#and what's STUPID about this whole situation

[leandra-kinard]

I'm in no way invalidating this post, as I assume it's US-centric. But it's a stark reminder how vastly different the work cultures are there and in Germany where I live and work.

Yes, you don't have to tell your boss everything, and in some instances it's a good idea to say less, but if you have any kind of long-term illness or condition, it actually is a good idea to talk about it with your boss (and HR + the work's council, if you have one). Good employers in Germany will then do their best to accommodate for your needs so they can keep you and make things work out for you. They tend to have a more long-term mindset where they want to help the employee get better or find better ways to be a happy (and yes, with that productive) employee.

That's not always the case either; especially internationally operating corporations here are a bit more cut-throat, so it's a good thing to know the company's mindset well, but it's a tendency.

Also, there are actual laws that prohibit them from firing you for something like that. There are limits, for example if you're actually sick (off work) for too long repeatedly with no prospect of improvement that can be a just cause for termination, but the employer has the duty of proof in that instance. If they cannot prove that your absences are too detrimental to the company's well-being for them to tolerate it, you can sue for reinstatement or damages.

At my current company, I've been immensely lucky, because even for German standards the mentality there is extraordinarily understanding and supportive. When I told my boss that I was burned out and had to take a week or two off (on fully paid sick leave, mind you), he said "Two weeks might not be enough. Take as long as you need." So I took four.

I was in the process of switching departments, so I had a conversation with my next boss too and asked if I could work from home completely for a while. He seemed very understanding, and I then told him the whole story - because he also needed to have some kind of prospect and know how long it was gonna take etc - so I said I was in the process of being diagnosed for ADHD and that I just couldn't manage also having to go into the office.

Now that I have the diagnosis and will soon hopefully get my meds, there's that prospect, and we said for now, I was gonna come in one day a week (usually 2 is mandatory) for a while until I feel ready to be there two days again.

That was only possible because I explained what was going on with me; the transparency also gave the employer a positive outlook and a feeling of trust, and when your company's mentality is built on those kinds of values, it makes for a million times more pleasant AND productive working environment. I mean, just by how this all was handled I do feel very loyal to my company now. (I'd be stupid to leave, frankly, lol).

And from many other cases I know how they reacted too. A colleague had to stay at home because she had pregnancy complications - no problem. Another one sometimes has to leave early or work from home because she has frequent and heavy migraines. Sometimes people have to do the same because of something to do with their kids. Everyone is usually fully transparent about it and it really helps create an atmosphere of openness and trust.

TL;DR: Err on the side of caution, yes. But do inform yourself of your legal rights in your country, and the mechanisms in such situations. Suss out the company's approaches to various issues and know their policies. Sometimes, when the outside conditions are in your favor, being transparent about your situation can be the better choice.

Hey here is your friendly reminder to not tell your nice boss stuff.

I’m at the executive management level for my very small company and I have 4 people who report directly to me. I am a nice boss. I’m friendly with my employees, I treat them like professional adults, I actively try to create a positive work environment, and I mentor them and make sure they’re advancing in their careers. I do my best to shield them from the rest of management doing stupid shit. My employees like working for me.

The other day one of my employees came to ask if she could change her hours on Mondays. I said yes immediately because it’s helpful for me to know when she’s here and when she’s not, but as long as she gets her work done I don’t care when and where she does it. She then proceeded to tell me that it was so she could attend therapy and like … I will never use this information but … as a general rule don’t fucking do that.

Do not tell your employer shit about your mental or physical health except for the bare minimum needed to request a reasonable accommodation. Even your nice boss can fire you, even your nice boss can unfairly change your working conditions, and even your nice boss at some point is probably going to face pressure from their superiors.

I’m not saying don’t trust your boss with anything ever. I’m just saying that anytime you are in the workplace you need to keep your private information private. You can still have a good relationship with your boss. Your workplace can still be pleasant. But if it ever feels like disclosing private information is required in order to have a good relationship with your boss, please see that as a red flag.

