your final gift, but he exercises some self control, cuddling you and helping you back into your pants. You giggle at his urgency. 

His last present is an envelope containing a hand-written love letter and two plane tickets for a weekend together over New Years on Jeju Island. He's just glad you’ve yet to find the ring he's had hidden in his closet for three months now. He plans to propose as the clock strikes twelve into the new year. 

Kim Hongjoong: Hongjoong is oddly withholding, nervous, and antsy around two weeks before Christmas when you assume your gift got delivered. He's bad about spending way too much on you, despite swearing up and down that it's, “Just something small!” Fortunately for you, you can tell when he's lying because his eyes go shifty and he gets cagey and jumpy. He feels bad he can't spend as much time with you as he'd like around the holidays but when you bring him coffee to his studio on Christmas Eve, he surprises you with a song he's working on about how he'd like to spend the holidays with you. 

“My mind kept drifting to you while I was trying to work on something else so I had to get this out of my system before I could keep working on something else. It's kinda cheesy but-”

“Joongie, no.” You pull him in for a kiss, laughing at his dumbfounded face, “It's perfect, baby. You know, I would be perfectly happy if this was the only thing you got me for Christmas.” 

“Baby! No way.” He pulls you into his lap on the couch in his studio, “You're far too special to me for that. Plus, I really think you're going to love what I got you.”

“What did you get me!?” You try to catch him off guard. 

“I-” He almost fell for it, “Hey! I'm not telling.” He starts to tickle you as punishment, ending with the two of you nose to nose, limbs tangled, horizontal on the couch. 

“Can you give me one gift early then?” You let your hands wander between his thighs, sticking your bottom lip out and widening your eyes, knowing he has a hard time saying no when you pout and plead. 

“You’re going to end up keeping me here all night.” He pretends to resist, but he was already kissing down the column of your neck and reaching for the hem of your shirt. 

“Please, Joong.” You didn't know which thing you were pleading for at that point as he derobed you and worked you open with his fingers before taking you right there in his studio, both of you glad for the sound proof room. 

You convince him later to give his work a rest for the night and come home to sleep in a real bed. The next morning, you wake to him sitting by you on the bed, meticulously wrapped gift in his hands, nearly bouncing with anticipation. 

“Baby-” You blink your eyes open, knowing you look a hot mess from your slumber. 

“Merry Christmas!” He shoves the gift in your hands. 

You unwrap it painstakingly slowly just to watch him vibrate on the spot in his excitement. 

It's a beautiful custom winter coat from Balmain, lined with silk that has Hongjoong’s “No1LikeMe” printed on it, exactly in your style and you can tell even before trying it on that it will fit perfectly.

“So this is why you needed my measurements in March. Not because you would lose a bet with Wooyoung.” You laughed at his silly excuse. 

“Yeah, yeah, you caught me but DOYOULIKEIT?!” His words rushed out as you tackled him to the bed. 

“Kim Hongjoong. I love it.” You pepper his face with kisses, “Please never tell me how much you spent on this.” 

He knew this commentary was coming because he gave you a smarmy grin, “Actually! This was a personal favor. It's one of a kind. Olivier refused to let me pay a dime because, ‘Your girl keeps you fed and for that I owe her.’ His words.” 

“Ask me from my childhood if I ever thought I'd have personal favor with a designer from a high end brand and I'd laugh in your face.” You shook your head as you checked yourself out in the mirror. 

“Thank you so much, baby.” You cage him in on the bed. 

“Wait, wait. Check the breast pocket before you seduce me again.” He says this a bit breathless and you think you might kill him if he proposes to you while you wear one of his old t-shirts, your Christmas underwear, and the coat he just gifted you. Not to mention you still had bed hair and morning breath. 

Kill or kiss, they were only two letters different, and you ended up choosing the second as you stared at the ring of your dreams in your hand. 

“Hongjoong-” You were at a loss for words. 

“Please marry me, my love. My life won't be complete until you agree to be bound to me spoiling you and surprising you by the law.” 

“Yes!” You kiss him, still in disbelief, “Yes, Hongjoong. Of course I'll marry you.”

You shimmy his pants down enough to free him and move your underwear to the side, too excited to do more, and take him in one go, making love to him wearing both of his gifts. 

“This is embarrassing but I got you the exact same things.” You joke as the two of you cuddle.

“Oh, how embarrassing!” Hongjoong jokes back. He's impossible to buy for, always getting himself what he needs as he discovers a need for it. 

He doesn't expect you to have put together a binder full of photocards for your final gift to him. You put together a collection of photos of the two of you and some of just yourself. Some naughty ones of just yourself. “I was tired of being the only one with the collection.” 

“It’s perfect,” He nuzzles his nose to yours, “My fiancé is a genius gift giver.” 

Jeong Yunho: The man loves the holidays and this year is certainly no exception. He's so excited because he's convinced your families to celebrate together on Christmas Eve. You're more than a little suspicious with his hushed phone calls and the guilty puppy face he makes when you ask who called and he has to make up a lie. Twelve days before Christmas he surprises you with your first gift, a pre-paid facial appointment. The other days follow suit with a massage, hair appointment, nail appointment, things of that nature, culminating with shoes, a dress, jewelry, and a very nice set of lingerie that he wants you to wear on Christmas. It's beyond obvious at that point, but you suspend your disbelief for his sake, knowing how excited he is for this moment. 

Christmas Eve with your combined families goes better than you imagined it would. The food was good, the wine and conversation flowed, and mass hadn't even lasted that long. He waits until everyone is playing charades in the living room, and he brings you up with him after pretending to read his word on the slip of paper, holding up 4 fingers to indicate it was a four-word answer. He scans the room with his eyes before taking your left hand in his own and getting down on one knee.

“Will you marry me?” You ask as if you're still playing the game. 

“You're too good at this game.” He kisses your hand and pulls the ring box out of his pocket, “Sweetheart, I'm convinced you were created just for me. Falling in love with you over these years has been the greatest joy of my life and I never want to stop. Will you please do me the honor of marrying me?” 

“Yunho…” Tears escape your eyes at his words, “I would love nothing more. Yes, baby.” 

He drops the ring box after removing the ring and slides it onto your finger before standing, picking you up, and twirling you around to the tune of the applause of both of your families. 

Later that night, he unwraps you like the gift he considers you to be, taking off the clothes he bought for you piece by piece before turning you into a panting mess on his mattress as he insists on getting you off with his hands and mouth twice before he finally pushes inside of you, guiding your legs back with careful hands until you're practically bent and half and he’s able to fuck you deep like you like it, the head of his cock kissing your cervix every few strokes. 

“Fuck, I love when you take me like this, honey. I can’t wait to fuck a baby into you.”

“God, yes, Yunho-” You groan as he hits your sweet spot over and over. “Give me a few years, but we can pretend in the meantime.” 

“Mmh, I like the sound of that,” He grunts from the effort, “Gonna fuck you so full.”

“Everyone will see I'm yours.” You're about to fall apart around him. 

“All. Mine.” He punctuates his words with thrusts, “All. Fucking. Mine. Forever. Fuck, baby, come with me.” 

“Yunho!” You cry out as you finish, your orgasm prolonged by the feeling of him pumping you full of his seed.

Truth be told, at least in the heat of the moment, you wouldn't have cared at all had he been able to get you pregnant right then. But you knew as you fell asleep in his arms, how peaceful it was with just the two of you, you would be glad you had a few years with him as yours alone before bringing a whole other human being into the mix.

Kang Yeosang: Yeosang was not necessarily a fan of the holidays before he met you, but he adores them now. More than anything, he adores watching you enjoy them. He buys you matching berets and thinks he's so slick booking the two of you a room at a ski lodge in Austria the week of Christmas. Neither of you intend to ski, but Vienna goes all out for the holiday and he wants to spend several snow days shopping, eating, and sightseeing with you. He buys you anything you show a slight interest in, despite your protests, but his real gift is tucked safely in his luggage at the lodge. 

Two days into your trip, the two of you are exhausted and decide to spend the day around the ski village rather than in the city. You find Yeosang staring at you with hearts in his eyes more than usual that day. Normally you would blush and tell him to stop, but today, you allowed it. After all, you were doing the same thing. 

“Oh! This looks fun!” He holds up a Sanrio puzzle he found in the kid section. “I know it's for kids but-”

“We're getting it.” You smiled at how his face lit up. He was so impossible to not just completely adore and fawn over at all times.

“What if we go back to our room, order room service, and open this bad boy up?” He asks you, conspiratorial glint in his eye.

“This is why I love you.” You kiss the apple of his cheek. He's had to train himself not to move so you can't reach him when you try to kiss his face, due to years of acting like he hated it when his friends would do it. 

“I love you more, angel.” He grabs your hand and leads you over to check out, calling a slightly mispronounced “Bitteschön!” over his shoulder to the woman working the cash register on the way out. 

After dinner, spiked hot chocolates in hand, fireplace roaring in the hearth, the two of you work on the puzzle in comfortable silence. As much as you love talking to Yeosang and would pay good money to live inside his brain for a day, you cherish the fact that the two of you can have such peace in one another’s company. No compulsion to disturb the stillness. 

“Oh!” Yeosang looked up after a while, “Look, jagi. It's snowing!” 

“Really?!” You loved the snow. Well, you loved looking at the snow. 

“I wish it could snow inside. But not be cold.” Yeosang stood, pulling you to your feet and leading you over to the big bay window overlooking the powdery slopes.

“You know what? Yeah, that sounds ideal.” You chuckle, amused as ever at how his mind works. You tuck yourself under his arm and he picks up on your cue, pulling you securely to his side. 

Sure, it had been snowy the whole time you'd been there, but there was something magical about the big, fat flakes swirling in the air and glittering as they fell on the ground in the bright moonlight. 

“We'll probably be snowed in tomorrow.” Yeosang concludes as the two of you watch it accumulate, pulling you in front of himself so he could loop his arms around your waist and kiss the side of your neck.  

“I mean, we're at a ski resort-”

“Shh, babe. We're going to be snowed in tomorrow.” Yeosang says a little more firmly. 

You catch his drift, “Oh! Right. Yes. We'll definitely be snowed in tomorrow! Oh no! What will we do?” You humor him. 

“Don't worry, my beautiful girl, I'll make sure we're entertained all day while we're snowed in.” He mumbles in your ear, his voice low and carrying an unmistakable edge of desire on it.

“Mmh, like what?” You answer, breath hitching in your throat as his hands roam your body, one of them skimming the waistband of your pajama pants, the other finding a light but possessive position around your neck, “I can think of several things. But to start I'm going to fuck you against this window so we can watch the snow fall as I make you come over and over again on this cock.” 

“Fuck, Sangie-” You gasp as his hand blazes a trail to your core, knowing it will already be wet for him because he knows well what he does to you.

He's good to his word, dedicated as ever to your pleasure, stretching you around his girth, fingers on your clit as he makes you come the first time, heeding your request happily to move in front of the fire as you caught a chill with your bare face and nipples pressed to the cold window. 

He lays down one of the many plush blankets in front of the fireplace, ensuring you're comfortable before kissing down the slopes of your form, mouth landing between your legs, fingers taking over what his dick finished the first time, taking a more leisurely route to your release the second time, but quick to stuff you full again immediately afterwards for the third, words lost on both of you as pleasure rolls through your bodies in tandem. 

He washes your hair in the shower afterwards and you're nearly overwhelmed with love for the man you get to call yours. Perfect in every way. 

Both of you realize it's well past midnight as you cuddle together in bed, “Merry Christmas, precious.” Yeosang smiles at you, eyes once again full with a depth of love you had seen before but not as often as you had recently. 

“Merry Christmas, Sangie.” You return his gaze, hoping he knows just how much you mean it. 

“Marry me.” He blurts out, lost in your eyes, “Sorry, I had a whole thing planned and I have a ring, I swear-” 

You cut him off with a kiss, “Kang Yeosang.” You snicker, “Yes. God, yes, I'd be so happy to.” 

“Really?” He smiles so big it looks like it hurts his cheeks and it definitely hurts your heart with how pure and sweet he is. 

“Yes, baby, of course!” You kiss him again, unable to resist. 

The kiss deepens and your activities from earlier have an unprecedented encore, all but rendering your shower pointless as you fall apart repeatedly in one another's arms well into the early hours of the morning, watching the sunrise paint the ground pink, the exact shade, you note, of the birthmark by Yeosang’s eye. 

The two of you sleep late into the day. You're disoriented for a moment as Yeosang flies out of bed and begins rummaging through his luggage, finally finding what he sought and returning to bed with the ring box in hand. You had almost forgotten, or thought it was a dream, and you can't stop the tears as they fall when he fits the most beautiful ring you've ever seen onto your finger. 

“I'm yours. Forever. For as long as you'll have me, my love.” Yeosang’s deep voice rumbles through your bones, rearranging your neurotransmitter transporters to stop the reuptake of the norepinephrine, serotonin, and dopamine that was produced any time he spoke. 

“I want you forever, Yeosang.” 

And it was true. You were sure you were the happiest and luckiest person on earth to have earned the trust, love, and dedication of the man beside you. He felt the same way and he intended to show it to you every day for the rest of your life.

[mythalism]

the timing of someone apparently shitting on me for being a veilguard hater on some remote corner of tumblr is so funny because i was actually just in the shower like an hour before listening to the atonement ending suite and thinking about the things that i love about veilguard after almost 2 months of marinating on it, so apologies for destroying my reputation as a certified HATER!!!!!!! but i actually wanted to share these earlier so im still going to. i think its interesting especially because ive seen a lot of people that hate these same things about the game, but my opinion has stayed the same. its also interesting because OVERALL the more i think about veilguard the more i dislike it, but for these certain aspects, the more i think about them the more i love them.

THAT FUCKING SONG!!!!!!!!!!!! HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!! even two months later i get choked up listening to it. and guys....... i dont listen to lost elf anymore. like i just dont even think of it. thats not to say trevor morris isnt the greatest of all time, and the atonement ending song relies heavily on lost elf. i know. but my favorite parts of the atonement song are not even lost elf!!! overall i missed trevor deeply, i did not like the veilguard soundtrack. i even turned the music volume to 0 at some points because it felt like nails on a chalkboard to me (ghilannain fight music made me want to d*e). HOWEVER. this is supposed to be positive. and if you ask me to choose lost elf vs atonement theme... im choosing atonement theme. every time. the way it adds to lost elf is wonderful. it gives me chills. it is so haunting. i will never tire of it. I LOVE THIS FUCKING SOOOOOONG. i also love the dread wolf song. so honorable mention to that one.

i love the solavellan ending. i know people hate it but nothing i have seen has convinced me to abandon my love for it. it is the best ending we could have possibly gotten in a game where the veil stayed up. and yes obviously i think the veil should have come down. but my IDEAL ending would have been veil down, rook takes over the mantle of dread wolf, solas and lavellan give up their mortal bodies and become spirits together and ascend to the fade. and honestly thats pretty much what happens, just without the veil. i love the mythological fairy tale vibe. i love the bittersweetness. i love that it is both tragic and hopeful. i love that it is vague enough to leave the future open. i love that the devs refuse to confirm where exactly in the fade they are. i love the sigyn loki eros psyche parallels. i love the maker and andraste parallels. could it have been built up to better? absolutely. but thats an issue with the build up, not the ending. i thought solas was going to die and we were going to watch the light go out of his eyes as lavellan held him and sobbed. it is so much more hopeful than i expected. i love that we get to redeem him through the power of love. i love that lavellan forgives him. i love that they survive. I LOVE IT!!!! and i love it the more i think about it. ive tried to hate it because i understand the perspective of people who didnt like it, but i literally cannot make myself dislike it.

i love the solavellan ending scene itself. i love how inky creeps in through the door. dont ask how she got up there its fine. i love how she sneaks up on him. i love that she comes up those stairs and it parallels the prologue scene with varric. i love that she has a zinger ready for him. "even if those you have wronged asked you to stop?" oh its so fucking good. i love his pathetic defeated "vhenan". i love that he rejects her again. i love that he apologizes but stays true to his goals. i love that it takes something beyond lavellan and the modern world to finally crack him. i love the way he looks at mythal like a kicked puppy. i love the way he cannot meet her eyes. i love the way he crumples and sobs and we see a completely different side of him that I NEVER FUCKING EXPECTED TO SEE IN A MILLION YEARS???? i love mythal's coldness and frankness as she releases him. i love that she doesn't apologize. i love how fucked up and messy it is. i love how it speaks to their entire relationship being fucked up and messy. i love that it has given me so much to chew on about what the fuck was going on with them. i love the way lavellan kneels so she can see his face. i love that she speaks in elvhen (even if the translation leaves something to be desired). i love that its all in the hallelujah cadence. i love that he assumes she wont come with him. i love that she has to chase after him one more time. i love his fucking tear mesh. i love his face when he looks at her. i love that their scene is wedding coded. i dont love the kiss but im trying to be positive and its tiny in the grand scheme. i love her hand on his shoulder as they step into the fade. i have a few complaints about the scene but none of them are enough to cheapen my enjoyment of it.

i fucking love fragment mythal. obviously. but seriously. i love the scene where you get her approval its one of my favorites in the entire game. i love that its hard to get her approval. i love that she fucking kills you if you piss her off. i love her lines. "after he killed the swamp witch. AND WEPT." BITCH!!!! and "you are a thousand years from knowing the correct words" or whatever. I LOVE HER. i love how fucking nasty she is. i love how she has clearly been stewing in resentment for thousands of years. i love that she is rude and proud and haughty. i love that she'd be looking down her nose at you if she wasn't like 5 ft tall. i love the way she falls backwards off the ledge with her arms out and closes her eyes to transform into a fucking dragon. i love her condescension. i love the decapitated wolf statues in the background. i love the note from felassan that reveals solas made her an entire island for herself. i love that she reveals that he put her there. i love that he could not bring himself to visit her even once. ohhhhh my god it makes me dizzy. talking to her was a moment where the game felt like dragon age to me.

i love my lavellan in this game. did i want WAY more of her? yeah. and i expected more. but every moment we got i loved. the first scene with her is mostly whatever its appropriately formal for her meeting a stranger. but the way she stutters when talking about solas? when asking rook to give him a chance by using the wolf statue to learn more about him? the way she looks down and to the side as she says it? banger. masterpiece. the act 3 conversation makes me have to lay down. i can barely even talk about it without foaming at the mouth. i love her characterization. i love that she orders rook to tell her something like she has gotten used to the power of her title as inquisitor. i love her subtle desperation to have her hope for him validated cloaked under her inquisitor mask. i love how it begins to crack as the conversation goes on and she gets lost in the memories of him. i love her sincerity. i love the way she speaks bluntly and unapologetically of her love. i love her facial expressions and her furrowed brow. i love how confident and self assured she is. "or maybe im the prideful one, imagining his broken heart so that i do not have to face my folly; that i loved someone who made such terrible mistakes. that i might love him still" IS MY FAVORITE LINE IN THE ENTIRE GAME. perhaps. PERHAPS. in all of dragon age. yes im serious. its that insane to me. it feels like shakespeare wrote it. im only half kidding. i was rolling on the floor of my bedroom when i heard it. it still gives me chills. i love that her lines are in the hallelujah cadence. i love the way she talks about their relationship. i love how she is angry and indignant about his lies to her but that does not infringe upon her love. i love when she says "how could i have fallen in love with a god and not known? why didnt he tell me?' i love how sure she is that she knows the true solas. i love every word out of her mouth. i love all of it. that is my favorite scene in the game. i love when she shows up with dorian in the end. i love "is there any chance, any chance at all that he'd listen to reason?" i love her face when she says it. i love "speaking from the heart, inquisitor?" i love when dorian asks if shes heading out afterwards and she says "something like that" BE SOOOO FRRRR. SHE WAS FUCKING SCHEMING. there was not a moment that she was on screen that i did not love.

overall, i am happy with solas in this game. this one is last because its the weakest because i do criticisms but overall, i think it was fine LOL. my biggest worry was that they were going to completely woobify him and make him above reproach and erase the negative sides of him in favor of making him MORE sympathetic to new players. the fact that we got the opposite is crazy, but i vastly prefer it. id rather have him be too villainous than robbed of his complexity to be more palatable. that would have fully ruined the game for me. so the fact that we got to see him being an absolute prick little shit who betrayed us TWICE was wonderful. i loved being betrayed. i love the scene where he puts rook in the regret prison. i LOVE how he appears behind rooks shoulder in flashes and the player can see him but rook cant. i love how he circles rook like prey. i love how he does that cunty little thing with his hand over the dagger. i love that he taunts rook. i love that he doesnt actually take the dagger from them and instead waits for it to fall into his hand. its so immortal trickster god. i love that fucking scene. i love the "by my hand" line and how he looks you in the face as he manipulates his words so expertly. i love his banters with the companions. i looooooooved listening to him beef with elgar'nan. it felt so HIM. i was like YES!!!! THIS IS THE DREAD WOLF I WANTED TO MEET!!!! i was screaming during that quest. anyway. i wanted more of him. yeah. i dont really care that much that the companions and general story is weirdly unsympathetic to him. because it obviously didnt work!!! LMFAOOO 72% people still decided to redeem him so whatever! hes still pookie. im just so glad they didnt make him boring and lame. all my issues along this vein revolve more around the veil than solas, so i consider it a separate issue. i loved seeing mean nasty cunty trickster god.

ok in retrospect this list isnt that long KJHREGKJERG. however all of these things are very important to me so the fact that i love them is essential. like i truly got what i needed out of this game. i criticize it a lot but i would have done that even if the game was a 9/10 for me. i do it to literally everything i love. except fmab because its above reproach. but literally everything else. i was writing essays criticizing the percy jackson books on tumblr when i was 15. i have been criticizing dragon age online for 5+ years. veilguard aint special in catching my heat. critical analysis is in my soul. anyway i wanted banger solavellan ending that i could chew on for years and i got it. thats all i needed! ok now going to go listen to atonement ending suite again and transcend into the astral plane

[sleepynoons]

hi op feel free to ignore everything under - all you need to know is i love your writing *shakes head vigorously*

there are several things i think were immaculately done, but that'd require me to churn out an entire research paper, which i don't have the brain cells for anymore post-finals. so here are some scattered thoughts yep and yap

-

i don't gravitate towards mysterious or reserved characters because my personality simply doesn't mesh well with them. in fact, when i was watching wbk, i was always so wary of suo, and felt lowkey a lil uncomfortable with him LMFAO

but strangely enough, i think this discomfort became a very integral and driving force throughout my reading experience. of course, this was already the case due to the violent and dark nature of yakuzas, underground sex work, etc., but emphasizing suo's yandere-ness and how he doesn't shy away from it really completed the tone of the story. also, i feel like i came to terms with suo's character, which i rarely ever experience in general. really, this is all to say that it makes total logical sense in my brain to imagine a route where suo evolves into a yandere, and part of me strongly believes his real background in the wbk manga/anime won't be too happy-go-lucky either (otherwise the alternative would be like him wearing an eyepatch for the shtick bc he's a chuuni??? idrk????).

anyway, the reoccurring theme of redirection in suo's tactics really sealed the deal for me, and i think it was a good way to tie in references to his relationship to his master, the martial arts that we know he's especially good at, and how all of these things he's kinda exploited and sullied to "become a worse person for you." suo being very knowing and intentional is so snakey and creepy but also, i get a lil fucked up when it comes to men who are obsessed, so also incredibly erotic LMFAO i also just want someone to buy me a luxury penthouse out of concern for my safety *sad fist bump*

one thing i did find unexpected is suo's leadership within the yakuza. yes, necessary for the plot, otherwise he wouldn't be able to pull any strings. but because source material heavily emphasizes leaders as individuals like umemiya or sakura or even hiiragi, it's interesting to place suo in juxtaposition with them. not sure if it's bc i don't find suo particularly reliable in general, but i think this fic made me realize that he's still wise beyond his years and very, very ruthless. it's def very telling that, throughout the story, suo resorts to fear to assert power. anyway, i j think it was a particularly interesting detail to add in his role in the succession conflict.

btw, i do like how suo's change and transition isn't fully told or revealed. it's not a story meant for us, as it's a truth really for suo and reader. but even reader can't really keep up with him at times, and i find that dynamic really charming, as sadistic as that sounds. i like that reader is so vulnerable. i like that reader is not afraid to be vulnerable around him in the ways that matter, even when she's aware that he's fucking insane. and i really like that reader is aware of how much it takes to be vulnerable, so she doesn't push him. i think reader restrains herself (un)knowingly, and that's her way of loving him. obv less romantic in real life lol (don't try to fix anyone, been there, done that, lost myself, and still finding myself), but i do like how reader is suo's salvation :,,, even if she doesn't think she's particularly patient, she really is - like girl, Fuck Him Already!!!!!!