[fictionismyreality3]

Penpals with the 141

Warnings: stalkerish behaviour at the end teehee 🤭

Notes: if only I had a hot military man or men to send letters to 🤷🏻‍♀️😩

It started out as just another way to keep the boredom away. Sending care packages to military members was also a plus. You'd be staying busy and doing a good deed at the same time. You found some trustworthy-enough organization, signed up, and sent out your first letter along with a few goodies like choclates and warm socks.

The 141 had never really thought much about getting care packages from civilians. In their eyes it was just a good way to get the things they missed out on while on deployment. Most of the letters got tossed as soon as they opened the box.

That was until they got yours.

The stupid little smiley face drawn on the cardboard shouldn’t have stopped Simon in his tracks, but he found himself staring down at the doodle.

"L.T? Y'been standin' there fer a good 15 minutes." Soap remarked.

"S'that your favourite candy, right?"

Soap was swayed by the chocolate oranges, finding himself reading your letter as he scarfed down each wedge. The curly handwriting, the crossed out and rewritten words had him showing the letter to Gaz, and then Price. Soon you found yourself in an almost penpal situation. Over the exchange of more and more letters, you were able to dicern the personalities of each man who was writing to you.

There was Soap, who wrote in barely legible chicken scratch, often skipping words or even entire sentences, like he was thinking too fast for his hand to keep up. Always calling you 'bonnie' or 'lass'.

Gaz, who wrote much more formally. His hand writing was the best to read, neatly printed on the lines of the paper. You got the sense that he sat down and put his whole attention into writing back to you.

Ghost, who's name you were yet to learn, tacked on his responses at the end of the paper. It was rare to get more than a few sentances from him, and even rarer for them to be anything but small talk. Slowly, he began to open up, asking you how you were or if your boss had resolved that HR issue yet. How did he know that?

Price, who'd quickly insisted on you calling him John— makes me feel old, luv— was the one who you seemed the most interested in your life. You chalked it up to him wanting to have something to think about other than his life threatening job.

Questions about your living situation, your job, your hobbies, it all seemed like small talk. Easy enough to look over. And then came the questions about your bills. Does your job pay enough? When's the last time you've been on vacation? What does your ideal living situation look like? Are you in a relationship?

It wasn't just John who was asking. So we’re Gaz, Johnny, and even Ghost began to inquire about more personal details. Every time you got a letter, it was almost a pavlovian response for your cheeks to blush. You looked forwards to the letters from your far away military men, and they even sent you gifts!

A watch, just like the one on your pinterest, wrapped up in a pretty pink bow. They added on such a sweet note too.

"Synced up to our watches." Ghost.

"Thought you needed a little treat." Gaz

"Here you go, bonnie! Now you can know when we're awake!" Soap.

"Let me know if you need it tightened, sweetheart." John.

They didn't feel the need to tell you about the favour they called in with Laswell to get the micro-tracker added, or about the camera and microphone they planted in the watch face. You looked so pretty with it on anyways, they'd need to make sure nobody stared too long.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

₊˚ʚ Rain in the woods (Ford Pines x fem!reader) ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

part 2 | part 1

author note: hey friends, so im sorry for taking so long, i wanted to post it this Saturday but i got lots of work, it's not proofread so I'm so so so sorry for any mistakes, i promise ill fix them a bit later!

also im working on some pre portal stan x reader x ford fic and it's filled with what we love the most - glass and angst (smut included!!), i know i always say it, but im so excited to share it with you guys <3

nsfw, minors dni

Stanford Pines — the enigmatic genius who’s always just beyond your reach, a mind so vast, it feels like trying to grasp the stars. You should be focused, but your gaze keeps flicking back to him. You’re utterly captivated, heart racing, mind spinning.

And then it happens. One moment, you're holding the mug, your fingers curled around it and the next it slips. No! The mug tumbles from your grasp, its ceramic form hitting the floor with a sharp, brutal crack that echoes through the room. You watch in helpless horror as it shatters into a thousand pieces, each fragment piercing the silence like a blade through your chest.

Your heart skips, thundering in your ears, and your face goes hot with embarrassment, an awful flush spreading across your skin as you turn your wide, panicked eyes toward Ford. His gaze meets yours, a mix of surprise and concern, but it’s his calm that gets you. 

“Oh shit—” your voice cracks and you curse yourself silently, mortified. Of course, you would screw up right now, in front of him. Stanford fucking Pines, the man whose brilliance makes your own thoughts feel clumsy, an intellectual giant, and here you are, tripping over a damn mug. The pieces of it seem to scatter in slow motion, like a dream you can’t wake up from. You’re so stupid. You feel so stupid.

“I’m sorry— I'm so sorry,” you ramble, desperate to somehow undo the mess, your hands trembling at your sides. You want to sink into the floor, disappear, fade away. How could you be this careless?

But then Ford takes a step forward, and everything inside you freezes. His eyes are soft, so much softer than you expected, softer than anyone else’s gaze ever could be. He’s not angry, not even irritated. Instead, he’s. . . calm. “Hey, it’s alright,” he says, a chuckle escaping him, as though the whole situation is laughable, as though you’re not standing there, mortified in front of him. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve dealt with worse. Trust me.”

For one second, everything really seems to slow down as his words sinks into you like a balm. You believe him. It’s impossible to not. He’s seen everything and here you are, worrying over a broken mug.

“Im really sorry,” you stammer again, caught off guard by the softness in his tone, the tenderness in his gaze. What did you expect? That he’d scold you, dismiss you? But no. He’s calm, like this minor catastrophe is nothing. As if nothing could rattle him, as if you, standing there like a fool, didn’t matter at all.

Stanford laughs. “You know, after all I’ve been through, interdimensional beasts, curses, that damn triangle demon, a shattered mug would be nothing. So don’t apologize.” his eyes meet yours. “Im not made of glass. It takes more than a broken cup to rattle me.”

And then his voice lowers with that quiet authority. “Sit down,” he commands softly. “I’ll handle this. Don’t want you getting hurt.”

You can’t help it. His voice sounds so low, commanding, yet laced with something so tender it makes your skin tingle. The words come easy from his lips, but when they’re aimed at you, they tear through you. They make you feel like you’re something precious, something to be cared for, protected. But more than that, a part of you craves to be held by him, right now, right in this moment. To be pressed back into the cushions of the sofa, feeling the strength of his arms, making you feel like you’re the only one in his world.

You’re not just obeying his words, you’re aching to obey. 

That’s why without thinking, you sink into the soft cushions. And shit, there he is — bending down, his bare chest covered with scars still glistening from the rain, droplets make you ache. They fucking shimmer on his skin, taunting you, daring you to touch him, taste him, make him yours. Every inch of him is fucking perfect. God, how are you even supposed to think straight when he looks like that? Your body is screaming for him, for his touch, for everything. 

You try to look away. You can’t. His broad shoulders, his strong fucking arms, his hard chest. It’s too much. He’s a fucking masterpiece and all you want is for him to paint you in ways you can’t even process yet. Your body betrays you, again, that warmth spreading low in your belly, growing. You cross your legs, trying to hide the desperate need that’s already pooling between them. Fuck, how are you supposed to calm this down? It only gets worse.

He’s everything you’ve ever wanted and it’s all laid out in front of you, impossible to ignore. His every movement is so natural, so fucking sexy, it makes your pulse race. You just know he can make you feel things you didn’t even know your body was capable of.

You’re trying to calm yourself, really, you are. 

You cross and uncross your legs again, desperate to release some of the tension building between your thighs, but it only makes it worse. Fuck, why is this so hard? Every thought you have is consumed with him, with what he could do to you, what he should do to you. And the more you try to control it, the more your body betrays you.

You need to touch yourself, but you’re stuck, just waiting, consumed by the need for him.

And then, the thoughts take over completely.