(could go on and on about how juicy the friction and tension is between suo and reader but that's for pt 2 hehehe)

this is kinda my half-assed transition into talking about reader, and honestly, my thoughts from earlier encapsulate the general thesis i have about her: she's really a lot like suo, way more than she thinks. i think she operates in very similar ways, just goes about it differently.

i think reader is way more reckless. she's very self-sacrificing. she's very good at putting up a front, even when she's internally low in confidence and self-respect. i think she just wants to be happy with suo, and hopefully, with their other friends as well.

and truly, i think suo has very similar end goals. i just think, with how things turned out, suo made the very calculated yet risky (also aggressive?) decision to do the things that he did. making their underlying principals and values and reactions so oddly similar, from my perspective, is sooooo neat, and it adds more depth to why they go so well together.

also, reader is so brilliantly the comedic relief in this whole thing. usually, in storytelling, it's someone else and is used as fodder. i really like how reader is a lil awkward and bad with timing and everything else, cause it makes the reading experience flow so much better. really helped with the pacing of the story, gave it the character + breathing space needed to process everything. i also just like my readers a little fucking hilarious.

anyway, op, so beautifully written - see you in pt 2 gg

TOKYO VICE | part 1

You knew that if you agreed to move in with Suo, you'd be setting yourself up for a life without autonomy. You also knew that these alarming behaviours were all signs that he desperately needed therapy to process his master’s untimely death. Living with a man in constant grief, who refused to talk about his trauma unless he was making up a lie related to the nation of China, was probably not a good decision. Doubly so when this man was clearly paranoid about losing you, and triply so when he was a high-ranking member of a violent syndicate. Unfortunately for you, you rarely made good decisions. (Or: After joining the yakuza, Suo develops the concerning habit of controlling every facet of your life. This is somehow less worrying to you than your uncontrollable lust around him.)

8.7k words. suo x fem reader. deeply unserious yakuza au. yandere suo (not abusive and reader is into it), dark comedy, a little angst, smut. warnings: borderline sex work, off-screen criminal violence. nsft – no actual smut in this chapter, but there are still graphic discussions of sex. mdni. thank you to @sleepyqinfei for beta reading and to @/cafekitsune for the banner!

sequel to sincerity and this sakura/reader wip

part 2 here

You’re not exactly sure why you and Suo have never fucked.

It’s certainly strange, given that you're pretty sure that Suo has expressed at least passing interest in you over the years, and you have felt a lot of interest in him. (By ‘interest’, you mean that you feel an insatiable lust around him that you fight to ignore on a daily basis.) You can't exactly pinpoint why nothing has ever happened despite this mutual attraction, especially given your profession and indifferent feelings toward casual sex.

You can think of a number of probable reasons, which are separate from those you classify as stupid reasons. The latter class comprises silly concerns like a fear of rejection, fear of abandonment, fear of not being pretty enough, fear of not being good enough, et cetera. All very juvenile feelings—insecurities that you had in your teenage years, the days in which Suo ran around Makochi as a delinquent while you worked an honest job at a bar. (It was a girls’ bar in the red light district, but that's neither here nor there.) Your circumstances have since changed, and those anxieties have since faded. None of them have any material consequence for your current life, so you don't see any point in thinking about them.

The stupid reasons, then, definitely don't have anything to do with why you've never fucked Suo. But you can think of a few, more concrete reasons that may explain it. For one, Suo has been your friend since childhood and it’s generally a bad idea to have sex with your long-time friends. He was also your roommate for a while and it’s an even messier idea to have sex with your roommates. And now, in your adulthood, he’s your landlord in addition to being your boss, which makes him the worst possible person you could have sex with. You could lose both your home and your livelihood if things go south—both severe, material consequences that should theoretically keep your lust at bay.

Also, he's also a member of the yakuza.

Now, strictly speaking—you're not really opposed to having sex with violent criminals. It’s definitely not a good idea, but you don't usually have good ideas anyway. But for the past several years, you’ve been pissed at Suo for joining the yakuza in the first place, which actually does keep your blatant attraction to him in check. You simply dry up when you think too hard about all the feelings of betrayal.

When Suo was on the cusp of graduating from Furin and thinking about his future, you’d grabbed him by the collar and made him promise not to join the yakuza. They constantly tried to recruit from Bofurin, and they especially wanted Sakura, Suo, and Sugishita. You were adamant about chasing them off from Suo and Sakura whenever they approached—you had no need to worry about Sugishita, as Umemiya had already said he shouldn't talk to them, so there was no chance he was going to—and you begged Suo over and over not to join. Delinquency was fine, but a crime syndicate was something else altogether.

Suo seemed serious about it when he said he'd listen to you. He even applied to colleges, talked about maybe becoming a teacher and eventually supporting you so you could stop working in the mizu shobai industry. Back then, he often teased you by saying that you should marry him and be his housewife (or he could be your trophy husband, if you so wished). You thought he was joking, but with the way he always talked about his life after his degree, you wondered if he would seriously suggest it.

Of course, it was most likely just teasing, and you were fine with that. You were simply excited that he'd found a career that would make him happy. Nirei had also been accepted to university at that point, and even Sakura had an honest job lined up on Keisei Street. The future had looked bright for everyone.

Then Suo’s master died, and he lost his fucking mind.

The two of you buried Suo’s master in a Chinese funeral. He had never had children of his own, having satisfied his paternal instincts by picking up strays, and he didn't have much in the way of family in Japan either, so you and Suo performed the shou ling yourselves. One person kept a constant vigil over his body while the other searched on Google for what arrangements should be made next. After all, while Suo’s master had immersed his foremost disciple in his culture, he had never taught Suo any funerary customs. He hadn't thought there would be a need.

Suo didn't cry nearly as much as you, but he was probably in more pain. Your master had trained you a little bit when you were a kid, and he'd taken you in for a while after your parents kicked you out, so of course you were gutted. But he had practically raised Suo, so it was naturally worse for him. More shattering.

You often think about the first night you decided you'd sleep with him in the same futon because he was crying so much. He insisted he was fine, but he didn't complain when you got under the sheets with him and started thumbing away his tears. When you took off his eyepatch, you found, to your astonishment, that he was crying from his missing eye as well. Both of you thought the tear ducts had been destroyed in either the accident or the enucleation, but it appeared that not even that prior trauma could mask his grief over this one.

Nevertheless, by the time of the funeral procession, Suo had stopped crying.

“Master supported us and taught us to stand on our own two feet,” he said as the joss paper burned. He took your hand in his and smiled. “So it'll be fine. We’ll be okay on our own. I'll make sure of it.”

At the time, you had found this very comforting. You didn’t think too much of it, as you had a bad habit of relying on Suo for your emotional stability. His master had raised him to be an emotionally intelligent person, so it had been fine, even though you had a track record of reckless decisions. He’d still exercised endless patience with you. He never once got angry with you, nor did he ever force you to do what he felt was the right thing. Instead, he gently redirected your self-damaging behaviours—not so different from the martial art that he practised.

He disapproved of the run-down and lonely conditions of your apartment, so he spent a great deal of time there and helped make it into a proper home. He didn't like how dangerous your job at the girls’ bar was, so he walked you to and from work every night until you never left without him. He worried when you started having sex with your customers, especially when you began having nervous breakdowns over it (you were, after all, still a teenager and really only interested in having romantic vanilla sex with Suo), so he staged an intervention with Nirei and Sakura. In this way, Suo convinced you that you were loved and protected and didn't need to do something you hated so much. They would get you out if you felt trapped. And you didn't feel trapped, per se, so you left on your own—but it was still only because of them. You promised them afterwards that you'd never do it again.

This was Suo’s brand of kindness as a teenager. He always taught people, guided them away from harm rather than steering them—a behaviour he’d mimicked from your master. Your master, in general, had defined all of Suo’s values and his way of living, which was honest and gentle and conscientious. It was one where he used his abilities to protect the weak and care for his friends. He even kept his spiteful and alarmingly violent tendencies under control, though sometimes he slipped when fighting genuine assholes. But he still tried. He tried because he strived to be as kind as his master—who represented everything that Suo wanted to be in his adult life.

Thus, the death of Suo’s master meant the death of his principles. It changed the kind of man that Suo wanted to be. You don't want to say that he became a worse person, but he absolutely became a worse person.

He especially became a worse person with you.

As it turned out, Suo’s idea of making sure that the two of you would be fine on your own was, well, not really fine. It wasn’t that he became cruel to you, per se. It was more that whenever he saw a problem with your behaviour, his approaches to redirecting it became—put as nicely as possible—heavy-handed.

After your master’s death, you got a job at a high end, yakuza-owned club. Two weeks later, Suo broke his promise to you and joined the yakuza. So I can stay close to you, he explained gently, wiping away your tears as you cried hysterically, but you're convinced to this day that he did it partly out of spite. So a few years later, when you started having sex with your customers again and he tried to stop you, you decided to spite him back. I need to stay on top of the rankings, you'd explained dispassionately. The mamasan said it's fine, and the manager doesn't care. He even thinks it's good for business.

Suo’s response was to simply become the owner of your club.

This move was very extreme, but also very effective. Any customer who so much as brushed against you on the premises was instantly thrown out, and the mamasan started watching you like a hawk to make sure you weren’t going to any love hotels after work. Douhan were off-limits. For the first time since your teens, you became completely celibate—not only because of your new workplace circumstances, but because you simply didn't want to find out what Suo would do if you got together with a man he despised (and he despised every man you dated).

His most absurd play was when he became concerned about your living conditions again. Your latest apartment was too plain, too small, and the area was too dangerous. It didn't even have a shower, and the other tenants behaved concerningly toward you when you went to the bathhouse at night. But the rent was cheap, and it was still an upgrade from your last place, so you shrugged it off when Suo suggested that you move. Even when someone tried to accost you at night, you were nonchalant about it. You kicked the shit out of them in a fight and continued your routine unbothered.

The next month, Suo bought a luxury penthouse and suggested you move in with him.

His offer (command) came with conditions. One of the bigger ones was that you'd let him accompany you out at night if you ever needed to run errands in dangerous places. Or—nevermind, actually. He should really just accompany you everywhere at night. Maybe during the day too. And—ah, there was no way you'd be going to work alone, nor coming back by yourself—you were now always to be driven by someone in his organisation, if he wasn't available himself. Rent was a point of contention, when you asked about it: you wanted to pay at market rate, and he insisted that there was no need to pay at all. He ended up proposing a highly discounted price, which would give you ample financial freedom, but questionable financial independence.

These were insane terms. You knew that if you agreed, you'd be setting yourself up for a life without autonomy. You also knew that these behaviours were all signs that Suo desperately needed therapy to process his master’s untimely death. Living with a man in constant grief, who refused to talk about his trauma unless he was making up a lie related to the nation of China, was probably not a good idea. Doubly so when this man was clearly paranoid about losing you, and triply so when he was a high-ranking member of a violent syndicate. Case in point—he was likely connected to the brutal accident that later befell the man who tried to assault you.

“I'm not sure what you're implying, but at least he didn't die,” Suo said cheerfully when you confronted him about it. Which really meant: At least I decided not to kill him. This was a flag bigger and redder than any other you've ever known, and you consider yourself an expert in red flags. You knew you should run in the other direction.

So naturally, you put your arms around him, tenderly said, I'm sorry I've been worrying you, and then you moved in the next day.

While Suo treats you with endless patience, you have personal limits to the patience that you exercise with him. Specifically, your patience with how he treats you.

You don't mind the lack of social freedom, nor the lack of personal freedom, nor the lack of freedom of movement. You also don't mind living with a man full of intractable trauma surrounding the death of every parental figure in his life; in fact, you'd rather be by his side than not, if he needs to cope with something so painful. And anyway, your friendship is otherwise unchanged if you ignore the heavy restrictions he's imposed on every facet of your life. So that's all fine.

But the celibate lifestyle that he's cornered you into? You simply aren't built for it. Holy shit, do you need to get laid.

Nearly two years without sex has brought you close to another nervous breakdown (there have been few better sources of entertainment or validation in your life), and worst of all, it has made your profound lust for Suo incredibly hard to ignore. Waking up every morning to him in a towel, his hair still wet from the shower and his broad silhouette exposed, tests the absolute limits of your self-control. The contours of his lean and muscled form are distracting enough; coupled with the vivid colours and lines of his irezumi, the sight of him becomes maddening. It is a horrible thing to be exposed to when you haven't gotten any dick nor strap in over a year. It gives you thoughts about him that are overtly sexual, which is bad, as you have materially consequential reasons for not wanting to fuck Suo.

Things with him must absolutely stay platonic. But with sexual frustration like yours, being platonic with him means that you need to get erotic with someone else. A boyfriend or girlfriend is out of the question; you don't want to be responsible for yet another brutal accident. So you instead decide to quit your job at his club and start working on Keisei Street. At least this way, you can start fucking your customers again.

It’s a perfect plan. Suo’s oyabun is very indulgent toward him, and everyone else in the family respects him too. He consequently has a tight grip on his organisation and the territory they control, despite his relatively young age. Not a single person is ever to touch Keisei Street—largely because Sakura is part of Roppo-Ichiza, and Suo is nearly as weird about Sakura as he is about you. Plus, many of his other fellow Furin alumni are in the gang as well. If Suo’s men ever started fucking with people on Keisei Street, it would not only have grave implications for gang relations—it would be personally upsetting for Suo. This means you can fuck all the Keisei Street customers you want, and not get a single one of them threatened or killed.

A pretty brilliant idea, if you do say so yourself.

Suo’s expression doesn't change when you break the news to him. He delicately places his teacup—custom-made from Yixing, just like the matching clay teapot—down on the mahogany tabletop, and he looks at you with a calm smile.

“Come again?”

“I'm quitting my job at Red Dragon,” you repeat. “I already gave the mamasan my resignation.”

“And she accepted it?” Suo asks, in a tone that is so carefully nonchalant that you know it means he is actually furious with her. “How interesting,” he muses. “What brought this on?”

“I've found a better paying opportunity on Keisei Street.”

“I'll give you a raise,” he says easily.

“A raise?” You cock a brow. “The pay is mostly commission-based at Red Dragon. You know that.”

“Then it would be unwise to leave. You have a loyal customer base at Red Dragon. All very rich, and”—his smile grows sharp—“very polite.”

Polite. An interesting word. It actually means: None of them will ever proposition or harass you because they know they'll be maimed if they do. An easy thought to use to your advantage.

“It's loyal but it's small. Everyone who's anyone in this part of town thinks that we’re married. Do you know how hard it is to pull new customers in when they're scared shitless of my yakuza husband? And anyway”—you frown, trying to look as pathetic as possible—“I'm lonely.”

Suo stares. He looks surprised, possibly because you absorb every minute of his free time with silly conversation, new restaurants, and skiing trips. (He likes snow, so you ask for these trips more for him to relax than anything else.) You also text him frequently on days he's working, and he very diligently replies, even if he's in the middle of something like a raid or a hit or brokering a massive deal. Suo still very strictly keeps to his rule of never touching his phone when in conversation with other people—unless he needs to text you.

So his suspicion is fair. Suo is very attentive and doesn't allow you much opportunity for loneliness. In turn, you’ve always been very happy spending time with him, even when it's only him.

“Lonely?” he repeats. “Are you, now?”

“Yes. You work so much,” you complain, which is not a lie, “and I don't have any friends to spend time with when you're gone.”

“You have friends from work.”

“No, I have competition at work. The hostesses are so cutthroat about rankings, they hate me. And each other.”

“You like Shuuhei and Hanzo,” he points out, referring to his men who most frequently chauffeur you.

“Yeah, they're friendly, and they're very funny. I like them, but I can't be their friend.” Suo stares at you, nonplussed, so you spell it out: “They're too scared of you to get close to me. What if it looks like they're trying to fuck the boss’ wife?”

“Hm…” Suo studies you, looking thoughtful. Perhaps for the first time, he's contemplating the consequences of restricting your freedoms and marking you as his. That is to say—maybe he's finally realising that you have no friends and no life.

The beads of his earrings glimmer as he tilts his head at you and frowns. Suo almost looks innocent with that confused face of his. “And how would working on Keisei Street help?” he asks.

“Because all our old friends are there!” you exclaim. “Sakura’s in Roppo-Ichiza now so he’ll definitely be coming by all the clubs. Tsubaki too. And Nirei and Kiryu visit them quite often—and even Tsugeura does sometimes, even though clubbing isn't one of his virtues.” You grab onto his arm, pull yourself close, and give him your most disarming, pleading expression. “Please, Suo?”

“Hm.” He strokes your cheek and looks at you fondly, in the way that one would do with an adorable and slightly annoying kitten. “I don’t think so. It’s not very safe there.”

He isn't wrong. Not only are you untouchable on his turf because of your association to him, Suo has also just crushed all the han-gure and petty criminals in his territory with brutal efficiency. His part of the red light district is, quite ironically, one of the safest places in the city, and certainly safer than Keisei Street.

But undeterred, you point out, “Shuuhei and Hanzo can still drive me there and back if you want. But I don't think it's necessary. Do you really think Sakura would let anything happen to me?”

This is the true brilliance of your plan: capitalising on the fact that Suo is as nearly as weird about Sakura as he is about you. He pauses as soon as you bring up the point, and you can practically see the gears turning. “Well, if it's him…”

“I even texted him about it. Look—here!” You whip out your phone, receipts ready. The corner of Suo's mouth lifts at your obviously rehearsed pitch. “He says he'd make sure I'm taken care of. And he says it'd be nice because he misses seeing us. Can you believe it—Sakura actually admitted that he misses us! Typed it with his own two hands and pressed send! I bet he was super embarrassed about it.”

“Huh. He even used a sticker. I've never seen him do that.” Suo smiles as he reads through the chat. He looks like his old self. You suddenly feel a little wistful, and also a lot bad. This started as a ploy to get laid, but it’s made you realise that you really do miss your friends—and Suo probably does too.

“If I worked on Keisei Street, then you would have plenty of reason to visit,” you point out, feeling somewhat tender.

“I guess that's true,” Suo says. Your heart aches a little bit at the look he gives you. It's a platonic ache, of course. Or at the very least, it isn't an erotic one. It doesn't really make you want to have sex with him anyway. But if you could lean forward and press your lips to his—platonically—then you definitely would.

Suo's civilian friendships are complicated by his double life. Quite unusually for yakuza, Suo’s syndicate insists on using pseudonyms and false histories to avoid anti-yakuza laws, on the off-chance that the police decide to do their jobs and actually enforce those laws someday. Lying for comedy is one of Suo’s greatest passions, so he was happy to manufacture an absurd backstory: his name is Yanzhao, and he learned kung fu in a Shaolin Temple before moving to Hong Kong and working for the triads. He wears the eyepatch because he lost his eye in an altercation with the cops, which he won. By the way, you're his criminally beautiful wife who he met in Macau. The two of you had to leave for Japan since he killed a police officer and now he's wanted by the governments of both China and Hong Kong. Also, he's a very devoted husband, so if anyone lays a hand on you, he’ll kill them too.

Somehow, everyone has bought into this story. Every criminal organisation in the red light district now fears a high-ranking yakuza known as Yanzhao, who is easily recognizable by his eyepatch and tassel earrings, and who is also homicidally obsessed with his beautiful wife.

In some ways, his infamy is convenient. No one wants to fuck with Suo, or with you by extension. But it also poses some issues: Suo has to keep a low profile in areas controlled by rival organisations, or else he might be ambushed. It also means he cannot easily go out and see his old friends. Even though he always masquerades as a civvie when he does, wearing stud earrings and a glass eye, it's still a little risky—especially since he likes to visit the strongest member of Roppo-Ichiza. While Roppo-Ichiza aren’t yakuza, they're still han-gure, so some of its more criminally entangled members might recognize him anyway.

But Sakura himself, bless him, has not put two and two together and figured out that Suo Hayato and Gui Yanzhao are the same person. This is partly because Suo lies very convincingly about his fictional career in the tea industry, but you think it's also because Sakura is so gullible it's endearing.

I use the glass eye now because it's better for networking, Suo had explained before Sakura could interrogate him too much, his voice too smooth and too quick for the other man to get in a word edgewise. My business partners find the eyepatch too silly. The tassel earrings too. By the way, would you like some Baimudan tea? I thought of you when I smelled it—I know you like fragrant things—so I picked some up for you on my last visit to China. I was there for business a couple of weeks ago.

He, of course, neglected to mention that said business involved meeting with the 14K triad.

Despite the enormity of Suo's omission (lie), Sakura is none the wiser whenever he meets with you. He thinks you're just a regular hostess who has freedom of movement and various other human rights, and that Suo’s just a regular guy who isn’t homicidally obsessed with you (a detail of Suo's fabricated life story that is unfortunately grounded in reality). All this to say, Sakura doesn't think twice about mentioning the fact that you have a routine of going to love hotels after work.

Suo, as always, remains calm in the face of unsettling information. He sets down his tea (just tea, without shochu), and politely says, “Pardon?” He's once again using the nonchalant kind of tone that suggests mortal danger.

“She's always going to love hotels after her shifts.” Sakura is frowning at you, pink but scowling. “I thought you said you were done with that stuff. You promised us you wouldn't do it anymore. Suo—are you really okay with this?”

On the one hand, you find it exceptionally sweet that Sakura, after all this time, remembers your promise and wishes to hold you to it. He was so worried about you when you started having those nervous breakdowns as a teenager, and he probably still is. On the other hand, you're shitting bricks at the fact that Suo is now aware of your activities. Because sure, he likely won't fuck with Keisei Street—but you realise, as he stares at you, that you can't be certain of this. After all, your fake yakuza husband has very real homicidal urges.

“Um,” you say. “It's just business.”

“Business,” Suo repeats.

“You don't have to do that stuff to keep good business,” Sakura grouses, unaware of Suo’s carefully suppressed rage. “You're real popular already.”

“Are you?” Suo asks, looking right at you.

“I mean—I told you the pay would be better, right?” you reply, voice oddly high and nervous, and this is when Sakura notices that something is wrong.

“Oh,” Sakura says, looking between the two of you. “Suo, you didn't know?”

“I didn't,” he says. “Actually, she told me specifically that she wasn't going to do that if she worked here.” He turns to you, still smiling. “That's the only reason why I allowed this at all, remember?”

A chill travels down your spine. You did, in fact, commit to a perpetually sexless lifestyle in order to be granted some semblance of freedom: Of course I won't sleep with any customers, you'd said. You know I don't really like doing that anyway. I promise I'll behave! I’ll be out of the clubs and right back home. Sakura said he’d make sure I’ll get to a cab safely after the bar closes and everything!

“Um,” you say again, but this time you have no follow-up.

“Wait,” Sakura demands, “what do you mean by ‘allowed her’? What, do you need to give her permission to work now or something?”

Suo smiles disarmingly at Sakura. Without missing a beat, he says, “Generally no. But we’re dating now, which complicates what she’s allowed to do with other men at her job.”

Sakura spits out his drink. You choke on your spit.

“I… um?!” Sakura’s staring at you, so you quickly recover. This is a mortifying lie, but it's better than Sakura finding out just how batshit Suo has become since his school days. “I thought we were going to keep that a secret, dear?”

“Ah, you're right. Sorry, I got too excited.” Suo gives you an endeared look before turning to Sakura. “We were going to keep it to ourselves unless we got serious about it. But we've been talking about marriage lately, so I thought it was fine to mention.”

“...”

You’re going to have an aneurysm. Why does every cover that Suo comes up with involve a marital relationship between the two of you?!

“Oh… holy shit.” Sakura’s expression is complicated—somehow, more complicated than yours, even though you’re the one getting cornered into a fake engagement. It's unbelievable how shy he still is about this kind of thing. Maybe it’s just particularly embarrassing since he's known you two for so long, you reason. Regardless, he remembers his social cues enough to say, “Congrats, guys. That's great. That's really great.”

Suo gazes fondly at you across the table. “We were thinking you could be our best man,” he adds, and you consider violently kicking his leg.

“O-oh. Uh, yeah! Sure! But what about Nirei?”

“Rather than having a maid of honour,” you say reflexively, used to lying through your teeth for Suo, “we’d like him to be our best man as well.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” Thrown off guard, Sakura completely forgets about the love hotel business. He whips out his phone. “When were you thinking of having your wedding? I'll put it in my calendar.”

“I’m not sure.” Suo turns to you. “What were we thinking again, dear?”

You're going to die. You're going to die and it's a good thing because if you survive this embarrassment, your future will be bleak. As soon as Nirei finds out about this, he’ll want to start helping you with wedding planning, and then it would just be too awkward to cancel things. You’ll have to enter a fake marriage with Suo, which will be completely sexless, because even with a vow of everlasting love, there are still too many concrete and materially consequential reasons for not sleeping with him.

Condemning yourself to a lifetime of sexual frustration, you reply, “I think we were talking about a summer wedding.”

The drive home is awkward.

Hanzo and Shuuhei pick the two of you up. Suo mentioned that he wanted to talk to you and you alone, so they bring the Rolls Royce with the privacy suite. The two of them are entirely cut off from you thanks to the soundproofing, which traps you with Suo, who’s drinking a bottle of oolong tea as the two of you sit in complete silence. You think he's waiting for you to squirm—which you do.

You stay like that for five, agonising minutes before Suo finally says, “So you're sleeping with your customers.”

You swallow. “Yes.”

“For business?”

“Yes.”

“How much do you make?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“How much do you get paid for a single night of work, including gifts that your customers give you in exchange for sleeping with them?”

You're halfway through citing your earnings when you realise where he's going with this.

“So you make less than you did at Red Dragon,” Suo concludes, “and you're very smart with your money, so I know you know that, and you probably went into this knowing that you'd end up at a net loss.” He turns to you, gives you a look so sharp that it almost scares you. All made worse by his civilian disguise, which makes him feel unfamiliar. His glass eye shines strangely in the light, and his scar tissue is hidden by the makeup you helped apply. You wish he'd taken it all off before having this conversation.

“So,” he says, “what’s the real reason you changed jobs?”

Already knowing that he’ll figure you out sooner or later, you admit, “I just wanted to start having sex again.”

Suo blinks. “You… what?”

“I wanted to have sex with people,” you repeat. “I hadn't been touched for nearly two years, okay? I needed to get laid or else I'd go insane.” You cross your arms and look away, suddenly feeling petulant. “I'm sure you've noticed that our arrangement makes it impossible for me to see people.”

He doesn't answer, because of course he's noticed. He’d designed his house rules with precisely this intent. If he accompanies you everywhere you go, then you can't exactly go on dates, and you definitely can't meet people for sex. Not unless you feel like having Suo watch as some anonymous guy fucks you, and you don't. As hot as the idea is, it’s definitely not platonic behaviour, and it would probably trigger the whole homicidal obsession thing.

“Do you like it?” Suo asks, startling you. You look at him, confused.

“What?”

“Do you enjoy having sex with your customers?” he asks. His voice and gaze are even. Unrelenting. “Does it make you happy?”

You stare at him, a deer caught in headlights. You didn't expect Suo to actually care about whether you enjoyed it or not, and you didn't really expect to care yourself either. But truthfully, you hated it. You simply weren't feeling it with most of your customers and avoided intercourse with all but one. Then in that one case you let someone earnestly fuck you, it was a complete letdown. Possibly the worst sex you'd ever had. You spent the whole time watching the clock, wondering how long it would take, and it turned out that your hookup had remarkable stamina but absolutely no technique. To pass the time, and in an attempt to feel something, you tried to imagine it was someone else who was inside you. You cycled through a whole list of people, including all of your exes, a few of your past customers, every single member of BTS, and then—finally, inevitably—your long-time friend, roommate, and landlord.

To your complete horror, when you imagined that it was Suo who had you folded in half, his cock so deep inside you that you could feel it in your throat, you came so hard that you drenched the sheets.

You lay there afterward as your customer showered, alone in the bed. Normally you'd be getting dressed at that point, but you were too distracted. You kept thinking about what it would feel like to be held by Suo after having your guts rearranged by him—embraced tenderly like you know he would do with you, kissing him platonically like you've always wanted to do with him—and you realised that you didn’t actually want to have sex with anyone else. Despite all your life experience, sexual experience, and job experience—in that moment, you felt like a lonely nineteen year old girl who wanted nothing more than to have romantic, vanilla sex with her best friend, but who was instead having impersonal, disappointing sex with various salarymen.

This was a feeling so disgusting that you’ve decided to never tell anyone at any cost.

“Yeah, it's fine. I guess I like it.” You pretend to study your nails. “Sometimes I cum, which is all I really want.”

Suo keeps staring at you. “That’s it?” he asks, voice measured and careful. You raise a brow, playing dumb.

“What do you mean?”

“That's all you want? Just to get off?”

You gaze out the window, trying not to look at his lips.

“Yes, that's all.”

No matter how batshit Suo gets, he always maintains a certain kindness and maturity in how he handles conflict with you. It's a lesson that he learned from his master, which has perhaps been distorted over time, but remains important to him nevertheless.

If you do something upsetting, Suo is never forceful about getting you to act differently. Sure, he has fucked up ways of either getting you to behave or making you understand the consequences of your actions, and perhaps he has his manipulative moments. It was probably not a good thing that he coaxed you into indefinite house arrest, for instance. But he never threatens you, and he never hits you, and he never disrespects you. In fact, more than anything, he makes it a point to never let you feel like you aren't loved.

So when Suo abandons you after that conversation in the Rolls Royce, you lose your fucking mind.

Suo doesn’t come home in the days following that evening, without any note nor explanation. For the first time in years, he stops replying to your texts. Your immediate thought is that he's been gravely injured or perhaps even killed, which sends you into a panicked spiral. But every one of his men who's come by to check on you has implied otherwise—but I'm not allowed to tell you anything else, anesan, I’m sorry, they all say. And when you realise that Suo is actually fine and he's just playing a fucked up mind game with you, one that makes you feel distinctly unloved, you feel simultaneously heartbroken and apoplectic. The man is not allowed to corner you into de facto imprisonment and then just fucking leave. In fact, if he tries, you might imprison him.

You spend a few days sitting at home and crying over this, as well as torturing yourself by thinking about useless things (fear of rejection, fear of abandonment, et cetera). But eventually, you get tired of wallowing in self-inflicted misery, and you decide to just track your fake husband down. His men have been adamant about not letting you out of their sight—presumably so you don’t fuck any more of your customers, because Suo can be spiteful like that—so you have to be strategic about your plan to find him.

You decide to do it during work. You tap out in the middle of a shift, feigning illness, so nobody bats an eye when you put on the most shapeless hoodie you own and throw on a face mask. Your chauffeurs (handlers) don't notice as you sneak off—and for the first time in years, you walk through the red light district all alone.

It feels strange not to be protected, and even stranger not to be surveilled. You marvel at the unfamiliar experience of complete freedom, and at the possibility of being able to run off and disappear if you so wished. But you don't, of course. Not only do you care too deeply for Suo to abandon him, you're also pretty sure he has your driver’s licence and ID card locked up somewhere. At least you haven't been able to find them, and Suo was oddly evasive about it when you asked. (I haven't seen them, he'd said, but I don't think you’d need either of those things immediately, anyway, do you? And you nodded in response, because it was true that you liked being his passenger princess too much to care about your licence.)

So rather than bolting for the subway, you head straight to your old workplace. The gleaming doors of Red Dragon welcome you as you cross its threshold, and you're greeted immediately by the scent of luxury colognes and expensive cigars—both evoking a strange nostalgia in you. Even the click of your heels against the marble floor feels familiar. You realise that you've missed the place despite its cutthroat culture and its owner’s authoritarian control over you, which you suppose isn't surprising. This club was more or less your home for years and, thanks to said owner, was the safest place you've ever worked.

And being that you feel you've returned to your very safe home, you don't expect it when you're abruptly stopped by the bouncer.

“Can I help you?” he asks, his arm in your way. You don't recognize him, but you see the edges of his irezumi peeking out from the rolled-up cuffs of his shirt.

“Yeah, actually,” you say. “I'm looking for Gui Yanzhao. Is he here right now?”

The bouncer—or chinpira, you guess—bristles.

“You're looking for who?”

“Yanzhao?” you say impatiently. “Eyepatch, tassel earrings? Owner of the club? Probably your boss?”

The bouncer steps forward and reaches for something in his pocket, which makes you suddenly nervous, and also makes you realise that in a hoodie and a face mask, you ordinarily wouldn't be allowed in this club, let alone into the room of its yakuza owner. You're so used to VIP treatment here that you simply forgot.

You take a step back. “Um. I think there's been a misunderstanding.” You lower your face mask, which doesn't help as you've never met this man, and he must be new. You’ll need to complain to Suo about his onboarding process later, if you aren't killed before you can find him.

It turns out that this yakuza rookie has a knife in his pocket, which is not the worst thing he could have been carrying, but is also not the best. You're getting ready to run in the other direction when a more senior member of the gang comes by. He gives you a startled look, which then turns alarmed when he sees his younger brother’s knife.

“Anesan!” he yells hurriedly, and he snatches the chinpira’s knife straight from his hand. His lunge for the weapon turns into a hurried bow. He pulls his colleague—whose face has turned very white in a very short amount of time—into an even deeper one. They look on the verge of prostrating.

“Oh, Yamashita. Hi! Is this guy new?”

“Yes! My sincerest apologies for my younger brother’s idiocy, and his insolence in raising a weapon at you.” There's a sheen of sweat on the back of his neck. “If you would like him to atone, then he would be more than happy to—”

“No, that's fine. I'd really like him to keep all his fingers.” If you have to see a rookie cut off his pinkie today, you think you might actually change your mind on running away. Fuck your documents—Suo can keep them. Surely life without proof of identity can't be that hard. “By the way,” you say, trying to change the topic before Yamashita can suggest alternative acts of atonement, “have you seen my husband?”

Yamashita hesitates at your question, looks conflicted. You feel a little bad for him, and for every other gang member who needs to worry about accidentally offending Suo. You watch him sweat for a full ten seconds before he says, “You can follow me. But anesan, you might find it unpleasant upstairs. I can find someone to drive you home instead, if you'd like.”

You give him a funny look. This was your workplace for a very long time—you can’t think of many things that would happen here that might seriously upset you. “What, is he cheating on me?” you guess.

“What? No! Aniki would never!” Yamashita seems genuinely shocked at the suggestion. “He's crazy about you!”

“Then I'm sure he’ll be happy to see me,” you say, although given that he's ignored your texts for four days straight, you aren't so sure. Regardless, this seems to be good enough reasoning for Yamashita, and you’re taken to the top floor of Red Dragon. You ponder the whole time, on the elevator ride up, just what exactly Suo’s been up to that's made Yamashita this nervous about letting you see him.

Then the door opens, and you’re given your answer in the form of several body bags—all cleanly zipped up and conscientiously laid out in front of the elevators in a single, neat row. A sight that is significantly worse than a rookie cutting off his pinkie finger.

“Oh,” you say faintly. You try not to throw up. “So this is why he hasn't been home.”

“Exactly!” Yamashita replies, beaming. “See, anesan, I told you. He'd never cheat on you!”

Suo is in the lounge of the top floor, which has been cleared of both civilians and corpses for the night. He's sitting on one of the couches, leaning back with his one eye closed, as if asleep. The golden tassels of his earrings are draped over the expensive leather of his seat, intertwined with his dark hair. A cup of tea sits in front of him, steaming. Even this far away, you recognize it by the scent alone: jasmine, probably from Longjing. One of the most expensive blends he has, and that which he saves for days he’s stressed, though he never admits it when he is.

The sight of him would almost look tranquil, except for all the blood on his knuckles and his cuffs.

Off to the side, two of his younger brothers are chatting away. One is pouring cups of some doubtlessly expensive liquor, and the other is smoking a cigar. There's karaage on the table too. You recognize all of this as part of a ritual that some of the guys like to do after a hit or a shootout, not dissimilar to getting ramen or McDonald’s after going to a club.

You catch a bit of their conversation as you approach. One of them holds up the liquor bottle (Isojiman sake, you now recognise from your girls’ bar days, one of the rarer bottles costing around nine million yen) and asks Suo if he wants to join. “No thanks,” he says predictably, “I'm on a diet.” Then he turns and looks right at you—startling you, because you had thought you were being fairly quiet—and gives you a smile so genuine that it reminds you of his Furin days. “Would my beautiful wife like to drink for me, though?”

“No thanks,” you reply, “but your beautiful wife would like to talk to you.”

The two guys clear out to give you some privacy. You’re left alone with Suo, feeling awkward after several days of resenting him for no reason. (You’d rather die than go to therapy, but the whole fear of abandonment thing is probably something you should start addressing.) You don't even know where you want to sit. Eventually, you settle for placing yourself next to him, which is a decision that Suo quickly overturns by pulling you into his lap.

A flutter erupts in your stomach as he settles you on top of him. This physiological reaction is absurd, as not even ten minutes ago, you were trying not to throw up at the line of corpses in front of the elevator. It should also scare you somewhat that Suo’s hands—delicately adjusting your body—are still covered in blood. But truthfully, you can't help but be happy when he makes you feel so loved.

You take one of the napkins on the table and start wiping at his knuckles. Tenderly, in case they're bruised or skinned.

“You didn't call or come home,” you start.

“I thought it would be too dangerous.”

You frown, thinking of all the bodies outside. “Was this a rival organisation?”

“No. They were ours.” He sighs. “A succession conflict. There are a few people who don't like how I'll run things if I take over.”

You nod. Suo is very old-fashioned in his ideals about the yakuza, which you think is an imprint of his master’s influence, and something that appeals to his current ‘father’. He values chivalry. He likes protecting the weak. His filial devotion to his deceased master has now extended to every member of his yakuza family, especially his oyassan. He’s almost certainly the top candidate for taking over after the oyabun dies, but being that part of his old-fashioned principles excludes lucrative projects such as sex trafficking, you suppose it’s natural that some people in his organisation would prefer him dead rather than in charge.

“You’ve never ghosted me during violent conflicts before though,” you say. “I was worried that something happened to you. Or that you were upset with me.”

Suo’s hand drops to your waist, pulling you a little closer.

“They knew where we live. They tried to get to you, you know.” Your eyes widen in alarm, so he cups your face with a palm. His thumb glides along your cheek, and your response is almost Pavlovian: your heart rate immediately slows at the comfort of his touch. “It’s fine. They won't bother you ever again.” The cheerful smile returns. “And if anyone else ever does, I'll handle them too.”

Your heart swells. Enthusiastic pledges of murder are not a healthy sign of affection, but after so much loneliness—whether from the past several days, or the years before that, you aren't sure—you can't find it in yourself to be disturbed. You feel and sound painfully fond when you reply, “I know.”

Suo’s expression dims a little then. “I thought you'd like the space anyway.”

“What?” You give him a confused look. You have never once given him any indication that you want even an inch of space from him. You'd crawl into his ribcage if you could. “Why would you think that?”

“I thought you felt suffocated. You left my club just so you could have sex with other people.” You blink, lingering on his wording. Other people. He continues before you can ask about it, sighing, “You didn't even ask me who I'd give permission to touch you. You just went ahead and decided on your own.”

“...”

You try not to look disturbed. Suo’s apparent wish to control your sexual decisions is news to you, and somehow more alarming than the murder pledge. And even worse—you immediately clench in response to his words. The thought of Suo dictating who does and doesn't get to touch your cunt is… well, your mind is heading in a distinctly non-platonic direction.

Trying to ignore the heat in between your thighs (but at the same time encouraging it), you ask: “Who would you have been, um, okay with touching me?”

“Sakura or Nirei,” he says immediately. “Though only Sakura would be interested.”

“What.” You gape at him, all arousal forgotten. “Bullshit. He would never.”

“Yes, he would.” Suo tilts his head. “Haven't you noticed?”

“I don't think there's anything to notice? And also—he’s so shy, I don't think he'd ever agree even if he were interested!” You give him a bewildered look. “He couldn't even look at us when we said we were getting married, he was so embarrassed!”

“Embarrassed?” Suo stares at you, an amused glint in his eye. “Is that what you thought was going on?”

“Was there anything else?”

He studies you for a moment, clearly entertained but not explaining why. “Well—it’s fine,” he says. “It doesn't matter for now. Especially since he's helping us plan a wedding and all.”

You make a face. “I still can't believe that's the cover you went for.”

“Are you upset with it?” he asks smoothly, and you huff and say yes, but from his sly look, you think he knows it's a lie.

Naturally, you deflect before he can further interrogate you. “So, given that you are now my fiancé, am I no longer allowed to work on Keisei Street and see customers after my shifts?”

You don’t expect it when Suo says, “No, you can.”

You stare. “What?”

“You can keep seeing customers if you'd like. You said it makes you happy, so why would I stop you?” Suo’s brow furrows, his usual calm replaced with concern. “Do you really think I do the things I do to make you miserable?”

Guilt gnaws at your heart. He looks so disappointed. “No,” you tell him. “I just thought it'd make you miserable that I was sleeping with people without your permission.” It is partly why you hid it from him in the first place, after all. You don't like to see him sad—you’re still haunted by the deep grief he was in, after your master died—and also, his misery tends to bring bodily harm to other people these days.

Cognizant of both concerns, you ask, “You’re really okay with me sleeping with my customers? I can stop, if you want.”

“No, it’s fine. I still don't like it, but you can continue for now if you want.”

Suo’s mouth curls—not in a gentle way, as has been his expression since seeing you walk in, but in a way that sets off your flight or fight response.

“I'm sure we’ll reach a mutual understanding soon enough.”

END PART 1

thank you genuinely if you read all that because this is a deranged au and I still can't believe I wrote it sldfkjsldfkj. please do let me know if you enjoyed my yandere suo delusions. sorry there was no smut in this chapter. I promise there is a ton in the next one (probably too much... lol. it's a 10k chapter and literally half of those words are about orgasm denial sldfkjalskdjdf). it's completely written and I hope to edit and have it up by next week!

also here is glossary of terms and world building notes if you are interested!

tagging @kweenkatsuki-fics !! <3

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Disclaimer: Still the same.

Chapter 19 - 'Dad’ | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 10.3 k

It was just past 6 a.m. when Jack heard the soft creak of the side door opening. He sighed, his shoulders slumping as he rubbed the back of his neck. He had been up for a while now, nursing his coffee in the kitchen and mentally preparing for the day. The text Trent had sent somehow even earlier had left him rolling his eyes, and now here he was, sneaking in like some lovesick teenager. Jack set his mug down with a dull thud and turned as Trent stepped inside, looking more awake than he had any right to at that hour. A tired but knowing grin stretched across Trent’s face as he quietly shut the door behind him. A bag was slung over his shoulder, which caught Jack’s attention for a moment before he decided to brush it off.

“Bro, it’s just unnecessary for you to be here this early,” Jack muttered, crossing his arms and giving Trent a look that bordered on disapproval.

“Jacky lad, come on, don’t be like that,” Trent replied, punching Jack’s arm lightly as he passed. The playful gesture did little to mask the nervous energy buzzing under his skin.

“Nah, serious,” Jack pressed, shaking his head. “It’s mad early, and you’re creeping around my house like a burglar. Bit much, isn’t it?” Trent raised his hands in mock surrender, the grin never leaving his face. 

“Alright, alright, I’ll be quick. Thanks for letting me come over, yeah? I just… I gotta talk to her real quick. Won’t take long.” Jack stared at him for a beat, trying to figure out whether he was annoyed or just resigned. 

“Yeah, alright, mate,” he said, finally giving Trent a shove in the shoulder. “Do what you’ve gotta do.” As Trent moved toward the stairs, Jack stayed rooted in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms folded. He watched Trent ascend the staircase, his steps careful and deliberate, and shook his head with a rueful chuckle. This was his new normal, wasn’t it? Trent sneaking into his house not to see him, his best mate, but to see you, his younger sister. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Jack was trying. For you. For Trent. He was glad Trent was putting in effort and glad he was coming to talk to you. Upstairs, Trent moved with purpose, his feet soft against the carpet as he made his way to your room. The house was quiet, the only sounds the faint ticking of a clock and the distant hum of the world outside. The early morning light filtered through the windows, casting warm streaks of gold on the walls. He reached your door and paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob. A nervous breath escaped his lips, and he ran a hand over his hair, hesitating for just a moment. He hated how much he’d missed you, even though it had only been a couple of days. Finally, he twisted the knob and pushed the door open slowly, the faint creak of the hinges breaking the silence.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn but not fully closed, letting in just enough light to bathe the space in a soft glow. You were curled up in the center of the bed, buried under a blanket, your hair fanned out against the pillow. Trent’s lips tugged into a smile at the sight of you. He stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind him and setting the bag down on the floor. For a moment, he just stood there, soaking you in—the peaceful rise and fall of your chest, the way your lashes rested against your cheeks.

“Morning, pretty girl,” he whispered, his voice low and soft as he approached the bed. You stirred at the sound, your face scrunching up briefly before your eyes fluttered half open with a squint.

“T? Baby?” you murmured, your voice soft and laced with sleep as you felt the bed dip slightly. It took you a second to register the figure standing at your bedside, but when you saw Trent, a sleepy smile broke across your face.

“Mmmm, course it’s me, baby,” Trent whispered back, his voice warm and comforting as his lips brushed against the bare skin of your shoulder. His scent wrapped around you, a mix of his cologne and the faintest trace of fresh air from outside.

“What are you doing here?” you asked groggily, your brows furrowing as you tried to fully wake up. “Thought you were leaving. I was planning to already be missing you.” Your voice held a pout as you blinked up at him, your eyes adjusting to the dim light in the room.

“C’mere, pretty girl,” Trent murmured, his hands gently pulling you into him, wrapping you in his warmth. You didn’t resist, letting your body mold against his as he held you close.

“Hi…” you giggled softly, nuzzling into his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

“Look so good like this,” he said with a smirk, his fingers playing with the thin strap of your pajama top. His eyes traced over you with a softness that made your cheeks warm.

“I look… tired probably,” you laughed, a little embarrassed as you nestled your face into the crook of his neck to hide.

“Not to me,” he whispered, his voice low and sincere, making your heart skip. You pulled back slightly, your curiosity piqued. 

“No, seriously, baby. What are you doing here?” you asked, your arms instinctively wrapping around his waist to hold him closer. Trent let out a quiet sigh, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in slow, soothing strokes. 

“I couldn’t go… not yet,” he murmured. Your brows knit together as you searched his face, trying to piece together what he wasn’t saying. 

“Why? You okay, baby?” you asked, your voice soft and filled with wonder. He hesitated for a moment, his dark eyes flickering with something vulnerable, something real. His hand slipped to the back of your neck, holding you gently as he gathered his thoughts. 

“When I go, baby, I want to leave knowing you’re mine. I want to leave with you as my girlfriend.” Your breath hitched at his words, your heart racing in your chest as you stared up at him. “You’ve been my dream girl my entire life, you know that? And… if you’d let me, I’d want you to be my girl for the rest of it. So…” He trailed off, his voice soft and filled with nerves as he studied your reaction. Your eyes filled with tears, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm blanket. 

“Okay,” you sniffled, your voice trembling as you gave him a small nod.

“Yeah?” he asked, his lips curving into a hopeful smile, though you could see the tension in his shoulders as he waited for more.

“Are you sure?” you whispered, a shy smile breaking through the tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Gonna be my girlfriend now, yeah?” he murmured, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “For every season. Gonna take care of you forever, pretty girl.”

“T…” you whimpered, unable to find the words as emotion choked you. Your hands clung to him tightly, your face burying in his chest as you nodded against him. He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest as he pressed a kiss to your hair. 

“None of that, baby. Don’t cry.” He smiled sympathetically.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice muffled as your tears soaked into his shirt. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think anyone would ever love me like this.” You let out a sentiment far heavier than anything you were expecting this morning. His hands on you felt gentle something you never knew you didn't have.

“Shhh, baby,” he murmured, his arms wrapping securely around you, holding you as if he could shield you from all the pain you’d ever felt. “I’ll never let anything hurt you again. I promise.” You pulled back just enough to look at him, your tear-streaked face glowing as a smile spread across your lips. 

“I love you,” you whispered, the words tumbling out naturally, as if they’d always been there, waiting for this moment. Trent’s eyes softened, his gaze locking with yours as he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss so tender it made your heart ache. 

“I love you too,” he whispered against your lips, his voice steady and sure. The two of you stayed there, wrapped in each other, the world outside fading away as the weight of his words and the promise in his eyes made you feel more whole than you’d ever thought possible. “I’m gonna ask and properly take you out, swear,” Trent whispered, his thumb grazing over your cheek in the soft glow of morning. His voice was gentle, but there was an earnestness behind it that made your heart skip a beat. “I just didn’t want to take to the pitch ever again without you being my girlfriend, that alright, pretty girl?” His lips pressed to yours in a kiss so soft, so unhurried, that it felt like time stood still. You melted into him, your sleepy haze mixing with the overwhelming feeling of love that settled deep in your chest. Everything about this moment felt surreal, like a dream you never wanted to wake up from.

“You didn’t have to do all this, baby,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with emotion as tears threatened to spill over again. “Just you here…. this is perfect.” You confessed.

“Nah, Y/N… baby,” he murmured with a smirk that sent a flutter through your stomach. It was mischievous, cheeky and ever endearing. “You think I’m waking you up like this just with words?” His dimples deepened as his playful grin grew. You giggled, brushing your hand across his chest as he shifted beside you. Your brows furrowed when he leaned off the bed, reaching for something on the floor. When he straightened up, your eyes widened. In his hands was the most beautiful bouquet of fresh peonies, their soft pink and white petals still glistening with dew.

“For the most gorgeous girl in the whole world,” he said softly, holding them out to you. Your heart clenched as you took the bouquet from him, the delicate fragrance filling the air around you.