You’re delusional to the point where you feel his hands on your legs, parting them, spreading you wide. You imagine him on his knees, lowering his head, his lips tracing the inside of your thighs, so fucking gentle, so goddamn slow, as he watches you with those eyes, sharp, hungry, possessive. And then, he presses his tongue to your clit, licks you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, making you whine for him.

You bite down on your lip, trying to hold it back, but it’s impossible. You need him. You want him between your legs, fucking you so deep you can’t think straight, making you beg for it. Fuck, what would he say? “That’s it, baby. . . just like that… good girl, taking what I give you. . .” the words seeping into your skin like a drug you can’t quit.

You bite down hard on your lip, desperate to keep quiet, but your body is louder than you’ll ever be. Fuck, your body’s soaking through, your pussy throbbing for his touch, and all you can do is stare at him, mesmerised. His body is a goddamn work of art, and you want to trace every inch of it, feel it on top of you, pushing inside you, taking you.

It’s so fucking embarrassing, but you can’t stop it. Your body’s so ready for him, for his hands, for his cock. You can almost taste him, can almost feel his cock sliding inside you, filling you so nice.

Fuck, any writer of erotic novels would envy your imagination. The thought of him getting rough with you, pushing you down into the cushions, fucking you into the sofa until you can’t think, can’t breathe. “You’re mine now, sweetheart. Mine to fuck whenever I want. You belong to me.”

The thought of him pounding into you, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer, makes you want to lose your mind. You just want to hear him growl your name as he fucks you like you’re the only thing that matters.

And you know you’ll let him. Let him claim you, take you apart, until you’re nothing but a mess of pleasure, a good girl begging for more.

“Hey,” Ford’s voice drags you back into reality, unwantedly. Your heart stutters in your chest as you blink, trying to focus on anything other than the way your body’s still burning, aching for him. He’s looking at you, brows furrowed, the concern on his face so fucking intense it almost makes you want to tell him everything you’re feeling, right here, right now. But you can’t. God, you can’t. Not when the way he looks at you like that.

“Are you alright? You don’t look too well.” his voice is full of worry, but there’s that edge of guilt creeping in as he mutters, “I really should’ve checked the forecast before dragging you out in this mess. . . feels like a bit of a fool for that.” his fingers are rubbing the back of his neck in that shy way he does, that little sign of guilt that makes your stomach clench in a way that’s too much to handle.

But it’s his fucking proximity that’s driving you wild. He’s so close now, standing there shirtless, looking like some goddamn wet dream come to life. You can’t focus on anything but his body, the way the rainwater trails down his skin, glistening so beautifully. Fucking fuck. 

“No, Ford, im absolutely okay, I swear—”

“Hold still,” Ford commands and that’s when you feel his hand so damn warm against your forehead, sending a shockwave of need straight through you. His touch is too fucking soft and yet it feels like it’s scorching you. Or maybe it’s just the fact that you’re so goddamn horny your body’s reacting to the smallest contact.

You try to calm yourself, try to act normal, but it’s too fucking hard. You force a weak smile. “I told you, I— I’m fine,” you answer, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. It’s all you can do to not let the truth slip. You want to scream it, how much you need him, how much you ache for him right now, but you don’t. Not yet. Never probably.

Ford’s brows knit tighter together and his eyes lock onto yours. He’s not fooled, not for a second. “You’re lying. Don’t try to brush it off. If you’re not feeling well, you need to tell me.”

The urge to confess everything is unbearable. You want to tell him you’re not sick, you’re just fucking drenched in need, that’s all! Aching for him to pull you into his arms, to kiss you until you can’t breathe. But instead, you do the only thing you can do: you force a nervous laugh, a weak attempt to play it off.

“No, I swear I’m fine! I could go on a thousand more anomaly hunts with you!” the words spill out with a little too much enthusiasm, a little too much frenzy and you pray to whatever god is listening that it’s enough to get him off your case.

Ford’s eyes narrow and he crosses his arms, still towering over you, still so close

Man, just step back or I'll pounce on you and eat you.

“Cold rain can do a lot more damage than you think. You could’ve caught something serious, and ignoring it won’t help. Do you have any idea how quickly a fever can develop if you’re already run down?”