“Baby…” you whimpered, your voice shaky as you buried your nose into the flowers.

“You like ‘em?” he asked, his voice low, almost shy, as he watched you with a boyish smile.

“I love them,” you whispered, your voice breaking as tears welled in your eyes. "I love you." You pouted, emotion getting the best of you. You were having a hard time shaking your tiredness because this entire thing felt like a dream. Longtime crush, brother's best friend just asked you to be his girlfriend, waking you up with peonies in your bedroom? In what world? Evidently, your world.

“Not done yet,” he teased, leaning over the side of the bed again. You tilted your head, blinking through your tears as you watched him grab two boxes—one large and one small. He placed them carefully in your lap, his smile softening as he looked at you.

“T…” you started, your voice trembling as you stared down at the boxes, overwhelmed. Trent’s phone buzzed with a message. The notification irrelevant, but the time illuminated, not so much. He caught the time and sighed. 

“I gotta run, pretty girl,” he said, his tone tinged with regret. “But you open these, yeah?” Your fingers brushed over the ribbons on the boxes as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. His lips stayed there for a moment, warm and reassuring, before he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “And you’ll call your boyfriend tonight, yeah?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. A smile broke across your face as you nodded. 

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you clutched the boxes close.

“Alright,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you again, slower this time, as if he couldn’t bear to leave. “Good girl. Love you so much, baby.”

“Love you, T,” you whispered, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him in for one last kiss. “Can’t wait to watch my boyfriend tomorrow.” He chuckled, his laugh rumbling softly against your chest. 

“Let me know how he does.” he said cheekily, brushing his nose against yours before finally pulling away. As the door clicked shut behind him, you let out a shaky breath, the weight of the moment settling over you. You looked down at the boxes in your lap, your hands trembling as you untied the ribbon on the larger one. Inside was a gorgeous Chanel bag in the gorgeous turquoise tweed, the bag so perfect you wanted to scream but you were too tired, almost delirious at your unexpected morning.  You needed to call Layla now but you still had one more box to open. And then amid your eagerness to gush to your best friend, your breath hitched opening the smaller box, revealing a delicate pair of earrings, just like the necklace you wore only slightly different. Nestled there were two butterflies, one gold, the other turquoise. It was perfect. It was you. It was you and Trent, finally evolving. Tears streamed down your face as you clutched the box to your chest. You didn’t even realize you were smiling until your cheeks started to ache, your heart swelling with a love so overwhelming it left you breathless.

“What are you doing before the final game?” Jack, out of the blue, asked. Games had come and went and now it was the end of Trent’s season. You paused, caught off guard by the question. 

“Why? What’s going on?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him. Jack hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly as if he was debating whether to tell you.

“Dad’s coming,” he said carefully. You froze, feeling your heart drop into your stomach. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. You hadn’t seen your dad in about a year, and though you’d always had a good relationship with him, it had become more distant as time went on. He didn’t really know you as an adult—didn’t know about the life you’d built for yourself, and definitely nothing about Trent. And now, the thought of that relationship, so new so fresh coming to light, made your chest tighten.

“Dad’s… coming?” you repeated, almost as if you didn’t believe him.

“Yeah,” Jack replied, scratching the back of his neck. “He, uh, wanted to come to the match and catch up, I guess.” He muttered. You nodded slowly, but your mind was racing. 

“Okay, so… what’s the plan?” you asked hesitantly, not wanting to sound as anxious as you felt. Jack took a breath, his eyes flicking to yours. 

“We’re supposed to grab lunch at that pub he likes… then, you know, I guess head to the match with him.” Jack explained cautiously and hesitantly. He knew you didn’t want these plans but nevertheless, they were your plans.

“Oh,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. The weight of it all started to sink in. The pub he liked—the place you hadn’t been to in years. Your dad showing up, expecting to see the same version of you he’d always known. And Trent—how would he feel about all of this? How would your dad react, to realizing the relationship between you two? Jack watched you carefully, sensing your nerves. 

“You alright?” he asked, his voice softer now. You forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. 

“Yeah. Just… a lot to process, I guess.” You told him not wanting to even start because you knew it was all fairly fresh for Jack. An adjustment for everyone, including yourself.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Jack reassured you. “Dad’s not that scary, you know.” You laughed weakly, shaking your head. 

“It’s not that. It’s just… he doesn’t really know me anymore, Jack. I don’t even know if he’s going to like me.” You explained poorly. Jack frowned, stepping closer. 

“Hey, what are you on about. Of course, he’s going to like you. He loves you. You’re his daughter. He knows you.” He smiled sympathetically.

“Yeah, but Trent’s my—” You paused. You didn’t know if Jack knew, if Trent had told him. You didn’t want to hurt him anyone. 

“Yeah, your boyfriend. My best friend, I know,” Jack interrupted firmly. “T’s a good guy, and Dad’s not stupid. He knows that.” You swallowed hard, nodding as you tried to convince yourself Jack was right. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the knot of anxiety forming in your stomach. This wasn’t just about your dad knowing Trent was your boyfriend—it was about him seeing the person you’d become and hoping he’d still be proud of you.

Seeing your dad was harder than you’d anticipated. There was a heaviness in the air, a kind of tension that came from too much time apart and too many things left unsaid. You sat awkwardly on the edge of your chair, your hands clasped in your lap as Jack and your dad caught up. Their voices filled the room, casual and animated as they sipped on beers, talking about work, sports, and everything else except the topics that mattered. You knew it was only a matter of time before Trent came up—his name felt like it was hovering in the air, unspoken but impossible to ignore. The clock was ticking; you’d have to get to the stadium soon, and once you left, there’d be no escaping the inevitable conversation. Jack leaned back in his seat, laughing at something your dad said. They were so at ease with each other, the kind of natural connection that came from years of shared history. You sat silently, feeling like a child again, a bystander in their world. You hadn’t expected to feel this small, this invisible, but here you were, the same as always.

It hit you, sitting there, how little had changed. Even now, as an adult, you were still on the outside looking in, waiting for a chance to be part of their conversation. But when you finally did speak, your words felt hollow, like they didn’t quite fit in their world. Maybe this was why you sought attention elsewhere, why you craved the kind of validation that left you breathless and seen. It wasn’t just about romance or excitement—it was about feeling like you mattered, like you were more than just someone to be looked over or around. Your dad didn’t mean it, you told yourself. He didn’t notice the way his conversations with Jack seemed to box you out, like you were still twelve and incapable of understanding the weight of their conversations. But that didn’t make it sting any less. They avoided mentioning your mum, which wasn’t a surprise. Her absence was like a shadow in the room, unspoken but lingering in every quiet moment. You glanced at your dad, wondering if he even noticed how uncomfortable you were, how small you felt sitting there. The stadium was calling, and part of you was glad. At least there, you’d see Trent, someone who made you feel like you belonged, like your voice mattered. But that didn’t erase the ache of sitting in at the pub, waiting for the conversation to shift, for someone to notice you were there.

“Jack we need to get going… “ You said. The atmosphere in the room was thick with an uneasy silence, a weight that neither of you could shake off. “I told Di I’d meet her outside  before so…” you awkwardly interjected. 

“How is Di? Can’t wait to see her and Mike at the match.” Your dad sat at the table, his hand still wrapped around his half-finished beer, the glass catching the dim light as it rested on the surface. He was relaxed, too relaxed, as though everything was fine. His words, casual and unbothered, contrasted sharply with the tension in your chest. His assumption that things were as they always had been — that you could talk about Dianne and Mike like nothing had changed — stung in ways you couldn’t put into words. Your father’s gaze drifted from you to Jack, lingering for a moment before it returned to you with that familiar, unspoken question. Why wasn’t Jack the one making decisions? His eyes didn’t need to ask it, but the look was unmistakable. You could feel the knot tighten in your stomach. You didn’t want to answer him, didn’t want to acknowledge that the dynamics between you all had shifted. That he had shifted.

“Just Di is going,” you muttered, your voice sharp as you tried to hold it together. The words fell like ice into the room. Jack noticed the change in your tone immediately. He could see it, the way you were pulling away, the way your nerves frayed at the edges. You stood up abruptly, the motion too fast, too sharp, betraying the calm exterior you tried to maintain. The chair scraped against the floor, the sound jarring in the silence that followed. “I told her I’d meet her…” you trailed off, your words faltering for just a second, but the pressure to leave was too strong. "I have to go, you can meet me there if you want to stay here longer, but I promised." You snapped. Your dad’s gaze flicked from you to Jack, waiting for a response, expecting one. But there was no response. Jack could sense the brewing storm, the way your jaw tightened and your eyes clouded. The air between you all was electric, like the calm before a storm, but Jack was the first to break the silence, his voice low and calm, a stark contrast to the storm inside you.

“Y/N, Y/N, jesus, hold on,” he said, his hand reaching out to gently grab your arm, but you flinched as if the touch burned. Jack immediately regretted it. It all came crashing back to hm. His fingers loosened, and he let his hand fall to his side, his voice softening as he realized what he had done. He could see it now — what Trent had told him, what you’d been through. Everything, the secrets, the pain. The moment hung there, suspended between the three of you. Jack straightened up, his gaze not meeting your dad’s but aimed directly at you. “I’m with ya,” he said gently, his words grounded, offering you the support that was starting to feel like a lifeline. He nodded, as if trying to anchor you in this moment. “It’s fine. Let’s go, yeah?” Your dad’s eyes flicked back to Jack, but Jack didn’t move. He was standing firm, waiting for you. There was a subtle shift in the air, as though Jack had pulled the rug out from under your father’s expectations, leaving the tension behind you like dust settling after a storm. “You never want to keep Dianne waiting,” Jack said, his voice a little more light-hearted, as if trying to smooth over the heaviness. But his words couldn’t erase what had passed between you all in that moment. And you didn’t want them to. You were already halfway out the door, trying to escape the weight of it all, but you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that things would never be the same.

The atmosphere in the stands felt charged, the sound of the game filling the air, but it was easy for you to tune it out as you focused solely on the field, your mind a whirl of thoughts. Jack had fallen into easy conversation with Noah and Trent’s brothers, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of being apart from everything. Maybe it was the weight of your father’s distant gaze, or the unspoken tension between you and him, but there was a disconnect you couldn’t ignore.

Dianne’s voice cut through the murmur of the crowd, and your dad turned as she approached, her expression warm and teasing. But as her gaze landed on you, wearing Trent’s jacket—something you had nicked without thinking—he saw the softness in her eyes, the way she always looked at you as if you were her own daughter.  You instinctively tried to listen in, and for a moment, you almost wished she didn’t see the truth so clearly.

“Finally, hmm?” Dianne cooed with a smile, nodding to you in Trent’s clothes, the way you were leaning forward, lost in the game. Her voice was light, but you could tell there was an undercurrent of something more, a knowingness that settled between you. Your father’s voice came almost too quickly, a hint of forced joviality in his words.

“Ah, she’ll always hold a torch for him. I’m sure he has more lasses than he can handle though. Him and Jacky boy.” He chuckled, clearly trying to mask something—maybe his own discomfort or the way the whole situation made him uneasy. But you heard the words, and they stung a little more than they should have. You looked down, feeling that familiar ache in your chest. He’s fine because Jack is fine. Jack’s fine because Trent is fine. And everything will be fine because they all just fit together in this neat little package. But you? You were the complication, the one who didn’t fit. And yet, your father was never looking too closely at the things that didn’t add up, wasn’t he?

“Well… we’ve known he’s only wanted one, and Trenty’s got her now,” Dianne added softly, a playful tone in her voice but something deeper behind it. There was no judgment, only an understanding, and a subtle acknowledgment of everything that had been left unsaid. But the words landed like a heavy weight in your chest. Your father, though he was trying to make light of things, didn’t see it—didn’t see you. He couldn’t see past the loss of your mother, the way you reminded him so much of her, both in looks and in the way you held onto things, quietly, intensely. It had always been easier for him to connect with Jack, the son who didn’t wear his mother’s ghost in every glance, in every gesture. Jack, who had managed to fill the space she’d left in a way that you hadn’t. But your father couldn’t escape the grief that came with you. And it hurt. You felt it in the way his words came too quickly, like he was trying to convince himself, to ease his own pain without even realizing he was pushing you away. You wanted to reach for something, anything, to make it easier, but instead, you just sat there, a quiet reminder of everything lost. Dianne’s gaze softened, and she didn’t need to say anything more. She saw it. She always did. She didn’t need to push. All she did was offer a quiet reassurance, a recognition that the divide was there. You were both standing in it, but only one of you seemed to have the strength to acknowledge it.

Your dad watched, almost frozen, as Dianne moved behind you, her hand finding your arm with that familiar warmth, a comfort he hadn’t felt in a long time. It stung a little to watch—how easily she could reach out to you, how easily she could offer you something he didn’t know how to give anymore. You turned towards her, smiling up at her with an expression that was softer, more open, than the one you had given him in ages. Dianne cupped your cheek gently, the kind of tender touch that felt like home, like someone who understood you without words. She tilted your head just slightly, guiding your face back toward your dad, as if to make sure he saw you—really saw you.

“So, so, so gorgeous, huh?” Her voice was light, teasing even, but with a layer of affection that felt bittersweet. She wanted him to see you the way she saw you, but it was all so much more complicated than that. Your dad’s eyes followed you, but there was an unreadable expression on his face. He was lost in it, in everything unsaid between you, between the past, the present, and the future.

“She’s beautiful, always has been,” your dad muttered, his voice tight. The words were there, but they didn’t reach you in the way they used to. The sadness in his smile only made the gap between you feel wider, more unbridgeable. He had always been so proud of you, but now there was something missing, something he couldn’t find his way back to. Dianne, as if sensing the weight in the air, pressed a kiss to your hair, her lips warm against your skin, and pulled back just enough to let you turn back toward the game. 

“And finally Trenty’s got his head on straight, hmm?” she asked with a knowing smile, the kind of smile that said she wasn’t oblivious to the tension you had been carrying. She wasn’t stupid. She knew. You felt a flutter of discomfort at her words, a sharp reminder of how much you had been hiding. A part of you felt like you’d never tell your dad about Trent. And then you realized that wasn't really an option. But you didn’t think you could ever tell him about Trent, not like that. You weren’t sure if he could handle it, and you weren’t ready to deal with his disappointment or confusion. So, you let her words slide by, nodding as you turned back to the game, trying to lose yourself in the sound of the crowd, in the rhythm of the match. Your dad remained still, his mind racing, trying to piece together what Dianne was getting at. The look on his face betrayed a quiet frustration, as if he had just missed something important, something he wasn’t privy to. He felt like he was in the dark, and it hurt more than he’d like to admit. What was Dianne talking about? What was happening between you and Trent? The questions hung there, unanswered. He looked at you one more time, but you were lost in the game, your eyes focused, your body language closed off. And in that moment, your dad knew that things were changing, and he couldn’t stop it. The weight of the unknown pressed down on him, and he wasn’t sure how to navigate this new space between you, between all of you. Dianne, sensing the shift, took a seat next to Tyler, her presence no longer a bridge but a reminder of the complexities of what had been left unsaid. The game continued, the noise of the crowd growing louder, but for you, the world felt smaller, and the distance between you and your dad felt wider than ever.

You stepped inside, the cool air of the box a stark contrast to the heat of the stadium outside. Your gaze immediately landed on your dad, standing alone, watching the game through the glass with his usual intense focus. But there was something different about the way he stood, a slight distance between him and the rest of the crowd, like he wasn’t really part of it all.

“Keeping warm?” you asked, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. It was a weak attempt, but it was all you could manage. He hummed, squinting at the field, trying to follow the play. His focus was still on the game, but you could tell he wasn’t fully present. It was as if part of him was always somewhere else. “You know… you can see a lot better out there,” you suggested, motioning toward the seats where the rest of the group was. The words were casual, but there was a plea in them that you couldn’t hide. A hope that he might want to come closer, to bridge the gap that had grown between you both. He glanced at you, his excuse falling flat. 

“Yeah, don’t want to crowd the space and all.” It wasn’t a good reason, but you knew it wasn’t really about the space. It was about something else, something neither of you were talking about. A sigh escaped you as you stood there, unsure of how to push forward. It felt like you were both stuck, circling each other but not quite connecting.

“Do… do you want to come sit with me?” The words came out hesitantly, like you were testing the waters, unsure if he would say yes or if you would even know how to handle it if he did. For a moment, there was silence between you, and then your dad finally turned, his eyes meeting yours. It was like a weight lifted in that brief second, his gaze softening, as if he had been waiting for you to ask. He reached up, his hand gently cupping your face, and for the first time in what felt like ages, you saw a genuine smile spread across his face.

“I’ll come sit with you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice warm, sincere in a way that it hadn’t been for so long. The affection in his tone caught you off guard, and you felt a lump form in your throat. You tried to smile, to match his warmth, but it was hard to push back the tears that threatened to spill. “Gorgeous you are, huh?” he added, his smile growing. There was a hint of that old fondness in his voice, something familiar, something you hadn’t heard in a long time. You grinned, a shaky laugh escaping you as you fought to keep the tears at bay. In that moment, everything felt a little bit easier, a little bit lighter, even if just for a second. It was a small step, but it was a step forward. The game’s final minutes ticked down, but they felt like hours as you sat there with your dad, the tension between you both growing thicker with every passing second. The crowd’s roar seemed distant now, just background noise to the awkward silence you were both trapped in. To your surprise, your dad, who had always been so engrossed in the game, turned to you, his expression more serious than you were used to.

“Sweetheart, Dianne said something earlier… Does she know something Jack and I don’t?” he asked, his voice low but carrying a weight that made your stomach churn. The question felt wrong in so many ways—almost like an accusation. The assumption that he and Jack were always on the same page, always in sync, and you were the one left to navigate things alone. You couldn’t stop the frustration rising within you. You fought back the urge to snap, to let him feel your annoyance, and instead gave him a steady answer. 

“Jack knows…” You didn’t want to get into it, but it felt like he was trying to pry, trying to put you on the defensive as if there was something to hide. And for a brief moment, it felt like he was accusing you of betraying Jack, not simply sharing your own truth.

“And… should I know?” His voice was soft, but there was an underlying expectation in it, as though you owed him an explanation. It hit you harder than you expected, making your patience slip. You turned your gaze back to the game, unwilling to meet his eyes, unable to mask the irritation building inside. 

“I don’t know. Should you?” Your tone was sharp, your words colder than you intended, but you couldn’t hold it in anymore. The unfairness of it all—the way Jack and your dad always seemed to understand each other, always seemed to be in sync, leaving you as the outsider. It stung.

“Y/N…” Your dad’s voice softened, but the use of your full name was a reminder of a time when you hadn’t been this distant, when his voice was filled with care and not frustration. That small shift in his tone made something inside you crack, but it only made your anger burn brighter.

“What? Do you care enough to want to know?” You shot back before you could stop yourself, the words tumbling out sharper than you meant. You could feel your dad bristle, his frustration mounting, but so was yours. This wasn’t just a conversation—it was an accusation, a judgment.

“Hey.” His tone snapped, and the energy in the air shifted. You could feel Jack’s gaze on you from across the box, but you couldn’t stop now. This had been building for too long. Jack stood up and walked over, his presence like a wall between you and your dad, as if once again it was two against one. That old dynamic—the one that always left you feeling like you were fighting to be seen, fighting to be heard, while Jack and your dad stood side by side, united.

“Okay, yeah. Trent’s my boyfriend. Happy?” The words shot out like daggers, sharp and bitter. “There’s my life update. You can go back to wherever you are in Spain at the minute and act like you know anything that goes on here.” Your voice wavered for a split second, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine when it felt like you were invisible to them. Without waiting for a response, you stood up and stormed past Jack, your heart racing with anger and hurt. He called your name, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. There was no going back now, not with this tension hanging between you all. You had to break free, even if it meant isolating yourself again. Once again, it was you against them, and you were done trying to fit into the space they had carved out for themselves. Jack’s eyes softened as he looked at his father, knowing the weight of the situation, knowing the rift between you and their understanding of what you were going through. He had seen it for years, the unspoken divide between you and your dad, the way he treated you so differently than him. But now, it was worse. Now, your dad had crossed a line, and Jack felt the tension, the hurt that you’d carried for so long.

“Dad…” Jack sighed, his voice heavy with frustration and compassion. He could feel the hurt building inside him, too, knowing that his father was looking at the situation with an incomplete understanding. Jack wasn’t blind to the way his dad had always looked at you, how he seemed to hold back from truly seeing you, as if seeing you fully would mean confronting the loss of your mother all over again. But that wasn’t your fault. And this wasn’t easy for you.

“She… she’s dating Trent, and I have my own way to deal with it, but…” Jack’s voice trailed off, the words hard to form. He knew the history, knew the tension between you and your dad, and how impossible it was for your father to see things from your perspective. “You can’t just show up and ask for this huge piece of information about her…” He took a deep breath, the weight of what he was saying settling heavily in the space between them. “So much has gone on, I can’t even begin to describe it.” Jack’s eyes searched his father’s, trying to get through to him, but the words felt like they weren’t enough, like they could never be enough. “She’s had a really hard time, dad. This isn’t some spur-of-the-moment, rash decision… It’s been a lot, and it’s been really heavy for her, so please… Please talk to her.” His voice cracked slightly, a mix of frustration and helplessness. Jack didn’t know how to make his father see the pain you’d been hiding, the burden you’d been carrying in silence. He wasn’t sure if he could even explain it himself, but he tried anyway, hoping something would break through. Your dad looked at him, his face filled with a shock that Jack hadn’t expected. Maybe it was the mention of your struggles, maybe it was the revelation of just how much you had been dealing with, but something in him seemed to shift, even if just slightly. He didn’t know what surprised him more—your relationship with Trent or the fact that you had been struggling this much. But instead of addressing it, instead of asking questions or trying to understand, he simply turned away.

“I’ll give her a minute,” your dad muttered, his voice distant. He didn’t even look back at Jack as he focused once again on the game, his back turned to his son. Jack’s heart sank. He had hoped for more, had wanted his father to reach out, to show that he cared. But it was like he was retreating again, locking himself in the same place he had always been—unable to break free of the grief, of the distance between him and his children. Jack stood there, watching his father’s back, feeling a wave of helplessness and sorrow wash over him. The conversation had gone nowhere, and the gap between them was only wider now. He had hoped his father would understand, that this moment would spark something in him to reach out to you, but it didn’t happen. All Jack could do now was wait, just like you.

As the game ended and the crowd filtered out, you couldn’t shake the heaviness that lingered in the air. Your eyes were red and puffy from the tears you’d tried to hide, and your lips were pressed into a thin pout, an attempt to mask the hurt and frustration you felt. You didn’t even have to look up to know when Trent walked into the box. His presence was like a breath of fresh air, a sense of comfort in the storm you were fighting.

“Come here, pretty girl,” Trent’s voice was soft, concerned. His hands gently pulled you into him, and the warmth of his embrace felt like a balm to your soul. “What’s that face for, beautiful, hmm?” His words were a sweet coo, the kind that only he could make sound so tender. He kissed your forehead, repeatedly, his lips brushing your skin like a quiet reassurance. He tilted your chin up to meet his eyes, his gaze full of care. “Look at me… What’s going on, baby?” He asked earnestly.  But just as you opened your mouth to respond, your dad’s voice cut through the moment, loud and blunt.

“Trenty.” Trent froze, his eyes widening for a moment as he turned to face your dad. The tension in the air shifted immediately. At the moment, his hands had been dangerously close to your ass, a comforting gesture that felt natural, but now it was like they were caught in the act. Trent cleared his throat, his smile faltering, and he quickly retracted his hand from a more intimate position.

“Ah, alright, sir?” Trent stumbled over his words, extending a hand for a handshake. It was awkward, but you could see him trying to play it off as casual, even though the situation was anything but.

“Course, had to at least catch one game this season,” your dad replied, his tone unnervingly normal, like nothing had shifted, like he hadn’t just witnessed a small piece of your private world that he wasn’t meant to see. His words, however, didn’t seem to match the discomfort in the room. It was like he was pretending to be fine, pretending that everything was the same as it had been before. Trent, though, immediately pieced it all together. The tears in your eyes, the tension in the air, the way your dad had come over so bluntly—it all clicked for him. His arm instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him protectively. You didn’t fight it. Instead, you leaned into him, your arms winding around his bicep, letting the comfort of his embrace ground you. Trent looked down at you, his expression softening.

 “Okay?”He asked.  He could feel the weight of everything you were carrying, and he just wanted to make sure you were alright. You nodded, leaning your face into his shoulder, finding solace in the warmth of him. 

“Yeah,” you murmured, the simple act of being close to him helping to ease the pressure in your chest. Trent, still standing with you wrapped around his arm, continued talking to your dad, but now his attention was solely on you. He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he felt the familiar presence of your perfume wrap around him after the long match. There was something deeply intimate about the way you held onto him, and he relished it. “Stayed warm, huh?” Trent asked, pinching your side lightly, a playful spark in his eyes as he adjusted the jacket you’d borrowed from him. Your dad, however, was no longer paying attention to the conversation. His eyes had locked onto you, watching the way you interacted with Trent. It was clear he was taking it all in—more than just the casual handshake, more than the friendly chat. The dynamic between you and Trent had shifted in the air, and your dad, whether he acknowledged it or not, could sense the change. Trent, on the other hand, was completely absorbed in you. The conversation with your dad was just noise in the background. He wasn’t concerned with anything other than making sure you felt safe, loved, and cared for in this moment.  

“So, Y/N finally wore you down,” your dad said, and it sounded like a statement wrapped in a half-joking, half-disapproving tone. Maybe it was the way he said it, but it didn’t sit well with you. You could feel the sting of it, the assumption that you’d been some sort of challenge for Trent. But then again, maybe he didn’t mean it that way. You weren’t sure anymore. Your dad’s words hung in the air, but there was something about the way he said them that felt off—like he was trying, but still not really understanding. You stiffened slightly, catching the slight edge in his tone, but you couldn’t be sure if it was truly patronizing or just his attempt to mask his discomfort. Trent, however, didn’t hesitate. He always seemed to have this way of handling awkward moments with confidence, and right now, he used it like a shield. 

“Nah, I finally got my dream girl,” Trent said with a grin, flashing that million-dollar smile your dad had always found disarming. “Everyone’s on board with it now, even Jack the lad, so… What you saying?” Trent prompted. You couldn’t help but feel a flicker of warmth for him in that moment. He’d just taken the lead, not hesitating, not letting your dad’s old-world ways hold him back. It was like he was saying, This is happening. You have to deal with it, and you have to accept it. It was exactly what you needed to hear. You looked at Trent, grateful. He was doing all the hard work that you couldn’t bring yourself to do, and doing it with such ease, making your dad see that this wasn’t some fleeting phase or secret rebellion. This was real. And with his words, it felt like Trent was subtly reminding your dad that he couldn’t just sit on the sidelines of your life. Your dad, for all his avoidance and silence up until now, finally softened. 

“Just want her happy,” he said, his voice sincere, and for a moment, you could see that he meant it. The weight of the words, even though they were simple, felt like he was finally trying to step into your world, into a space where he hadn’t been before. He reached out then, almost tenderly, lifting your chin with his finger, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “Just want you happy, sweetheart.” There was an effort there, something raw and unspoken behind his eyes. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t the resolution you’d hoped for, but it was something. For the first time in a long while, it felt like your dad was trying—really trying—to meet you halfway. And for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something different between you both.

“Aye bro, we going out tonight?” Jack’s voice carried over as he approached Trent with Noah trailing close behind, his energy already at full throttle.

“Yeah, mate, I’m down,” Trent replied with an easy smile, turning his head slightly toward you. “Gotta stop home first, but yeah, down.” Jack clapped his hands together, clearly excited. 

“Let’s goooo. Trenty’s actually coming out with us. Been missing for a while. Wonder where he’s been,” Noah teased, his tone full of mischief. His eyes darted over to you, the wink he shot you making your cheeks heat up. Trent shook his head, a small chuckle escaping him. 

“Don’t mate,” he muttered, though his tone was amused. Then he leaned down toward you, his voice dropping to a soft whisper in your ear. 

“You wanna come back with me first, pretty girl?” The warmth of his voice made you giggle as you nodded, already feeling your heart flutter. You barely had a moment to revel in the intimacy before Jack groaned dramatically.

“Ew… fuck right off,” Jack grumbled, pulling a face as if he’d just walked into something awful. The embarrassment hit you like a wave, and you hid your face in Trent’s neck, trying to disappear. But he wasn’t about to let you hide for long. His arm wrapped securely around your waist, and you could feel his skin shift as he smiled. He leaned down again, his lips close to your temple. 

“Want to get going? Hmm?” he cooed, his voice sweet and reassuring. You pulled back, giving him a small nod as you went to grab your bag. Trent watched you with that soft, fond look he always seemed to have when it came to you, and even with Jack and Noah’s teasing, you couldn’t help but feel completely safe with him.

As you grabbed your purse, you felt your dad step closer, his presence lingering behind you like he was unsure if he should speak. You turned slightly, catching the hesitation in his face. His hands were tucked awkwardly in his jacket pockets, and the tight line of his lips showed he was working up to something.

“Sweetheart… you’ve gotta talk to me,” he finally said, his voice soft but insistent, the same tone he’d used when you were little and in trouble. You stilled for a moment, gripping your purse tighter. Then, you turned to face him, already on the defensive. 

“I don’t… I’ll talk to you next time you call Jack,” you snapped, your words sharper than intended, but you didn’t take them back. Your dad’s shoulders tensed as if the bite in your voice stung.

 “Y/N…” he began, his tone gentler now, trying to tread carefully. “I’m happy you’re with him. But…” That one word—but—sliced through the air like a warning. Your heart clenched painfully, and the tightness in your chest spread. 

“But what?” you demanded, your voice rising slightly. The tears you’d held back all evening were dangerously close now, teetering on the edge of your composure. He took a deep breath, gesturing vaguely around the room and toward the buzzing energy outside. 

“Have you thought about this… what it’s like to be with someone with this life?” His hand swept toward the box windows, where the stadium lights and crowds shone brightly, as if Trent’s world was a foreign, insurmountable thing. You blinked at him, dumbfounded and suddenly furious.

“So Jack can be friends with someone with this life, but I can’t date someone with it?” you shot back, your voice tight with frustration. “What is it, Dad? Do you think I’m not strong enough? Or is it just easier for you to trust Jack with all this than it is for me?”

“Sweetheart,” he sighed, his tone dipping into something softer, almost pleading. “I just… I can’t see you hurt or upset. Please.” You took a step back, shaking your head in disbelief. His words felt hollow, like they carried a concern that wasn’t rooted in knowing you, but rather in trying to protect an outdated idea of you. A part of him never could trust Trent. It didn’t matter who he was, it didn’t change the fact that you were the only girl he had left, and Trent’s life was far too risky for his girl. 

“Dad, you’re upsetting me right now,” you whispered, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady. He closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to compose himself. 

“Alright,” he murmured after a moment, his voice heavy with resignation. Slowly, he stepped forward and pulled you into a hug. His arms felt heavy around you, like he was holding onto more than just you in that moment—grief, regret, guilt. “I’m sorry, hun. Just… can ya give me a ring sometime? Let me know how you’re doing?” You let out a shaky breath, your defenses crumbling as his embrace tightened. 

“Okay,” you murmured weakly, unable to push him away when he was like this. You didn’t hate him or anything. It was just a strained relationship. One that was badly bruised but not broken. He pulled back, his hands moving to gently hold your face. His eyes, tired and watery, scanned yours with an unfamiliar tenderness. 

“Always here for you, alright?” he said, his voice softer now, more vulnerable. “Di’s right… beautiful…” His words caught you off guard, and before you could react, he leaned down and kissed your hair. There was something in his actions that felt like a glimpse of the dad you used to know—the one who saw you, really saw you, before the loss of your mum built an unspoken wall between you. But then he continued, and the weight of his words hit you like a wave. “Just like mummy was. Beautiful. So don’t lose that smile. I only have yours, sweetheart.” The compliment hung in the air, bittersweet and sharp. For a moment, the world seemed to pause as you absorbed what he’d just said. He was telling you you were beautiful, comparing you to your mum, but there was something beneath the words that made your chest ache. It wasn’t just a compliment—it was a plea. A reminder that your smile, your light, was all that was left for him now. You nodded silently, swallowing back the lump in your throat as tears blurred your vision. His hands lingered on your face for a moment longer before he stepped back, giving you space. But his words stayed, weighing heavy on your heart. He meant well, you knew that. But his love, wrapped in grief and unspoken expectations, felt like a burden you weren’t sure how to carry anymore.

The game had been intense, the energy of the stadium still ringing in your ears as you walked through the door. The weight of everything-the adrenaline from the game, the quiet tension in the air after the final whistle, and the lingering thoughts about the night-settled into your bones. You pushed the door closed behind you with a soft click, taking in the familiar scent of Trent's place, which should have felt comforting, but tonight it was a little too quiet. A little too still.  You couldn't hide the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your mind was still racing with everything that had happened that evening. You didn't want to talk, didn't want to think about the crowd, the noise, the emotions. You just needed to forget, to be lost in something else for a while.  He noticed immediately. 

"Sweet girl, you okay?" His voice was gentle, soft with concern, but there was also a warmth in it. He could see past the cloudiness in your eyes, he could see you were carrying something heavier than just the weight of the game. You tried to smile, though it was weak, and shook your head slightly. 

"Yeah, baby... I'm okay." You appreciated his presence, his effort to make you feel better. It meant more than you could express.He stepped closer, his hands sliding around you, pulling you into his embrace. He kissed the back of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

"Hmm my baby..." He hummed with his lips staying pressed to your skin. "Thank you for coming," he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin again, sending a shiver down your spine. His arms tightened around you, the security of his touch grounding you. "You looked so good tonight," he murmured, his words affectionate and full of admiration. You leaned back into him, feeling the heat of his body against yours. His lips found your ear, nipping gently at it, and you closed your eyes, giving yourself to the sensation. "Need to shower before we go out, you know," he cooed, his voice low and teasing.

"Mmmm... do you need company?" you smirked, your playful side slipping through the cracks of your exhaustion.

"Absolutely," he whispered, his hands moving to peel your jumper over your head, the cool air in the house sending another shiver through you. Without a word, Trent picked you up, effortlessly carrying you upstairs to the bathroom. You giggled at the suddenness, his strength a comforting presence. As he set you down in the ensuite, you eagerly stripped off the rest of your clothes, your movements frantic as you tried to rid yourself of the tension from the night. Trent followed suit, shedding his own clothes, his back pressed against the cold bathroom wall. "C'mere," he whispered, his voice deep, almost commanding. He moved towards you, his hands sliding down the back of your thighs, coming under your ass as he picked you up effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around him, kissing him messily, desperately. It was a kiss that spoke of more than just desire-it was about forgetting, about feeling alive in the midst of everything that had happened. He pulled away, loosening his grip slightly, his fingers fumbling as he turned on the shower. The sound of the water rushing from the showerhead filled the space, the hot water soon warming the air around you, enveloping you in steam. Trent stepped in first, pulling you closer to him. It wasn't long before you were pressed against the wall, your back to the cold tile as Trent moved inside you with a rough intensity. His lips were on yours between every thrust, soft words of affection-’I love you,’ whispered breathlessly as the water cascaded over your bodies, mingling with the heat of the moment. You were shaking, your body overwhelmed by the intensity, but Trent held you tightly, grounding you. As the minutes passed, your breaths grew shorter, the euphoric high mixing with the crash of emotions, the pressure of everything finally coming to a head. When it was over, Trent gently set you on your feet, his hands still supporting you as you clung to him, the warm water cascading down around you, and for a moment, everything outside of this moment seemed distant. It was just the two of you, wrapped in the heat of the shower, bodies pressed together, hearts still racing from what had just happened. Trent's arms around you felt like the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. He ran his fingers through your damp hair, his touch gentle now, almost reverent as if he was trying to savor the moment. "I love you," he murmured again, his voice soft but steady, as if he needed to remind both of you that, despite everything that had happened, this was real. You looked up at him, your chest still heaving from the intensity of it all, your lips tingling from his kisses. 

"I love you too," you whispered, your voice breaking slightly. Your emotions were all tangled, a mix of desire, love, and the lingering pain from the night. But in this moment, in his arms, it all seemed to fade away. Trent cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. 

"Don't let tonight get to you," he said quietly, his forehead resting against yours. "Let me take care of you." You nodded, closing your eyes and leaning into him, the warmth of the water and his embrace comforting you in a way nothing else could. It wasn't just the physical pleasure that had brought you together, but the connection, the way he made you feel safe, despite the storm of emotions swirling in your mind. He kissed you again, slower this time, more tender, letting the water continue to wash over you both as the world outside seemed to vanish. There were no distractions here, no chaos, just the two of you. For the first time that night, you allowed yourself to let go fully, to forget about everything that had happened-just for a little while. As the water began to cool, Trent gently helped you step out of the shower, wrapping you in a towel and pulling you close.  "We'll figure everything out," he promised softly. "Just... trust me, yeah?" You didn't answer right away, but his presence was enough. You didn't have all the answers yet, and there was still so much uncertainty, but in this quiet moment, in his arms, you felt like maybe, just maybe, things could still be okay. In the aftermath, the world outside seemed a distant memory, the quiet between you two an unspoken promise that for a little while, at least until you headed out for the night, you could forget everything else.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - Chapter 20 xx

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

Christmas at his Family's House

"The Thanksgiving Incident."

As you drove to your boyfriend's house for Christmas, you couldn't help but feel nervous after what you have not-so-lovingly dubbed "the Thanksgiving Incident." How were you going to spend three days with his family after accidentally messing yourself in a highchair and spending the rest of holiday diapered?

Maybe they forgot or were willing to ignore the incident, you thought to yourself. Brandon's mom and sister had clearly never told Brandon about what had happened. Or, at least if they had, he had never brought it up.

Regardless, you steeled yourself as you approached their front door with your bags, ready to endure whatever humiliation necessary to make a better impression on the family of the love of your life.

"You're finally here!" Brandon's mother said as she wrapped you up in a big hug, "I'm so glad that you're back! Oh, and look at all of those bags! Why don't you go put them in Cindy's room. We've got a bed set up for you in there."

"Cindy's room?" Brandon asked, a hint of protest in his voice, "Mom, we're adults! Can't she sleep in my room?"

Brandon's mother just shook her head and rebuffed her son's complaints. It was her house, and you were going to follow her rules. That meant not sleeping in the same room until you were married.

You couldn't help but blush as you walked into Brandon's older sister's room and saw the bed you would be sleeping in this weekend. Clearly a toddler bed brought down from the attic, the undersized bed was painted pink and made up with a unicorn bedspread.

Worse, when you set your bags on it, you could hear the tell-tale crinkle of a plastic sheet covering the mattress underneath. Before you had much time to ruminate on your sleeping arrangements, however, you were accosted from behind.

"You're finally here! Sorry about the bed, it was all we had. It should work fine for you though!" Cindy said as she enveloped you in a hug. "I'm just so excited you came with my brother to spend time with us again!"

You couldn't help but blush as the larger woman smothered you in her embrace. However, you also couldn't help but feel comforted by her exuberance at seeing you, and the fact she didn't bring up your humiliating Thanksgiving experience.

You also couldn't help but feel more relieved as the rest of the day went normally. Brandon's parents had picked up an extra chair for you for meals, keeping you out of the dreaded highchair. No one mentioned your messy incident earlier in the year. And, just like at the last holiday you attended, everyone was incredibly friendly and welcoming.

So, it took you by surprise when you went to Cindy's room to sleep to find a childish night-shirt and large diaper laid on top of the toddler bed that was yours for the weekend. You picked up the babyish article of clothing clearly meant for you in one hand and looked at it in disgust as Cindy walked into the room.

"Do you need help getting it on, sweetie?" She asked kindly, watching you examine the dreaded reminder of your last visit here.

"Um, no, I'm fine. I'll just wear my normal panties and pajamas," you responded, unable to hide the notes of timidity and fear in your voice.

Cindy walked up behind you and placed her hand gently on your back.

"Oh, baby, that's just not an option. Mom and I don't want to embarrass you, but, after what happened last time, we both agreed a little extra protection was in order, at least at night, until you could prove it wasn't necessary."

You looked up at the taller, older woman with desperate eyes.

"Please," you pleaded.

"Well," she said, taking a step back, "I could go explain the situation to my brother. He probably would have some sympathy for you. You could get a hotel room with him and wear whatever you want to bed! Mom and Dad would be sad, but I'm sure they'd understand."

You could feel your cheeks turn bright red at the just the thought of asking your boyfriend to get a hotel room for the night to avoid having to avoid wearing a diaper to bed because you had messed yourself at his parent's house just a month ago. Not wanting to make a fuss and determined to keep your secret, you took a deep breath and handed the diaper to Cindy.

"Yes, a little help with the diaper would be nice. I've never, um, diapered myself," you said as you began to strip away your adult clothes, and dignity, in front of the other women.

Cindy, for her part, only let one small, victorious grin cross her face before she agreed to help get you ready for the night.

When you woke up in the morning, something felt wrong. Not just the wrong of waking up in a small bed in a strange room. Something else was wrong, something worse. The padding between your legs felt bulky. Bulkier than last night. It also felt cold and clammy.

"No," you whispered as your reached down and pressed your hand to the crotch of your diaper, finding it soaked.

"No!" You said a little bit louder, trying not to cry.

You hadn't wet the bed since you were a little girl. Why was this happening here and now? What was wrong with you? Maybe the internet had answers.

Desperate to find a little bit of reassurance, and maybe to slip out of the room and change before anyone else noticed your soggy predicament, you started quietly searching your boyfriend's sister's room for your cellphone. For some reason, it wasn't where you left it. Before you could locate it though, Cindy woke up.

"Hey, are you ok? What's going on?" She asked kindly when she saw you on all fours on the floor, looking under your bed for your phone, your wet bottom on perfect display to her.

"Oh, sweetie, did you have another little accident? Just potty or did you make stinkies again?" She asked as if she were talking to a child.

Her voice and unexpected accusation caused you to jump, banging your head on the bed. Tears started to form in your eyes as you sat on the floor, immediately regretting your choice as you settled into the cool, soggy padding taped around your waist.

Cindy quickly got out of bed and started rubbing your back, comforting you.

"Don't worry, sweetie! It's ok! You're dating my brother. We're like family now! Your big sister's got you!" She said as she helped you stand up, discreetly checking your diaper for a messy load.

"Oh, wonderful, you're just wet! How about this," Cindy said, dropping to her knees in front of you, "I'll get this soggy thing off of you, then you can go shower? I'll help you change when you get feeling all clean. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Without waiting for your response, Cindy ripped the tapes of your diaper free, letting it fall between your legs with a wet plop. Desperate to escape your shame, you executed the older woman's plan without question, practically running to the bathroom to shower.

When you returned to the room draped in a towel and feeling much better, you immediately found yourself blushing again. The small bed you had just slept in was completely made. On the unicorn bedspread, next to your missing phone sat a clean diaper. Cindy, still in the room, looked at you with sympathy.

"I know, I know! It's embarrassing," your boyfriend's sister started, "But, sweetie, you have to agree it's for the best. We don't want a repeat of Thanksgiving, but, if we do have one, it's best to be prepared."

You sighed in resignation, not wanting to make a fuss. With almost no resistance, you assumed the now all-to-familiar diapering position on the floor and closed your eyes as Cindy diapered you for the third time in as many days spent with her.

After you were diapered, Cindy left the room to give you privacy as you finished getting ready. As you did, you noticed a large plastic bowl with water in it on her nightstand. It was curious to you, but you didn't give it much thought, as you spent most of your mental energy trying to figure out how to keep Brandon's hands off your ass for the rest of the day.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon went uneventfully, just like the day before. Brandon's family continued to treat you wonderfully, and, aside from occasionally having to remind your handsy boyfriend that you were in his parent's house, the diaper turned out not to be much of an issue.

At around 2:00 pm, Cindy went to the dining room to set the family table for Christmas dinner. At 2:03 pm, you heard a crash and swearing from the other room. Everyone jumped up to see what had happened.

"Shit, fuck, what the hell," Cindy said as you all walked in the room, finding her standing in front of a chair that had somehow completely fallen apart in front of her. "The damn thing just fell apart! I don't know what happened!"

She exclaimed as everyone looked at her with concern. As the debris was cleaned up, Cindy looked at her mother with concern.

"Mom," she said, "do you know what this means? We're short a chair again!"

Your boyfriend's mother immediately looked at you, blushing a bit herself as she made the next suggestion.

"Well, I think… I think we'll be ok," she then turned to you, "Baby, I hate to ask you to do this again, but, without an extra chair, I don't have much of a choice. Would you mind sitting in the highchair again? We know you fit."

"Of course she doesn't mind," your doofus of a boyfriend responded from behind you, clearly trying to appease his mom and earn you some brownie points with her. However, he was also completely unaware of your current situation with his family.

"Wonderful!" Brandon's mother said, embracing you in a hug before scampering to the attic to pull back down the dreaded highchair.

And that's how you found yourself yet again, strapped into a highchair at yet another of your boyfriend's family's holiday dinners, sat between your boyfriend and his big sister.

As you ate and conversed, you couldn't help but feel nervous. Those nerves sent butterflies to your stomach that were soon causing an all-to-familiar desperate feeling.

"Hey, Brandon," you whispered to your boyfriend, "do you think you could let me out of this thing? I need to use the restroom."

Brandon smiled as he got up and began to move your chair, ready to aide your escape from your childish confines. However, before he could unlock your chair's tray, Cindy called out.

"Brandon, get over here! I need help with the dishes!"

Brandon gave you an apologetic look as he stopped what he was doing and moved towards the kitchen.

"Sorry, babe! You know how needy Cindy is! I'll get dishes done quick and be right back."

You started to wiggle wildly as he turned his back to you, giving you all-to-familiar flashbacks to Thanksgiving. You looked for anyone that could help you, but your body was wracked by a cramp before you can call for help.

"Brandon!" You chirped out weakly as, suddenly, you lost control again.

You bent forward and grunted as, for the second time as an adult, you loaded your pants with a warm, brown mess while sitting in a cursed highchair.

Not wanting to make a scene, you just sat in your mess until your boyfriend came back with his sister.

"Babe, what's that smell?" He asked as he approached you.

"Sweetie, you didn't? Again?" Cindy asked as she walked over. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised after your little message last night."

"Didn't what? Little message?" Brandon asked, just as confused as you felt.

"She messed her pants, again," Cindi said, somewhat exasperated, "At least this time, you were wearing a diaper, right sweetie?"

You tried to move your head away from Cindy's light touch as she stroked your cheek like a child's.

"But, this is what you wanted, isn't it? You told me as much last night when you texted me about wanting to be my baby sister? My ~real~ baby sister. The family baby, really."

"I did what?" You yelled out stunned, Brandon's family starting to form an audience in the room.

"You know what you did. It's all right here," Cindy said, handing her phone to her brother.

After a few minutes if scrolling, he looked up at you with big, caring eyes.

"I didn't know, baby. I'm sorry, but I didn't know. This is definitely something I can give to you though," he said, way too supportively in your book, given the context of the conversation.

"I knew you'd be on board, and so are Mom and Dad," Cindy said, looking at her parents, who, in turn, were looking at you and nodding their heads supportively.

"No!" You yelled out, "I don't know what this is, but, no!"

Your protests were useless, however. After Cindy whispered quietly in his ear, Brandon pulled you from the chair, lifted you onto his hip, and began to carry you to another bedroom in the house.

You thrashed in his arms, but he held you firmly.

"I know you're going to fight this. I know you want to fight it. It was in your text to Cindy. But, I want you to know, I love you, and I know this is what you really want. Your messy butt here proves it."

Brandon patted your poopy diaper for emphasis.

"I just want you to know. I'm committed, my whole family is committed, to giving you what you want completely, even if that means 'convincing' you it's okay to let yourself give in."

"Put! Me! Down!" You screamed as you unsuccessfully tried to force your way out of his strong arms.

Your struggles stopped temporarily as he opened the door to the new room--a fully stocked nursery.

"Mom never could bring herself to change this room. Good thing for you, huh?"

"Noooo!!" You yelled, even more desperate to get away.

You weren't a baby. You wouldn't be treated like a baby. This wasn't right.

"You were real honest in that text, hm? You're going to make this hard. Oh, well!" Brandon said as he carried you to a rocking recliner in the room and threw you over his lap, messy diaper thrust up into the air. "Have it your way. Just remember, I'm just doing this because I love you. My whole family loves you."

Tears began to flow down your face as, for what felt like forever, your boyfriend ruthlessly spanked your upper thighs and padded ass until you let your body go limp in complete and utter submission.

Brandon then popped a pacifier in your mouth and proceeded to change your diaper and dress you in suspiciously large baby clothes, all at the direction of Cindy. You couldn't bring yourself to fight back, humiliated, and literally beaten, battered, and bruised as you were.

You spent the rest of the evening acting like a perfect infant for your boyfriend's family. Letting them hold, coddle, bottle feed, and burp you.

Eventually, your torment came to an end when Cindy decided to pick you up and carry you to the nursery for bed. As she changed your well-used diaper, you pulled out your pacifier and spoke just one word.

"Why?"

Cindy smiled, patting the front of your fresh diaper, causing powder to shoot out of the waistband.

"I already told you at Thanksgiving, sweetie, I've always wanted a baby sister. And now I have one!"

Cindy popped the pacifier back in your mouth as she lowered you into your crib.

"Don't worry, baby sis, I'm sure you'll come to love it as much as I do! Ni-night!"

The taller woman, ~your~ big sister, kissed your forehead before turning out the lights in the room and closing the door, leaving you alone to ponder what your life had just become.

[threestarsinline]

The Word of Your Body

Jason Todd x reader one shot

Summary: Jason comes back from patrol, but something is keeping his mind still somewhere out there. You're always there to bring him back and let him know he's safe. At home. With you.

Word Count: 5.8K

Category: Angst-ish because Jason is going through it but fluff because reader is there to comfort him

Warnings: Jason having a bad time

Author’s note: I know, I know, three fics in one year?? Who am I? Jsjksks truly an achivement for me, very happy and very proud hehe. Thank you for sticking with me and supporting my fics, I love you all. That said, enjoy!

It’s really incredible how much one can know about a person just by their body. From the way they move, to how they carry themselves, to the small gestures that they make in their day to day that reflect who they are, to the little telltale signs of how they’re feeling. A smile, a wrinkle between the eyebrows, a twitch of their hand.

And not just the movements of the body but you can also learn a lot from the singularities and marks that one has on their skin. A child with a scrape on their knee from running too fast on the playground. A chef with hundreds of small cuts on their hands from mastering the use of a knife. A ballet dancer with wounded toes. A painter with watercolors under their nails. A piano player with soft and delicate hands.

You can have a lot of information about a person just by observing them, knowing how they move and how their body reacts to things. A flinch from fear at the threat of danger. A shiver at the gentle touch of a lover.

That’s how you immediately know that something’s wrong when Jason returns from patrol. And you don’t even need to see him.

You’re reading in bed when you hear him come in. Always waiting up for him whenever you can. It isn’t difficult for you since you’ve always preferred staying up late rather than waking up early. Unless you have something to do early the next morning, you always wait for him to come home, to come to you, liking to see him as soon as he returns to make sure that he’s made it back to you safe and sound.

You either read or watch something on TV while you wait despite how many times he’s told you that you don’t have to wait up for him, that you should sleep. And every time you shake your head and say, “And go to sleep without you next to me? Never.” And every time Jason rolls his eyes at your stubbornness while his heart thrums in his chest at how much he loves you and then gently cups your face in his hands and kisses you softly.

And even when you can’t help it and you do have to go to sleep earlier or exhaustion wins over you and brings you to the depths of slumber without warning, Jason always approaches you quietly so as to not disturb you and kisses your forehead to let you know he’s home. If you’re on the couch he brings you to bed, and if you’re already in bed, he settles the covers better over you, just the way you like.

And those times you always smile in your sleepy state and unless he’s injured and needs your help patching him up, you follow semi consciously the sound of his footsteps around the apartment. The sound of the shower as he steps inside to rinse away the Gotham night clinging to him, the sound of rustling sheets as he finally climbs into bed with you, and are finally lulled back to sleep when warmth surrounds you as he brings you into his arms.

You’re no metahuman but you’ve developed a sixth sense for everything regarding Jason Todd. You would be able to easily spot him in a crowd of thousands after having just faintly heard his voice in the distance even if he didn’t have that white tuft of hair singling him out, all your senses zeroed in on him. It’s like your body and mind are always tuned to find him, like tweaking the dial of the car radio to find your favorite station and finding it on the very first try.

You have a master’s degree on Jason Todd and all of his movements, small gestures and twitch of expressions that he doesn’t even realize that he’s doing, you know it all by heart. You know that when the right side of his smirk pulls slightly at his cheek as he’s admiring you doing something mundane, he’s going to kiss you. You know that when he flexes his hands at his sides something is bothering him. You know that he’s going to laugh loudly and wholeheartedly when the sound makes his shoulders shake slightly before making its way up his throat, as if he’s trying to contain it but the laugh is so strong and spontaneous that he can’t fight it. And you know he’s in pain from a bruise on his ribs when he shifts his weight on his feet and a grimace appears on his face for just a second.

That’s how you know that something’s up when you hear him climb through your living room window and his steps don’t sound as if he’s trying to not make too much noise in order to not wake you up in case that you’re asleep, but as if he's trying to make himself as small as possible. It’s a subtle difference but it’s there. You know it because you’ve encountered it before.

Your worry only increases when in the next four seconds that it takes you to find your bookmark between the sheets and place it in your book, you don’t hear him move at all. He doesn’t come find you and he doesn’t call your name.

When you exit the bedroom you find him in the middle of the living room. He just stands there, shoulders hunched, red helmet gripped tightly in hand, head looking down, his hair falling over his forehead.

Something has happened. You don’t know what it is but your first worry right now is making sure that he’s okay. If he heard you come into the room he doesn’t show it. You take a couple of small yet purposeful steps towards him, making sure that they can be heard so that you can alert him of your presence, not wanting to startle him.

But nothing. He stays frozen.

You take a deep breath as your heart clenches at seeing him like this. It’s bad. Whatever has happened is really, really bad and it seems like Jason’s mind is still there. He’s not fully present with you right now.

But you know what you have to do. You have to bring him back here with you. Help him to separate himself, your loving, wonderful, and kind Jason from the horrors that Red Hood has to face every day.

You take another step in his direction. “Jason?” you whisper softly.

He doesn’t react. But he doesn’t flinch either. That’s good. He knows he’s somewhere safe. But he still needs to distance himself from whatever was out there. You finally come to stand in front of him, still not touching him. “Jay?” you try again while assessing him over, trying to pinpoint if he’s injured.

Again, nothing. But the hair that hangs over his forehead moves ever so subtly, almost in an imperceptible way, but you catch it nonetheless. The hair moved because he tilted his head in the slightest of ways. He’s listening to you. Knows that you’re there. You sigh in relief when you see his grip on the helmet lessen too. Good signs.

“I’m going to touch you, okay?”

He releases a deep breath, slowly allowing himself to let go, the tension that his shoulders held not as tight as before. Leaving his body slightly, leaving him at your mercy. He’s saying, Okay. Satisfied at that and at finding that he doesn’t seem to have any major injuries, you nod. Then, you gently and very slowly take his face in your hands to look at him. His eyes acknowledge you for a split second but then his emerald gaze returns to the floor, and you feel a crack forming in your heart at the utter sadness, desperation, and despair that you find in it.

Still, you feel him melt into your touch at his cheeks. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re home,” you offer softly.

He closes his eyes in response, reveling in the comfort that you bring him. Next, you take the helmet from his hand and set it on the kitchen counter before moving to the holster with his guns and very carefully unfastening its belt and leaving it all on the table. Helping him that way to step out of the Red Hood persona and everything that claws into it.

“Let’s take a shower,” you say, wanting to keep him informed of your every move. You take his hand and pull him with you towards the bathroom. He lets you guide him, fully trusting you but still not reacting to anything much.

You don’t ask him what’s happened. You don’t need to know. There are things that Jason doesn’t tell you about patrol. And you have no problem with it, knowing that he wants to separate those two parts of his life. But no matter what it is, you always let him know that he can come to you about them, that you’ll listen. That you’ll always be there for him. Always.

The other few times that you have seen him come home like this, slouched over and not talking much, you later learn, either by context from what you hear on the news and the streets, or by Jason directly telling you about it when he needs to let go and finally feels able share it, that the people he was after got away, that someone got hurt, or something like that.

But this time… This time something’s different. You have never seen him as bad as this. At least not from coming back from patrol. And it worries you. It worries you a lot and it kills you that you can’t do anything more than just be there for him. But it seems that that’s all that he needs right now so you settle on focusing on him.

From the guiltiness that hangs over him, tensing his shoulders and keeping his eyes down, and the distress and sorrow that you see in his gaze, you have a feeling that something terrible happened. Something that he couldn’t prevent. He couldn’t save somebody.

You can almost see how he’s replaying it in his mind, the shame and regret swirling in his head until they stiff all of his body. You need to reassure him, make him see how it isn’t his fault, how he did everything he could, and how he gave his all but how sometimes, despite how much you fight it and try to stop it, Gotham doesn’t let you escape the rot that runs through its streets.

Once you two reach the bathroom, you flick on the mirror light above the sink, casting you two in a soft golden light, not wanting to overwhelm him with the overhead one and its strong intensity.

You stand in front of him and help him take off his jacket before taking his hands in yours. He still doesn’t look at you as you take off his gloves. Once they’re gone, you take a moment to examine his hands, and you let out a sigh of relief at seeing that his knuckles aren’t wounded. Your thumbs softly trace the marred skin, small scars and irregular healing adorning his hands. You can’t help but bring them to your lips and press a long kiss to them, closing your eyes, trying to will away all the mental scars that they hold too just by the touch of your lips.

His hands, that could break bones but also mend and heal the most broken parts of yourself.

Despite what those hands either curled into fists or holding a gun could mean to other people, they’re precious to you. And one of the many wonderful parts of him. To you, they mean soft caresses while you’re laying in bed. They mean warmth when winter comes and he rubs them against your arms. They mean comfort, and safety, as he holds your sobbing body when you break down.

Their roughness both from handling dangerous weapons and using a pan to make you dinner. Jason Todd has a duality that still amazes you to this day, but you love all the multitudes that he contains all the same.

You then begin to remove his equipment. The chest armor, the knee pads, and any other protective gear, putting it all on the pile that you started with his jacket and gloves on top of the laundry basket to sort out later. Jason doesn’t move, only doing the movement necessary to help you undress him, like lifting his feet so that you can slip his boots off after having unlaced them.

But still, his gaze remains lost.

You set the boots to the side and get back up to your feet again. You walk around him to get the tub started for a bath, adding some oils and soap. You pass by him to exit the bathroom and grab some comfortable clothes for him after. Most of the time, unless it’s very cold, he normally sleeps shirtless with some sweatpants or even just his underwear during the hotter months, but you know that tonight he needs to feel covered, enveloped, protected. You begin to plan in your mind. A comfortable old shirt and sweatpants will do.

However, before you can even reach the doorframe and begin your walk to the bedroom, a hand wraps gently around your wrist. You whip back around, both surprised and glad at the same time that Jason has finally interacted with you on his own accord, this being the first contact with the outside world initiated by him. Another good sign.

You see Jason’s eyes fixed on your wrist before lifting his gaze to lock with yours.

Stay.

Your gaze softens and you take another step closer to him, almost being chest to chest. You lift your free hand to caress his cheek. “Of course,” you whisper. “I’m just going to grab you some clothes, okay? It’ll be five seconds.”

As you assure him, without realizing it, your thumb traces his cheek in the exact same motion that he has begun to rub soft circles into your wrist. He nods slowly.

“Okay,” you say and Jason releases his hold on you just enough for you to quickly slip to the bedroom. And just like you promised, you’re back just as fast, closing the door behind you so that the steam from the tub can warm up the room, starting to fog up the mirror too, and setting the clothes on the counter. And Jason still hasn’t moved an inch.

You stand in front of him again and delicately grab the hem of his shirt before looking up at him. And you don’t need words to understand each other. Can I?

Jason’s chin tips slightly. Yeah.

You slowly lift the shirt up his body and he raises his arms to help you. Once off, you leave the shirt with the rest of his discarded clothes. Then, with your hands in front of you so that Jason can see what you’re doing and anticipate your movements, you rest them on his shoulders and then gently slide them down his chest, feeling his well-worked muscles and creases from the scars on his skin.

Jason lets out a deep breath, the skin to skin contact grounding him. His eyes never leave you now, following every single one of your actions. And not because he needs to see what you’re doing in order to prepare himself, not anymore, but because you’re the only thing that seems real right now. The only thing tethering him to Earth.

Because to him, you’re his center of gravity. No matter how far he went, both in distance and into the depths of his mind, he will always come back to you.

You lean forward and press a tender kiss between his pecs. Jason shudders, feeling warmth, comfort, and light blooming from the spot that you kissed and extending through all of his body, from his torso to the ends of his limbs. Your touch like the first rays of sunshine after the coldest and longest night of the year in a frozen landscape, melting the frost and bringing everything back to life. Chasing away the Gotham chill clinging to his bones and the rigidness that holds him hostage. Replacing it all with you, just you. The warmth and safety that you provide.

Jason thinks that he wasn’t actually brought back to life all those years ago, just went through some kind of purgatory on Earth again until he reached his very own personal heaven. You. And he still has no idea what he did to deserve it.

Then you help him out of his pants until he’s standing in his underwear in front of you. His back is hunched, making him lean towards you but this time it’s not because of all the negative thoughts hanging over him, but because of the pull that you have over him, your gravity drawing him in.

You round him again to check the temperature of the water in the tub, though this time, Jason rotates his body to follow you, like a sunflower chasing the sun. Satisfied with both the water’s temperature and quantity, you close the tap.

“You want me to get in with you?” you ask, not minding that you have already showered for the day. Jason nods.

You nod to yourself and peel the shirt of his that you wear to sleep off your body, leaving you just like him, wearing only your lower underwear. And even with how exposed you two are, you’re not vulnerable. The air in the room thick not only with humidity but with the intimacy between you two. A kind that can only come from honest love and a complete feeling of trust.

But the air isn’t humming with electricity like in the other situations in which you two find yourselves with as little clothing as right now. Instead, the air is lulling, like a soft and warm wave gently rocking your body when you lay with your eyes closed in the sea. Comforting and lightening.

You discard both your final pieces of clothing and step into the tub, holding a hand out to Jason so that he can step in in front of you. When he joins you, you two finally sink your bodies in the warm and bubble covered water. You lean back at the edge of the tub with Jason between your legs, his back pressed to your chest, his head resting on your shoulder and your arms draped over his chest, all of you surrounding him, enveloping him, protecting him.

Even though the tub is relatively big, considering Jason’s huge frame, it wasn’t exactly meant for two, so you’re a mess of tangled limbs and warm bodies, but you can already feel Jason relaxing against you. You kiss the crown of his head and he finally closes his eyes.

You two lay there for a while, enjoying the hot water and letting it wash your worries away, the scent from the lavender oil that you used hanging in the air, calming your minds. You’re glad to see how the bath is helping Jason to let go of the events of the night, the remaining tension that clung to his body stripped by the water, and the memories from the night relegated to another place as you see the crease on his brows disappear as you draw gentle caresses on his chest.

You grab the shampoo bottle and start to wash Jason’s hair, working the roots and massaging his scalp to help him relax even further. Soon, hundreds of tiny white bubbles replace the sight of his black locks. You work on his hair longer than necessary but you can see how much it’s helping him, his breathing becoming even more deeper and slower. The only sign that he hasn’t fallen asleep, the hand that settles on your knee at his side.

You then rinse his hair, his white streak majestically poking between the black again. With a sponge you start to wash his body where you can reach, his shoulders, his upper arms and torso. When you’re done you maneuver yourself to sit in front of him, facing each other now. As you start to wash the rest of his arms, you see in his eyes that his thoughts are beginning to slip away, the events of the night calling him again. But you’re not having it. Nothing is taking Jason away from you tonight. Your goal, making him focus on you and only you.

“Can I tell you a story?” you say softly, your voice and the soft splash of water at the slightest movement the only sounds in the room.

Jason just shrugs his shoulders slightly. You nod as you focus on passing the sponge over his hands.

“It’s the story of a boy and a girl. About a wonderful boy and a girl who couldn’t believe her luck,” you begin. “One freezing winter afternoon, the girl slipped on some ice and the guy caught her by the waist, saving her from a pretty hurtful fate, though she almost brought him down with her. She apologized profusely as her cheeks warmed not only because of the embarrassment but because the man who’d caught her was the most handsome one she’d ever seen. But in her haste to step back from the stranger to try and save some embarrassment, she slipped on the ice again and he saved her once again.”

Jason can’t help the small smile that pulls at his lips. Because the story that you’re telling isn’t just any story. It’s your story. The story of how you met.

He wonders how you always knew exactly what to say. Hell, you could just be reading the grocery list out loud and he’d think that you deserved a Nobel Prize in Literature just because it came from you.

The sight of Jason’s smile pulls your lips into one too, and it warms your heart just like his worried gaze had done to your cheeks that very first day.

Both of you remember that day as clear as day, though neither of you could have ever anticipated how important it would be, how it had changed the course of your lives. You can still perfectly recall how he had cleared his throat awkwardly after catching you for the second time and his You alright, miss? How breathy his voice had sounded, as if something had taken his breath away, his heavy lower Gotham accent that had both surprised you and stirred something within you, and how vivid the green in his eyes was.

Just as bright as it is now as you continue the story. The shine that was always there whenever he looked at you.

“She had been pretty awkward, and she still can't believe how she’d managed to pull the kindest and hottest man in all of Gotham, the world even.” Jason snorts and you throw him a look, telling him not to question you because if there is one universal truth in this world—apart from the fact that a single man in possession of good fortune, must be in want of a wife—is that Jason Todd is the kindest and most gorgeous man that you have ever met.

“Though later he would reveal that he had found her nothing but endearing, despite what she might say about her awkwardness,” you continue.

Something about you already drawing him in. But just as quick as it all had happened, the moment passed by, and you two went your separate ways. Though not for long, because some time later, another afternoon, you were walking home when a running figure turned the corner and clashed into you. As you took a couple steps back to stabilize yourself you realized that you were head to head with the Red Hood. Which was strange since the sun was still setting and he had never been seen other than at night.

Jason hadn't planned on starting patrol so early but Tim had tipped him that some guys that he was after were having a meet up and Jason decided to give them a little surprise. Though that plan flew out the metaphorical window in the room of his mind as soon as he saw you again.

He had tried to forget the encounter in which he had saved the most beautiful girl that he’d ever seen from tumbling to the ground, and just as it seemed like he was about to succeed (not really, but at least manage to push the encounter to the back of his mind instead of your soft voice plaguing his every waking moment), he ran into you.

He stared at you bewildered, not believing that it was you, the sweet girl from the ice, and he was at a loss for words.

“Sorry,” you had said and at the sound of your voice he finally came out of his daze and shook his head.

“No need, it was my fault." He tilted his head. “You okay, miss?” You nodded, trying to ignore the shiver that ran down your spine at how similar he had sounded to your ice savior, his voice ingrained in your mind. And as much as Jason would have loved to stay there with you for a bit longer and hopefully learn your name, he had to get going, so he apologized again and you watched as he left.

And that should have been it. But somehow, it seemed like the universe had other ideas, crossing your paths later once again. And then one thing led to another and here you were now, sharing laundry and rent. Who would have thought? Certainly not you, when those strong arms caught you and you had no idea that they would become the place where you would feel the safest in.

Home.

Jason keeps listening as you finish recalling the start of your relationship. “And so their adventure together began. The clumsy girl from the ice and the boy that despite his rough exterior, had the gentlest, bravest, most selfless and most beautiful heart that she’d ever come to know.”

You finish the story with an enamored smile on your lips, the sweet memories fueling even more your love for him. A love and reassurance that you hope you have been able to convey in the story.

Jason sits in front of you with a small smile of his own, his heart beating golden light through his body, the love that you put there. His body finally relaxed and at peace, your hands holding his.

But then the smile falls from your lips as you see his eyes glass over. And even before he starts to tremble you pull him into you, wrapping your arms around him, his face hidden in your neck, his own arms snaking around you, holding you tight. And as the first tremors shake his shoulders, the first tears start to fall.

And you hold him through it. Taking everything that he needs to let go of in stride.

Because without the armor that he had built to keep his emotions at bay, swimming in the guilt and regret, once he finally relaxes, accepts that he’s safe and allows himself to be vulnerable, the dam breaks. And all the feelings come tumbling over.

The impotence. The sadness. The failure.

He’s not outright sobbing, the feelings working slowly but surely through him one by one. His body trembles slightly, a few tears falling onto your shoulder and a couple of sniffles here and there.

“I- I couldn’t-” He shakes his head and keeps silent once again. The first words that he’s said since he came home. The cracks in his broken voice forming ones in your heart. It stings more than salt in an open wound. You hold him as tight as you can. It’s like he needs to exteriorize these feelings and his body is allowing him to, but his voice can’t even go further than repeating that phrase over and over again. You shush him gently, letting him know that he doesn’t need to force himself to say anything. You’re here for him and that’s all that matters.

“It’s okay. You did everything you could, Jason. You’re a good man,” you whisper, trying to soothe the torture that he’s submitting himself to. But he shakes his head even more vehemently at your reassuring words and beautiful thoughts of him. Right now they don’t make any sense to him with how much he failed tonight. He’s not brave. He’s not kind. And he certainly isn’t good. He doesn’t know how you can say all of those things about him when he couldn’t-

You feel his internal monologue with how the time between his trembles, tears, and sniffles stretches. He’s lost in his head again. Thinking instead of feeling.

“Jason, hey, no. Stop,” you whisper gently but firmly. You unwind your arms from around him and take his head in your hands, holding his forehead to yours, looking into his eyes though his gaze avoids you.

“You are good. You’re kind, stubborn, funny, brave, determined, sarcastic, gentle, and loving. You’re all of those things. And sometimes things just go wrong and you can’t do anything to prevent them. You didn’t make any mistakes tonight, okay?” You don’t actually think that he can do anything wrong but you keep that to yourself. “Not being able to prevent something bad doesn’t make you any less of a good person.”

You can see how the thoughts race in his eyes.

“Jason. Look at me.” He finally locks eyes with you. “You know I’m not good at lying so listen to me when I say this. Whatever happened tonight is not your fault. You can cry. You should cry. You have to let go of everything that is storming inside you. What I’m not letting you do is convince yourself that you’re not good enough. Because you are, you hear me? You are.” You can’t help the tears that begin to prick at the corners of your eyes.

“I love you and I’m always going to be here for you for whatever you need, okay?” As a tear slips from your eye, Jason nods and hides in your neck again, letting his tears flow again. Letting himself feel. You envelop him in your arms once again.

“Okay,” he mutters against your skin. You sigh in relief and start to trace long shapes on his back.

You two stay there for a while, until both of you stop crying and his breathing returns to normal. And then you stay a little longer, just holding each other, Jason letting himself get lost in your soft skin and soothing scent, finally, finally, letting the night go. At least for now.

And then even a little longer, until the water turns lukewarm and a chill runs through your bodies.

“Want to go to bed?” you ask softly, threading your fingers through his hair, brushing away the damp strands falling on his forehead.

He nods slowly, lifting his head from your neck. “Thank you,” he whispers. You shake your head and he knows what you mean, You don’t have to thank me, I’d do anything for you.

“Come on,” you say and get up, offering him your hands. He takes them and gets up as well. You let the tub drain and step out of it, Jason following you. You quickly wrap Jason in a towel and then do the same with yourself. When you're done, he takes one of your hands gently and, while looking deep into your eyes, he kisses your knuckles. Thank you.

This time your gaze softens and you rest your hand against his heart. Of course.

After drying off you put your sleeping clothes back on and when you see Jason with the briefs that you brought already on and reaching towards the sweatpants, you gently swat his hand away. Let me take care of you.

He raises his hands in surrender and takes a step away from his clothes. Yes, ma’am.

“Are you hurt anywhere? Do you need me to patch you up?” He doesn’t seem to have any injury but you want to make sure. He shakes his head. You arch an eyebrow. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’s tried to lie to you about that. He nods, extending his arms so that you can examine him, showing how he doesn’t have any wounds. You wait for a beat before nodding.

You help him get dressed and all the while his fond gaze follows you. He’s sure that the best feeling in the world is being taken care of by you. That sunshine feeling blooming again in his chest. You’re so bright and he’s just so- No. He’s promised that he isn’t going to think like that anymore. At least not more tonight.

He follows your directions as you make him sit on the toilet and watches as you comb his hair. But then he can’t help but close his eyes at how relaxed he feels under your care. When you’re done you kiss his forehead and he hums as you run your hand through his hair. When he opens his eyes again, you’re extending a hand to him and he takes it without hesitation.

You turn off the bathroom light and guide him to the bedroom. You climb into bed, your side always the furthest one from the door, no matter where you are, at home, at the manor, or traveling, Jason makes sure of that, and you open your arms, inviting him into your embrace. Jason gets into bed, laying half on top of you, and wraps his arms around your waist as he nuzzles into your neck, your legs tangled. You drape the covers over you both, practically burying yourselves under them and wrap your arms around him, protecting him from anything that could hurt him. Your very own cocoon.

He gives your waist a slight squeeze. I love you. You kiss his hair in return, hugging him even tighter.

And as you hold him tight, the two of you know that what happened tonight out there would still haunt Jason despite all your reassurances. But just as you know that, you also know that you’re always going to be there for him. To love him and care for him. So, for tonight, Jason lets himself be lulled to sleep by the sound of your heart. Each rhythmic thump thump telling him, I got you, you’re okay, I love you, over and over again.

Just like for you with him, your arms the place where he feels safest in. Home.

Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

[cjlouwho]

Twelve Christmases

Chapter tags: Michael returns, implied homophobia

read below or on ao3

Day 8: 2017

Tommy hadn't stepped foot in his hometown in fifteen years.

And when he did return home, he hadn't planned on saying much.

He planned on sitting back and watching his father be a disaster with his new family.

A stepmother of eight years that he'd never met.

A stepsister and two stepbrothers he couldn't tell you the names of.

Step nieces and nephews and cousins. Tons of people for his dad to embarrass himself in front of on Christmas day.

What he didn't expect was for them to all be so damn happy.

His stepmom, Tina, laughing and giggling with Michael by her side.

His step siblings giving him a hug.

The kids all running to him, calling him grandpa.

Not a bottle of beer in sight.

It filled Tommy with a rage he hadn't felt in years.

And it caused him to blurt out the one thing he'd only just been able to admit to himself a few months earlier.

“I'm gay.”

The room fell silent, everyone gathered at the table for Christmas dinner. All eyes were on Tommy as he stared down his dad as though he were daring him to react.

The seconds ticking by felt like hours.

“Hm,” Michael finally breathed out. He picked his fork up, motioning around the table. “Come on now, let's eat, food's gettin' cold.”

The silence faded away with the sounds of utensils clanging on dishes, and whispered conversations picking up between guests.

Tommy continued to watch his dad, who was smiling over at Tina as they spoke to one another.

“Hey, congrats,” one of Tommy's stepbrothers (Sam, he thinks), leaned over and said to him.

“Are you congratulating me for being gay?” Tommy deadpanned.

“No, just for like, coming out or whatever. I know- or, well, I've heard- that it's like, ya know, tough and stuff.”

Tommy had to fight back every retort that was popping into his brain. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It's real tough and stuff.”

Then Sam (or is it Jim? Henry? Steve?) reached out and patted his shoulder. “Proud of you, Bro.”

Tommy wished his eyes were laser beams that he could use to shoot directly at the hand Sam-Jim-Henry-Steve touched him with.

Instead, he plastered on a smile. “Thanks.”

*****

They didn't get another chance to speak until everyone else had left. Tina went to get a shower and Tommy found himself in the living room with his dad.

“So?” he started, not bothering to sit. “What have you been holding in?”

Michael, who had been focused on the TV, muted it before turning to look over at Tommy. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“There it is.”

“You don't come around for fifteen damn years and when you finally do, you act like an ass all day long. We sit down for a nice dinner and you say something like that?” he shook his head. “I don't even know what to think of you.”

“I wasn't acting like an ass all day,” Tommy defended. “I've been so unbelievably confused by whatever game you've been playing! Who the hell even are you?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I have never, not once, seen you sober on Christmas. Hell, I never really saw you on Christmas at all. When I did, it was a nightmare! You certainly weren't picking me up and spinning me around like you did those kids today. It's all some weird ass show you're putting on.”

“Hey!” Michael stood, standing face to face with his son. “It is not a show. I love that woman and all the people that come with her!”

“So that's what this is? You just never loved mom? Or me?”

“Your mom was weak, Tommy! She didn't know what I needed.”

“No, that was the problem!” Tommy yelled, poking at Michael's chest, “She was only ever here for what you needed!”

Michael smacked Tommy's hand away. “We're not talking about this right now. We're gonna talk about that- that lie you told at dinner just to try and upset me.”

Tommy stood up straight, his heart pounding. “It's not a lie. I'm gay.”

“No, you're not.”

“I think I'd know a little better than you.”

“I will not...” Michael's voice trailed off as he breathed heavily through his nose. Tommy was pretty sure fire would be coming out if that were possible.

“What?” Tommy taunted. “You will not what?”

“I want you out of my house,” Michael said, teeth gritted together. “I don't need you around my family.”

Tommy huffed out a laugh. “Around your family? What am I then, Dad?”

“An embarrassment!” Michael screamed, no hesitation.

Tommy pursed his lips, nodding. “Now that's the dad I know,” he said, his voice wavering slightly. “I'll get my stuff, leave tonight.”

As he left the living room and headed down the hall, he stopped when he saw Tina standing in the doorway of the main bedroom. It was just like his mom used to do all those years ago.

“Tommy,” she said, her voice quiet, sad. “You don't have to go tonight. You can stay.”

Tommy shook his head. “No, I'm not gonna stay. Thank you though.”

He continued toward his childhood bedroom to grab his things. He'd never really unpacked anyway.

“I didn't know,” she said, stopping him again. He turned back to her. “I've never heard him like that before.”

He smiled at her sadly. “It's okay,” he assured her. “I have.”

[evajzcks]

shattering control ── tom riddle x reader

summary: tom gets in a fight for you for the first time and you help him clean his wounds

warnings: none? grumpy tom x sunshine reader

word count: idk but it is short

everything happened so fast. one moment, he was standing in the hallway, and the next, he was throwing punches at the guy who was trying to get your attention.

tom wasn’t an impulsive man. he never acted on impulse. everything he did was calculated, controlled, and with the intention of achieving something. but the moment he saw the discomfort on your face and the way the ravenclaw was grabbing your arm, he lost it.

“hey, I’m trying to talk to you,” you said when you noticed tom wasn’t listening to you.

“i’m listening,” tom muttered, still lost in his thoughts.

his hands were still shaking from adrenaline. when he closed his eyes, he could still see the red that blinded him the moment he lost control.

“you’re clearly not. otherwise, you would’ve sat on the bed already,” you said, rolling your eyes. “you’re just standing there like a creep.”

after tom finally came back to his senses, you brought him to your room and tried to clean his knuckles. but he just stood there, staring at his bloodied hands.

your relationship with tom wasn’t a secret to anyone. most of the time, the two of you were together after being paired up in defense against the dark arts class. it all started with silent study sessions in the library, both of you enjoying the other’s presence. then came lingering looks, followed by little touches here and there.

while you were energetic, bright, and talkative, tom was calm, controlled, and dark. yet somehow, your contrasting personalities seemed to complement each other perfectly.

“i was just thinking,” tom finally said after a moment, sitting on your bed and watching as you grabbed what looked like a first-aid kit.

“care to share your thoughts?” you asked, softly taking his hands and beginning to clean his wounds with care.

“i don’t know what happened to me,” he admitted quietly. the way you were tending to his hands, the fight, the blur in his head—it all felt too overwhelming.

tom hadn’t been raised with a family, nor had he ever cared about anyone but himself. that was, until you came into his life. now, the rage that consumed him when he saw the guy with you felt like it was tearing down the control he’d spent years mastering, along with the walls he’d built around his emotions.

“why don’t you use magic?” tom asked, watching you with a soft but puzzled expression. “it’s more efficient.”

“but it’s less caring,” you replied, kissing his hands gently. “and clearly, you feel something very strong for me, considering you just got into your first fight over a girl and almost killed a classmate.”

“if i acted with control, i probably would’ve done worse,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he noticed the smile tugging at your lips.

“oh yes, you would’ve hexed him!”

“worse…” he murmured, disgusted with his actions. if he’d waited, he might have ended up tossing a body into the black lake by now.

“he was bothering me, but you know you can’t just kill everyone, right?” you teased, starting to clean the small bruise on his lip. “i’ll kiss it better.”

“you’re mine, and people should know that,” tom said, pretending to be annoyed by the care you were giving him. “you’ve grown too soft.”

“and you’re grumpy,” you replied, placing a soft kiss on his lips and smiling slightly. “also, you can’t say I’m yours when you won’t even let me call you boyfriend.”

“don’t play with that, Y/N,” he said, gripping your hips firmly as he pulled you into his lap, his earlier worries long forgotten. “that term is too mundane. you know we’re past that.”

a/n: this is my first fanfic here on tumblr so let me know if you liked!!!!!!!! i might do a part two but this time longer 😞

[ssentimentals]

hi! pretty please can i ask for a hurt prompt (1) with dokyeom? 🥹🥹 idk if it's relevant but i'd like to see him being busy and stuff and starts to forget about his s/o (completely pretty irrelevant) but you could also do it on your own way, either way i'd be grateful! thank you so much <3

hi hi my pretty! thank you for requesting! 💜 hopefully you will like it!

hurt prompt: 'every time i see you, i feel more alone.'

in all honesty, you are surprised that this haven't happened earlier. your patience was wearing thin for almost two months and today it finally snapped. seokmin looks as angry as you do, maybe even angrier and isn't that funny? 'i am working,' he seethes, tone going high like never before. 'so sorry that i can't text you every single minute!'

you laugh hysterically, torn between wanting to run away and throw something at his face. 'have i said that i want that? no! i am saying that for the last two months you acted like i don't exist, seokmin! this is not okay!'

frustrated, your boyfriend runs his fingers through his hair, messing them up even more. 'i am trying hard for both of us,' he mutters, trembling with fury. 'i am trying for us and instead of being understanding you-'

'understanding?' you interrupt, shouting. 'have i not been understanding when you missed almost every single dinner? when you didn't show up at my events that were important for me? haven't i been supportive with sending you food, encouraging messages, fucking hell, seokkie, i-' you pause, breathing in. your voice trembles, when you spit out: 'every time i see you, i feel more alone. it's like you're not even here when you're with me. it's like- like i don't have a boyfriend, seokmin. and you promised to never make me feel alone.'

previous angry cloud above you two instantly dissapates at those words. seokmin blinks, face morphing from anger to pity and then self-loathing. he watches as you wrap your hands around yourself and his heart breaks; when he is here, how can you do this to yourself? jumping up from his place, he takes you into his arms with determination and gentleness, hugging you tight as you break down into heartbreaking sobs. 'i'm sorry,' he whispers, caressing your back. 'i didn't- i just didn't notice. it wasn't intentional, i promise. i just wanted to get more bonuses before christmas, wanted to spoil you this year and got so into the work that i forgot about anything else. i'm sorry baby, i'm so sorry.'

you forgive him, of course. your heart can't stay mad at seokmin for longer than five seconds; it seems like your heart can function normally when you and seokmin are alright. you hug him back, relishing the warmth and familiar scent, needing this all those two months. 'i just want you,' you mutter into his shoulder. 'i don't care for bonuses.'

'oh, love,' seokmin kisses top of your head, sighing. he feels so foolish now and his mind can't comprehend how did he manage to be so blind. 'you've already got me.'

'you owe me two months of being clingy,' you say, trying to lighten the mood. 'and affectionate. and i want a lot of chocolate.'

seokmin chuckles, thanking god that he sent you his way. 'sure, baby. anything you want. anything.'

a/n: request your own here! <3 - nini

[seokmthw]

the good side | kim jiwoong

⇢ pairing: jiwoong x reader

⇢ warnings: harry potter au, slytherin!jiwoong, hufflepuff!reader, fluff, angst, all characters are adults, implied afab reader but still gender neutral terms, pretty hot & heavy makeout scene, mentions of sex (nothing explicitly written out, but i'd prefer minors not interact), jiwoong acts kinda like draco malfoy

⇢ synopsis: a slytherin and a hufflepuff are an unlikely pairing, but somehow you found each other into the late hours of the night, keeping each other company and developing feelings you eventually have to face.

⇢ word count: 5k

⇢ note: my harry potter hyperfixation is coming back and this is entirely self indulgent, but i hope you all enjoy too!

i.

there was an excited buzz filling up the great hall as you stood by its entrance with the other batch of anxious first years, awaiting to go in and be sorted. you weren't sure where you would end up, but you really didn't care – so long as you got along with your classmates and you were able to find friends that were genuine. you twiddled with the sleeves of your robes, feeling your heart lurch in your chest as the large doors finally opened with a loud squeak, announcing your arrival to the hundreds of other hogwarts students inside.

all eyes were on your group as you walked down the aisle and up to the front, where the stool was sat just up a few stairs and professor mcgonagall was holding the sorting hat in all of its tattered glory. you made small talk with a girl you'd slowly become friends with as you watched the first person clumsily clamber up the stairs and have the hat placed on its head.

your eyes kept scanning the area surround you, and you'd locked gazes with kim jiwoong, who had made his presence known and commanded the attention of everyone on the train earlier that day. you'd heard a lot about him from the whispering voices, about how he was incredibly hateful and always barking orders to people around him, but didn't care to listen to other people’s perceptions of him. his eyes bore into yours, but it didn't feel scary, as other people had described him – he was almost unreadable. you offered him a small, genuine smile, and you swore you saw him flash one back at you, but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced with his usual scowl as he was called up to be sorted.

you watched as he sat down, and the sorting hat was placed on his head for less than thirty seconds before it was bellowing out “slytherin!” and a look of pride had washed over the dark haired boy before he went and sat down with the table of older students who were cheering for him.

you watched as people continued to be called and sorted, anxiously awaiting for your name. and soon, there it was, and you were leaving your friend behind and nervously sitting down on the stool. professor mcgonagall smiled at you, her eyes turning into crescents before she set the hat atop your head. it almost felt like all the voices around you were drowned out, and you could only hear the hat as he got lost in thought, announcing everything to the rest of the crowd in front of you.

“hmm, you're a tough one, my friend. i can sense your courage and bravery, your willingness to stand up not only for yourself but for the people you love…” his voice trailed off as he thought some more, the table of gryffindors growing antsy with anticipation for you to be sorted into their house.

“ah! but wait, i can feel something deeper. you're gentle and kind, loyal to your friends, and you have a pure heart. one that shouldn't be tinkered around with. this feeling is growing stronger within me, and i think i have made my decision.”

he grew silent for a moment and it felt like the chatter of the room had gone away completely. every second that passed by was agonizing and you wanted so badly to just be off that stool and away from the burning eyes of the student body.

finally, he bellowed, “you'll be best in hufflepuff!”

a roar of cheers erupted from the students dressed in yellow and black and they graciously welcomed you to their table. amongst the sea of people, you caught the gaze of jiwoong once again, this time a knowing look on his face.

almost as if he'd known this is where you'd be.

ii.

your time at hogwarts felt like they were flying by – you were in a constant state of honing your magic skills, studying for exams and finding the time for recreational activities. before you knew it, you were in your fifth year, and you were under the tyranny of dolores umbridge and her constant nitpicking at each and every little thing the student body did.

it was exhausting.

you found yourself sneaking out of the castle late at night after finishing your studies, careful not to get caught, and sitting by the black lake, watching as the stars glittered beautifully in the sky and moon reflected off the still water before you. it was peaceful, and you found solace in getting away from the hustle and bustle you'd been surrounded by for so long.

which is where you were tonight, where it was chilly, and you were wrapped up in a cardigan and sighing in contentedness, your breath clouding before you as you did so. you closed your eyes, relishing in the feeling you had, until a cool, quiet voice drew you away from your thoughts and back into the present.

“i didnt think you would be one to sneak out of the castle.”

you opened your eyes to be greeted with the sight of jiwoong in front of you, one of your eyebrows quirking up in confusion, “i suppose this is why we shouldn't always judge people based upon our first impressions of them.”

jiwoong gave you a curt nod, motioning at the spot on the ground next to you, “care if i join you?”

“not at all,” was your reply.

you kept your eyes trained on the lake, feeling the chill in the air fight to cut through your cardigan and to your skin beneath it. there was an oddly comfortable silence between the two of you, both just taking in your surroundings and letting the stress of the first few months of fifth year wash away from you.

but the silence didn't last for long because jiwoong was opening his mouth again, asking you, “i’ve seen you come out here a lot, why? what's so special about it?”

you turned to look at him, taking note of how attractive he actually was up close. his dark hair was parted in the middle, exposing just enough of his forehead, the moonlight was caught in it almost perfectly. his slender nose and sharp features really stood out to you amongst the darkness, and you studied him for a moment before you finally said, “it's just nice to have a break from all the ruckus and commotion every once in a while,” you met your eyes with his now, “i could ask you the same.”

“i-” he began, but he shook his head, his intense stare now focused on the frost-covered ground below the both of you, “nevermind, it's stupid.”

you were sure what overcame you, but you reached out to him, resting a hand in his knee as you said, “nothing you feel is ever stupid, you know.”

at your words, jiwoong’s gaze softened, and you felt like he was showing you a side of him nobody else has seen before. he seemed to be fighting something internally, and finally, his shoulders slumped in defeat as he quietly said, “sometimes it's nice to not have to put on a front, not always uphold this reputation i've built for myself.”

“i get it,” you offered him a genuine smile. you began to stand up, shaking a few blades of grass from your pants. you looked at jiwoong once again, who was still sat in his spot, and said, “if you ever feel like you need a break from it all, you're always welcome to join me out here. there will never be any judgement.”

“thank you, y/n,” his words were sincere.

you gave a small smile to him, nodding in acknowledgment, “goodnight, jiwoong.”

–––––

jiwoong had taken you up on your offer more than you ever anticipated, and the both of you found yourselves enjoying the company. you'd fallen into comfortable conversation, and you'd finally gotten to know more about him, and to say you were starting to develop feelings for him was an understatement.

you couldn't help but feel giddy after every late evening spent with him, feeling a blush creep onto your cheeks whenever you finally made it back to your dorm and recounted each night in your head. beneath the surface that was kim jiwoong was someone who was kind and caring, always thoughtful. at least, that's the side of him that he showed to you.

this evening was different, though – you'd arrived later after serving a detention issued by umbridge earlier in the day. you stumbled down the small slope that led to your little tucked away spot, blood trickling down the length of your fingers and tears blurring your vision as you attempted to find him amidst the cloak of darkness the night had to offer.

jiwoong's usually large smile was soon replaced with a frown, a look of concern washing over his features upon seeing the state you were in, and anger dancing in his eyes the moment he took notice of your crimson coated hand. he reached out, helping you sit down, and trying his best to get you to look at him, but to no avail. you were so ashamed to be sat in front of him like this, and you almost wished you didn't even come to sit with him.

he didn't pry, though. instead, he sat there with you, the only thing filling the silence being the faint chirp of the crickets and your sniffles as you continued to cry. he reached out, grabbing your hand with his gently, and you felt your heart flutter at the gesture. he wiped away the blood with the sleeve of his robe, revealing a sentence etched deeply into your flesh.

i will not talk back.

this is when he finally broke the silence, his voice quiet, but frustration and anger laced in each and every word he spoke, “what the hell did that woman do to you?”

“made me write dozens of sentences with my own blood,” you laughed scornfully, wiping away at the tears that continued to stream down your face with your unoccupied hand.

“she's lucky i don't hex her,” he stated, which earned a quiet chuckle from you, “i mean it, y/n, i don't understand how someone can be this cruel to you.”

“just the way the world works, i suppose.”

you finally looked up at him, your glossy eyes nearly making the slytherin’s heart break right then and there. if there was anything he never wanted to see again, it was you crying. he reached out and swiped his thumb beneath your eyes, collecting the fresh tears that had just fallen. the look on his face was tender, and you felt your stomach doing backflips the longer his hand lingered on your face. but it was gone all too soon, and he looked you up and down, taking notice of your lack of robes on a night as cold as that one.

he slipped his overcoat off and draped it around your shoulders, ignoring all of your protests and securing you in the warmth that lingered inside of it. the fabric smelled so good, of expensive cologne, and you closed your eyes, quietly thanking him for such a kind gesture. you sat next to each other now, the silence comfortable but you felt yourself longing for his touch again.

you decided to be bold, to make a move, and rested your head on his shoulder. you didn't feel him tense up like you thought he might, the feeling in the air didn't change.

instead, he rested his head atop yours, gazes cast out to look at the moon as it glistened on the water.

iii.

your fifth year had come and gone, umbridge was finally out of hogwarts, and your feelings for jiwoong grew stronger by the day. your nights were spent getting cozier, sometimes his arm laid around your shoulder, other times your head in his lap, and occasionally your fingers intertwined with each other.

you'd delved into the conversation of how you didn't really acknowledge one another aside from sparing a few glances outside of these stolen moments at night, and you'd spent a great deal of time promising jiwoong you understood how much his reputation meant to him and that you were okay with how things were now.

since your sixth year was just starting, many of your classmates were our mingling and not returning until the very last possible moment, so jiwoong had mustered up the courage to invite you spend time with him in the slytherin dorm, which you'd accepted almost too eagerly. but your friends had peeved you greatly before you left, and you needed to get it off your chest. so there you were, sat on his bed, ranting to him about how some of your friends had made fun of you for not kissing anyone yet.

“i mean, i know it makes me a loser, but i don't just going around kissing people that mean nothing to me,” you stated, though you were growing more and more upset by the second.

jiwoong sat and listened quietly as you continued, his fingers tracing shapes on your back and a soft smile delicately tugging at the corners of his lips. once you finally stopped talking, you felt your cheeks heat up, surely fire engine red by now, and bashfully smiled, “sorry, i got a little carried away.”

“nothing to apologize for,” he softly responded, “and for the record, not having been kissed doesn't make you a loser.”

“i don't know, it feels like everyone around me has, my friends, strangers in the hall, hell, even you,” you replied.

jiwoong chuckled, his fingers still continuing their pattern, “actually, i haven't.”

your eyes widened at his confession and you began profusely apologizing, “i shouldn't have assumed, i’m so sorry. i just know you have a lot of friends and i figured -”

“y/n, it's alright,” jiwoong cut you off, amused with how flustered you had gotten. you were frustrated with yourself.

maybe it was because your friends had really gotten under your skin. maybe it was because you were sitting in jiwoong’s bed, surrounded by his smell, grazed with his touch. maybe it was because your feelings for him had grown impossibly big. you weren't sure, but you did know that you were embarrassed beyond belief.

a silence fell amongst you, and while you would normally welcome it, you couldn't help but feel like there was tension. not bad tension, though. you couldn't quite pinpoint it.

jiwoong parted his lips to speak, “you know, y/n, i think we might be able to help each other out in this situation.”

“please don't feel like you have to do that because i'm upset about it, i’ll be okay, really,” your eyes were as wide as saucers and you were fighting the urge to just get up and run back to your dorm, but you didn't.

instead, jiwoong reached his hand out to cup your cheek, his gaze almost unreadable, as he said, “i want to. if you'll let me, of course.”

you nodded, feeling your breath hitch in your throat as he inched closer, tilting his head as he closed the distance between the two of you, sealing your lips in a gentle, relieving kiss. he was warm and soft and so perfect. you snaked your arms around his neck, which granted him access to kiss you deeper, his hands finding purchase on your waist.

he finally pulled back, a grin immediately visible, and he asked, “how was that?”

you giggled, “perfect, you're perfect.”

he kissed you again, this time with a little more intent behind it, and molded your lips together. his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, begging for access, and you granted that to him, allowing him to explore your mouth. he shifted his weight, laying you down onto the mattress, your head resting on his silk covered pillows and arms still around his neck.

he kept one hand on your waist while the other propped him up as he hovered over you, the same smile on his face as he leaned down, hot breath fanning onto your ear as he mumbled, “you're the perfect one.”

his lips met with the tender skin of your neck, leaving gentle, but intentional kisses in a spot that made your head spin. your hands gripped the hair at the base of his neck and he chuckled, the vibration blooming as he worked his way to your jaw and back up to your lips, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt.

you pulled away from him, feeling slightly panicked, but he remained as calm as ever, smooth voice saying, “we don't have to do anything you don't want to.”

“it's not that, i just, i haven't…” you didn't go on to finish your sentence, because he knew what you were alluding to, and you felt relief wash over you as he whispered, “me either.”

the rest was a blur, your clothes coming off piece by piece and the soft kisses he left scattered about your body causing electricity to flow through your veins in a way you never thought it could. he was impossibly gentle, his touches feather light and his words sweet as he mumbled how beautiful you were against your skin. he kissed you through it all, making you feel so special and so cared for, and made sure your comfort was a priority.

now you were curled up into his side, one of his shirts engulfing your frame and your cheek pressed against the bare skin of his chest, listening to his heartbeat and steady breathing as the two of you laid there, basking in each other for what felt like ages. the sun was beginning to set and students would be coming in from curfew soon, so you reluctantly put your clothes back on allowed him to walk you out of the his dorm, through the common room, and back into the usual hustle and bustle of hogwarts.

“see you tomorrow?” you asked, the hopeful glint in your eyes difficult for him to miss. there was something unreadable in his expression, but it was gone as quickly as it came, and his usual soft smile he reserved for you was back.

“of course."

iv.

running late for potions was not something on your morning agenda, but here you were, sprinting through the halls in a futile attempt to make it on time. overslept and managed to get ready at a speed you never have, but since you'd started making your way there class had started. sure, it wasn't long, but it wasn't the start you wanted for your first day back at classes since having the summer off.

but your mind had been in a haze since your previous night with jiwoong and you were up late overanalyzing the look on his face that you briefly caught. you finally managed to convince yourself it was nothing, but it was mere hours before you were supposed to be awake when you finally dozed off.

you grateful to see the door to the potions classroom and even more thankful to see at least two other students hanging their heads as you walked into the room behind them. you got a scolding from professor slughorn, but you were lucky enough to scrape by without having any points taken from your house.

you slid into the first empty seat you saw, trying to tune into the lecture about the polyjuice potion, but you found yourself scanning the faces of your classmates to try and find the one you wanted, finally finding him at his potion station just a few away from you. he looked up, almost as if he could feel your gaze burning into him, and locked eyes with you all for a brief moment before he quickly turned away, cracking a joke with one of his friends.

you both did talk about the whole bit acknowledging each other that much, but you had never seen him turn away so quickly; he always at least shot a smile your way.

you blinked in confusion, but shook your head to yourself as you turned the page in your book to the recipe you needed, getting to work upon professor slughorn’s command. you somehow managed to get it perfectly on the first try, despite your mind being fuzzy, but you hoped that maybe you could talk to him later that evening about it. he was always receptive.

but your typical nightly escapade came and jiwoong was nowhere to be found. he hadn't missed a day since he first came and sat with you. your hand furiously wiped at the tears prickling at your eyes as you made your way back into the castle, heart lurching in your chest at the thought of having to go to bed without talking to him.

the next few days passed by exactly the same; he refused to look at you, avoided you in the halls, and never met you in your spot by the lake. your confused heart couldn't take much more of it, and against your better judgement one morning, you followed him amongst the sea of students when he was walking alone and grabbed his wrist, pulling him off into a secluded corridor.

he was caught off guard, but his expression turned from one of surprise to one of guilt. you did what you could to keep your voice steady, but you knew it was a matter of time before you snapped.

“why are you avoiding me?”

the silence hung thick in the air between the two of you, and jiwoong’s eyes softened when he saw the mournful expression you adorned. his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, desperate to get the words out. his expression hardened a little bit as he said his next words, “i just have my reputation to think about.”

“you've got to be joking,” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest, “that hasn't stopped you from meeting me every night for the past year, and it certainly didn't keep you from kissing me or making your way into my pants.”

jiwoong’s face contorted into a scowl, and his words were harsh, “you just don't understand.”

you were taken aback; in all the time you've known him, from the very first day you saw him at the ceremony, he hasn't so much as given you that scowl, let alone spoken to you in such a tone. regret flashed across his face, but you were quick to the punch, “you know, jiwoong, i think i understand perfectly,” your voice was quivering now as you desperately tried to keep the lump in your throat down and the tears from spilling onto your cheeks, “you're just like people say they are.”

and with that, you stormed off from him, tears clouding your vision and the sob you'd held back ripping from your lungs, earning confused looks from the students you passed by, leaving jiwoong in your wake.

he never wanted to see you cry like you did after your detention with umbridge, but here he was, and he was the cause of it.

v.

the following weeks consisted of avoiding jiwoong at all possible costs. you sat at the tables furthest from him in the classes you shared, sat at your house table in the great hall with your back facing slytherin entirely, and not even bothering to go to the lake, because you'd seen him there waiting for you, likely to try and fix the damage he had caused. but he made himself clear, and you were going to stick to that.

you were sat now in defense against the dark arts, cracking jokes with your friends in a futile attempt to feel better, and the room grew quiet when professor snape waltzed in, his usual intolerance for the chatter evident. he soon at the front of the room, voice deep and stern, as he began the lesson, “you all are in your sixth year now, and i suspect you've learnt enough in this class to be able to hold your own in a duel.”

an excited buzz filled the room; dueling was prohibited around school grounds, so this was an exciting thing to hear him say. he looked around the room once again, as if he was analyzing each student and their abilities. finally, he said, “i want y/n and jiwoong up to the front. an unlikely pairing, but both adept and skilled in this class.”

you could feel your heart sink at hearing jiwoong’s name called with yours, but you refused to let it affect you. instead, you would show him just how hurt you were, just how much his actions affected you.

jiwoong stood up hesitantly, watching you march down to the center of the room where professor snape had conjured up boundaries, and stood waiting. he reluctantly followed suit, standing across from you as professor snape went over the rules.

“wands at the ready!”

once given the cue to duel, jiwoong's expression became that of stone; you couldn't tell what he was thinking, or how he was feeling, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care. instead, you casted spells at each other relentlessly, the students surrounding you erupting in cheers at how exciting the duel was getting.

you could tell he was getting lost in thought, because he wasn't dodging as well as he could have and he was hardly sending anything back. the rest of the slytherin students began booing at him, yelling for him to get it together, and it seemed to fuel him, but it was too late.

“expelliarmus!” you shouted, knocking his wand across the room and sending his body to the ground with a thud. your chest was rising and falling rapidly as you caught your breath, wand still pointed at him, and anger glimmering in your eyes as you stared at him.

he was at a loss, and hung his head in shame as snape announced you as the winner of the duel.

––––

you don't know what, but later in the day you felt compelled to go to your spot by the lake. you'd only seen jiwoong there at night, so you were hoping to catch a break at some point in the place you missed so much. you were grateful to see it empty, and plopped down with your things as you basked in the sunlight beaming down on you.

you breathed in deeply, appreciating the fresh air after such an eventful day. but a voice drew you out, a very familiar one, and you could feel your chest begin to tighten, “i thought i might find you out here.”

you opened your eyes and looked up, catching sight of jiwoong, his hair disheveled and the bags under his eyes unmistakable. you felt a pang of sadness, but still said, “what do you want?”

“to talk, y/n,” the tone of his voice was desperate, pleading, “please.”

there was sincerity in his expression and you found yourself motioning for him to sit. you were silent, because you had nothing to say to him quite yet. you didn't even know what to say. so instead, you stared at him and took him in again, trying so desperately not to let yourself fall and crash, but it was no use.

you turned and looked at the lake so he couldn't see you already crying, but he knew you were. he reached out and touched your leg, and when you didn't shove him away, he inched a little bit closer to you.

“y/n, i am so sorry, truly i am.” his apology hung in the air and you let it sink in, but you weren't sure you were ready to accept it. you needed to let him know just how badly he broke your heart, and if he showed he cared, you'd let him back in.

between your sniffles, you inquired, “why? why did you ignore me? after that night i thought things were going to change, i mean they felt different, jiwoong i though that maybe -” you cut yourself off to prevent any words you didn't want spewing out, “never mind, it's stupid anyway.”

jiwoong took your hand in his, giving you an encouraging squeeze, “please just say it.”

“i just,” you sighed, choosing your words carefully, slowly turning head back toward him to meet his eyes, “i thought that after something like that, maybe you liked me in the way i like you. but then you just started ignoring me and not meeting me at night and i just started overth-”

jiwoong pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, the sparkle in his eyes as he smiled at you luring you into him, urging you to kiss him again, but you didn't, because he was already talking, “i wouldn't have kissed you or slept with you if i didn't have the most intense feelings for you.”

“then why?”

“because i’m not used to feeling like this for someone, and it scared me to no end,” his confession was barely above a whisper, and there were tears welling up in his eyes, “but i really, really like you, y/n. a lot. the reputation excuse was just because i was scared to admit this out loud.”

“oh, jiwoong, you never have to be scared with me, not ever,” your actions reflected his from the night of your detention, reaching out to cup his face, and striking away his tears. he nuzzled into your hand, looking appreciative that you seemed to understand, like you always did. he leaned forward, kissing you again, the saltiness of both of your tears mixing in with it, but it made it all that much better.

because everything was okay, and you had each other back.

[cherrysurf]

New years kiss!suna rintarou x reader

timeskip obvi, drinking, fluff, angst if you squint super duper hard, crack, profanity, atsumu being a wingman and lwk annoying at the same time ᡣ𐭩 (also not proofread lightly looked over tho?)

Osamu decided to have a little small get together for new years, it being him, atsumu, suna, kita, you. The rest of msby and epj raijian I guess it wasn’t so small but it was atsumu fault since he made the guest list, and of course you had to help set up the rooftop of miyas onigiri shop where the party was going to take place since everyone else lacked creativity and everyone had their own Jobs to do osamu was in charge of food, Sunas was drinks, atsumu was bodyguard aka stood their and did nothing until kita put him to clean and sweep the rooftop it felt like highschool all over again, planning parties while someone’s parents were away kita trying to convince everyone that this was not a smart decision yet still being there (saving atsumu from plenty of black outs) “the gangs all back together” atsumu said as he let out a sigh while everyone was outside setting up the final things causing a cringed face from everyone and an eye roll from osamu “we were all together literally last weekend you idiot” suna said “he probably doesn’t remember since be passed out after the second round of soju” you said laughing “it’s funny to you guys but you weren’t there having to make his fat ass food at 3am” osamu said annoyed “whatever whatever let’s all have fun.” Atsumu proposed, and the fun of the night was filled with laughter and catching up talking about Japan’s volleyball stats and everyone’s plans for the small little break. It was nice seeing everyone like this again. As you stand their leaning a bit on the edge with your drink in hand watching over the city suna comes next to you “figured you needed some company over here” he said staring at the scenery as well “how thoughtful of you rin” you giggle “what’s your New Year’s resolution this time” he asked, “I don’t know I guess I don’t really have one, you?” You say looking at him admiring his side profile “get to the Olympics maybe fall in love? Whatever the new years brings me I guess” he says shrugging with a small smile on his face “falling in love? That’s new I guess it’s time for that huh” you say curious to what brought this on, did he have someone in mind but the thought of that made your heartache in some way. Since unfortunately you’ve been aware of your feelings for suna since earlier last year you didn’t have time to dwell or act on them before since you were so busy, but since everything has been slowing down it’s slowing been creeping up on your mind “I don’t know if it’s time for it to be honest but I’d be ready for it if it came” he said looking at you now observing your features which causes a pink tint to grow across your cheeks the was a moment of silence until atsumu came squishing himself between the two of you “so who’s getting a new years kiss” he says cooing “not you with that alcohol smell from your mouth” suna says rolling “boo you’re no fun” atsumu says leaving you two alone “guys the fireworks and countdown are about to start” bokuto says yelling you and suna turn to look at each other with a smile and then look at the city “3…2..1”

you and everyone else says which somehow causes you to hold sunas hands instinctively probably because of nerves which he didn’t mind at all he holds on a bit tighter which causes you to look up at him to find him already staring at you “kiss me.” he said “huh?” you look at him confused to what the fuck he was saying right now. “tsumu told me about your little crush ya know” he said smirking “that piece of shit” you murmured “i feel the same yn. I always have so kiss me."He said looking serious, you couldn’t muster up a snarky reply like usual or anything at all but you nodded yes “i need a yes or a no yn” he said “yes suna.” you look at him those being the only words you can get out which gave suna the go away to lean in and you doing the same the moment felt surreal and natural all at once the fireworks made it even more magical “my plan worked” atsumu said grinning which caused you and suna to separate and roll your eyes at him in sync “i guess i got one thing off my list for new years” suna said smiling holding you close “i guess you did.” you say smiling because you wouldn’t have it anyother way.

a/n- wrote this only for meeya lwk and thanks to dee for forcing me to write this actually helped me outta my writers block a bit

[maybetheyredrunk]

tw: angst, self-harm, suicide attempts, death.

REGULUS BLACK

Regulus is heartbroken when James and Lily starts dating.

He doesn't realise why.

And then Remus is talking about Sirius, and saying similar things to what's in his head. "He makes me feel loved, and safe, and wanted. The way he laughs, the way he talks. That's why I love him." And that's when Regulus realises. Oh shit, maybe I love him. The way he smiles, the way he laughs, the way James is the sun to his sky.

James is oblivious for a while.

But then Lily realises she doesn't love James the way she feels like she should.

James and Lily break up, stay friends, and James realises he loves Regulus. The way he smiles, when James gets his attention, or he reads a book that he loves. The quietness. The way he bursts out with his opinions if he feels strongly about something. Regulus finally loving the person who he wants to, openly.

They go up to the Astronomy tower each Sunday, just talking. Each Sunday turns into twice a week. Twice a week into every other day. Every other day into every day. And they're so happy. And Sirius is all "You're dating my baby brother!" and "Brotherfucker." and "Ugh.", but inside he's so happy to see Regulus loving someone openly and fully. And Remus supports the both of them, and so does Peter, and Lily, and Dorcas, and Marlene.

Then Walburga and Orion make Regulus get the Dark Mark.

He's screaming, crying, begging them not to. "Please Mom, please Dad, I can't lose this." Throwing himself in front of them, trying to run away.

Him eventually realising: It doesn't work.

So he gets the Mark. Stays silent as the needle punctures his flesh over and over again.

And then runs to Hogwarts.

Regulus sobbing in the common room of Slytherin, arm swollen and bleeding as he tries to rip the ink out of his skin with his nails, held by an equally sad Evan and Barty.

Sobbing because he's going to lose his brother again, going to lose his friends, his boyfriend, because of ink that he didn't want.

Him trying to grab a knife, scissors. Evan and Barty have to restrain him and watch him constantly, making sure he doesn't carve out flesh from his bones.

So the Dark Mark is permanent.

And Regulus would rather see his boyfriend, the love of his life, not know him, rather than see James hate him for what he didn't want to become.

So he goes to the Astronomy tower after having ignored James for weeks. James didn't know why.

And he tells him. "I got the Mark." And shows him his arm.

And James' eyes widen.

And then - "Wait Reg-"

Regulus sobbing out one word, doubled over in pain, wishing he could go to James. One word.

"Obliviate."

And Regulus erases all of James' memories of him, he's powerful and precise enough to.

And James leaves the tower, confused as to why he went up there in the first place.

And Regulus is sobbing, tears running down his face, hair messed up, clutching at the railing of the tower, wishing he could get the mark away, would do anything. Anything to ease the pain.

He climbs onto the rail. Decides life isn't really worth living anymore, not without his sun. Evan and Barty see him, and run for him, and barely manage to catch him in time.

He makes three more attempts before realising he can't.

So he runs.

Runs so he doesn't have to see that James and Lily get back together, happy and oblivious. Lily's confused as to what happened to Regulus. Regulus who disappeared. Runs so he doesn't have to face Sirius, his disappointment and anger. Runs so Remus can't find him, his kind words and gentleness would make him unravel. Runs so none of his friends can follow. Barty and Evan search for a long time. But they never find him.

James is 18 when Regulus leaves. He's 17. Regulus dies the same year. Trying to make a difference. Regretting that he didn't earlier.

And as he lies on the cold hard ground of the island, Kreacher beside him, holding his stomach in pain from the liquid, but the Horcrux destroyed, he thinks. Of James. Of his smile. Of his laugh. Of his kisses. The way he lit up Regulus' world, because he was the sun to Regulus' sky, because Regulus needed James to be bright.

And he thinks. I'm sorry. He's left a note.

But he doesn't expect James to find it. Ever.

Regulus is 17 when he dies.

And he wishes that he had longer.

But even the brightest stars all fade.

thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics for the dividers!! Her work is amazing, please go check it out.

@into-the-jeggyverse @noblehouseofgay @my-castles-crumbling @reggie-the-starboy @ultravioletbrit @strawberrystainedfingertips7 @caiiius @iamgayforyourmom1510 @wh0re-for-w0lfstar

[lee1504]

the shop across the street

(inspired by @primalmagic , college coffee shop au)

"I'm running a bit late, sorry," Taylor said. Her phone was connected to her car, and she could hear Aiden and Tyler's voices through the speaker, arguing as usual. She resisted the urge to laugh; once again, they were arguing over what to wear tonight for her show.

She was wearing a blue sleeveless dress, ankle-length. Ashlyn said it complimented her eyes, and that she'd look stunning as she presented her pieces. The final work was next to her in the passenger seat, covered by a cloth. This would be the second show she hosted, and yet she was still nervous, her finger tapping against the steering wheel.

She heard Tyler sigh through the phone. "Don't be late again."

"I know, I know," Taylor scoffed. At her first show, she ran late because of a coffee spill. She didn't want that to happen again.

There was arguing between her brother and friend for a few moments, and then silence. Then Aiden said, "Can you pick something up for me?"

She could practically feel Tyler's scowl burn through her phone. "Stop being greedy. She might be late again."

Taylor ignored the comment. "Yeah, I'll get you something. You too, Ty. Should I just get you whatever I get?"

There was a pause, then Tyler's voice said, "Whatever you get."

+++++

She stopped the car in front of a shop called The Aroma Bazaar. This was one of her favorite shops, and it was close to her university. Earlier, she had gone back to her apartment to change, then headed back to the college, where she'd present her projects in Building C. Inside the shop, she could see people bustling about. It looked slightly crowded, and she hoped this wouldn't take long.

Her white heels clicked against the pavement as she made her way to the small cafe, opening the door. A blast of AC hit her, ruffling her hair slightly. Smoothing it, she headed over to the counter, where a girl she recognized stood.

"Looking for Ben?" Lily asked. She'd grown up, and looked much older than how Taylor remembered. Her light brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, with hairclips attached to her bangs.

Taylor's cheeks tinted slightly pink. The girl was years younger than her, but acted more devious than what her innocent smile showed.

"I'm just here to pick up some coffee," Taylor answered. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She felt nervous, but she didn't know if it was from going to the shop or for her upcoming show.

"Alright," Lily replied, still grinning. "I'll call Benny." She disappeared behind a curtain, then Ben appeared.

Hi, Taylor signed. Her hands shook slightly, but Ben didn't seem to notice.

Ben smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. That was one of Taylor's favorite features about him, but she was always too embarassed to admit it.

Hi, Ben signed back. Order online?

Taylor nodded, then watched as Ben pulled three drinks from under the counter, carefully placing them into the cup holder. He slid it towards her, making sure not to spill anything. After waiting for her to pay, he signed, I might not make it to your show.

Taylor felt something deflate inside of her, but signed, That's fine.

Nobody moved for a few seconds, until Taylor added, I ordered a seat for you and Lily though, just in case.

There it was. That smile again, where the corners of his eyes crinkled. Taylor's face was still warm, but she accepted the smile. See you there? Maybe? She took the cup holder.

Ben nodded. Of course.

As Taylor sat back down in her car, on the lid of her coffee, she noticed there was a small heart.

+++++

Taylor peered around the curtain, one hand gripping the microphone tight. The theater was two-thirds full, but the six seats she'd reserved for her friends only occupied Tyler and Aiden, who, once more, was arguing quietly under their breaths. Logan and Ashlyn would arrive a bit later; they were helping move things from Logan's grandparents' shop. She was unsure if Ben and Lily would come, though.

She took a deep, shaky breath. She recited her lines in her head, her greeting, how she would introduce her pieces. They were already inside of their display cases, their metal curves and spikes glistening in the light. She smoothed her hair with one hand, glancing at the stage member next to her. He spoke something into the walkie talkie he held, then gave her a thumbs-up.

She took another breath, then stepped onstage.

The light was almost blinding. She had to blink twice to clear her vision of the bright white-yellow. When she could properly see, she saw the hundred people that sat before her. Her heart thumped quickly, and then she noticed.

Quietly, two people made their way to the front row. She could recognize them inches away, or even miles away.

Next to the boy, the girl smiled. When he sat, Ben signed, You got this.

Taylor returned his smile, hoping it would be viewed as confident, as ready. And then she began.

[halfagonyandhope]

How about a good ol’ sick fic 🤒 you choose who’s under the weather

He’s not sure he’s ever been this terrified before.

And that’s saying something, as just a standard month prior Obi-Wan Kenobi had been on the brink of death after falling victim to the venom-mites of Draboon. But that had been different. For one thing, he’d been mostly unconscious through the worst of the pain. And for another, he’d known Satine had been safe.

But now, on the other side of the planet, he’s also on the other side of fate, and he’s staring down at a nearly lifeless Satine, watching her shiver by the fading light of the fire.

Obi-Wan looks up toward the entrance to the cave, as though he has the ability to summon Qui-Gon back with sheer willpower alone. The elder Jedi had gone in search of more kindling to feed the dying flames, and he’d been away long enough that the temperature of their sanctuary had dropped precipitously.

Satine is shaking again, her fever still high.

Obi-Wan hesitates. He’d already wrapped his cloak around her, but he feels so damn helpless.

He remembers Qui-Gon’s words from earlier, in response to his question.

“Mandalorian medical factories pivoted away from producing vaccines and toward production of bandages and other supplies when the war began,” he’d told Obi-Wan. “When your people are dying, you don’t allocate resources to preventive health; you triage your available facilities to stop the bleeding where it’s currently happening.”

Obi-Wan had looked at him, aghast. “So Satine’s immune system isn’t as strong as yours or mine? That’s why we haven’t caught whatever she has?”

“Thank the healers at the Temple that your inoculations are up to date,” Qui-Gon had responded. “I’d wager that Satine’s people haven’t had access to such technology for many years.”

Obi-Wan returns his attention to here, now, in the cave. Oh, how he wishes he’d had the foresight to take her to the Hall of Healing before they’d departed Coruscant. But they’d had so little time, and he’d had so little knowledge of what they would face on the run.

He sighs.

Satine jerks suddenly, and a coughing fit seizes her entire body. It’s an eerie, horrible sound that echoes throughout the cave, and she struggles to catch her breath afterward.

Obi-Wan crawls to her, seeing that she’s awake.

“Water,” she mouths, her throat too weak to form the words.

Obi-Wan nods and reaches for the canteen near his feet. With his other arm, he pulls Satine up, holding her against his chest, her torso at a slight incline so that gravity can do the work she is too exhausted to. He puts the canteen to her lips, and she manages to swallow a few sips.

He sets the canteen aside, wrapping his other arm around her and noticing how she’s sweat through her tunic. But the sweat is turning cold as the temperature around them plummets, and Satine is still shaking.

And Obi-Wan is terrified all over again.

He pulls the cloak more tightly around her.

She just needs to make it through the night. Tomorrow, Qui-Gon will rendezvous with a contact who has retrovirals and antibiotics, the former to treat the initial infection and the latter to treat what Obi-Wan suspects is secondary pneumonia.

She just needs to make it through the night.

He realizes with a jolt that Satine is no longer shaking.

“Satine?” he whispers, alarmed.

“‘M alright,” she says, slurring her words, her cheek against his collarbone. “Finally warm.”

Obi-Wan examines her more closely. Sweat has stuck her hair to her face, and he brushes the strands away from her brow. The relief he feels upon seeing the tension fade from her jaw - it’s practically indescribable. 

Gradually, the tension also lessens in her shoulders and around her torso.

Obi-Wan feels Satine’s fingers fist in the fabric of his tunic, just over his heart. Her eyes are still closed, but she says, her voice cracking and strained, “I must have been quite close to death to receive that reaction.”

He laughs at how she’s echoed his words from when he’d woken by her side after surviving the venom-mite attack.

He tightens his grip on her. “You’re still quite close to death, by all appearances,” he notes.

“Well, then, I suppose you better keep being nice to me.” She breathes deeply but unevenly. “At least until I pull through. Then you can resume being insufferable.”

“Insufferable?” he says, disbelieving. She’d been the one who’d continued to be argumentative, even after the venom-mites.

Even after she’d kissed him.

Even after he’d kissed her back.

Obi-Wan grimaces. Maybe he’d also been argumentative. 

And maybe he’d liked it.

“Yes,” says Satine, her voice cracking. “Insufferable man. Incorrigible, even.”

In love, Obi-Wan’s brain supplies suddenly, and he tenses. He looks down again at Satine, wondering if she’s noticed, but she’s fallen back asleep, reclaimed by unconsciousness.

He closes his eyes in wonder.

The realization should frighten him more than anything else, but it doesn’t.

From the start, it’s like he had known she’d change everything he thought he knew about the galaxy. He’d pushed her away, repeatedly, scared of what she’d reveal about his feelings and how those feelings would reveal he wasn’t made to be a Jedi.

But he finds - to his surprise - that his feelings for her…somehow they don’t negate his ability to protect her. They don’t endanger her, or him.

The light he feels, the strength of his feelings - it all makes it easier to connect with the Force. It makes him a better Jedi.

It feels so antithetical to everything he’s ever been taught that he wonders if he’d ever really understood the Jedi at all.

Obi-Wan brushes a kiss to Satine’s temple.

And, suddenly, he’s afraid no longer.

[cherryblossomshadow]

t#he could have completely different politics in private but he does enough good publicly that whatever #yes i know he's not the most leftist person ever #but who cares #he's advocating for prison reform and universal healthcare #good enough for me #monkeypox episode was eh but not every episode is gonna be a winner #plus that's just my opinion (tags courtesy of @volixia669)

.

A lot of people in the notes have been talking about how great he is for liberals and moderates to introduce them to more “radical ideas” and that’s true !!! He is great !!!! And it’s wonderful !!!! But also like, even for already radicalized people he is often exploring and exposing things that aren’t talked about and I’m still learning a lot from the videos he posts because a lot of genuine hard work and research goes into it. I often learn more from last week tonight than I do from a lot of other blatantly leftist sources. the moral of the story here is that appearances and tone should be separated from politics and morality ok thank u (comment courtesy of OP)

John Oliver is so crazy cus you see him and he's british and he's wearing a suit in front of a fake new york city skyline and you're like yeah another white Democrat making jokes at late night but then he starts buying and cancelling millions of medical debt and saying defund the police years before it was widely-held conversation and drawing rats fucking each other and before you know it this owl in human skin has made you a radical leftist