Oh no, his voice shifts into that familiar, lecturing tone, the kind that makes you want to both roll your eyes and lean in closer to hear more. 

When he says something about cold exposure affecting the immune system, you should be paying attention. You try to focus on his words, but it’s hard when he’s standing there — half naked, with his chest on full display, his messy hair slightly wet from the rain. God, he's just so fucking handsome. The serious, worried look in his eyes makes you weak and you can’t help but sink a little deeper into the sofa.

Just as Ford’s lecture hits a peak, the door swings open with a loud bang and Stanley Pines strolls in, halting mid-step as his eyes zero in on the scene before him. Ford, half-naked, standing too close for comfort, and you, perched on the sofa with that nervous smile plastered across your face.

Stan’s grin stretches wide, clearly loving the situation as he leans casually against the doorway. His eyes flick between you and Ford, then he gives Ford an exaggerated once-over, raising an eyebrow at his lack of turtleneck. “Well, ain’t this cozy,” he drawls sarcastically, giving a smirk that only widens when he spots Ford’s obvious discomfort. “Ya know, Sixer, when I said ‘show the girl a good time,’ I didn’t mean literally strip down to do it.”

Ford’s eyes snap toward his brother, his mouth twitching in a way that’s almost a grimace. His posture straightens, arms crossing defensively as he glares at Stan. “Stanley, really? Must you always reduce everything to your level? She dropped a mug and I was helping her avoid a mess. You wouldn’t understand, but maybe try acting your age for once.”

“Hey, all I’m sayin’ is, if ya plan on gettin' cozy, maybe take it to a couch that ain’t mine.” Stanley’s gaze slides over to you, flashing a wink. “But if you’re lookin' for company, darlin’, I’m more than happy to—“

Before you can let the awkwardness spread more, you spring into the conversation, desperate to steer it somewhere less humiliating. “Stan, actually, Ford was just helping me to—” you force a friendly smile, trying to make light of the situation.

Stan laughs like he’s heard it all before. “Sure thing, toots. But between you and me. . . you’re doin’ a hell of a job of keepin’ my brother here on his toes. Haven’t seen him all riled up like this since. . . well, ever.” your heart thump so loudly in your chest, you’re sure everyone can hear it.

Ford’s jaw clenches so tight, you can practically hear his teeth grinding, but he doesn’t look away from Stan. The vein in his neck starts to twitch.God, it’s almost painful how much he wants to just end this conversation, end this moment, and pull you somewhere private, somewhere safe, where he can have you all to himself, but he doesn’t. “Stan, enough. We have an anomaly to inspect. Something I’d actually prefer not to delay any longer.”

Stan lets out a low whistle, clearly enjoying every second of Ford’s discomfort. “Yeah, yeah. Go on, Sixer, run off to your little projects. Just don’t forget there’s a real world out here, alright?” he gives you a quick nod, still smirking. “and you, don’t let him lock you in his lab too long, sweetheart.”

***

Grumpy Ford. The kind of irritated, scowling Ford you never realized you’d find so irresistibly enticing. That brooding frustration, that laser-sharp focus, you can’t help but imagine all that intensity turned on you, directed into every inch of your body.

God, if he just shoved you back onto that workbench right now, you’d let him. You wouldn’t care if his precious equipment went crashing to the floor, wouldn’t even flinch at the thought of papers and tools scattering everywhere. All you want is him, his body pinning you down, hands gripping you like you’re the anomaly he’s desperate to dissect, figure out, devour. 

Holy shit, you want him to push you up against that wall, pin you down until you’re writhing underneath him, his body grinding against yours, every bit of that frustration poured right into you.

Slick heat building between your thighs as you watch him, the way he moves around his lab, muttering in frustration as he punches numbers into some device, brows knitted in that fierce focus. And all you can do is want his hands on your hips, his mouth on your neck, his cock driving into you like you’re all he’s thinking about.

“The rain seems to have masked the anomaly’s energy signature. I suspect it might be due to ionization in the— are you even listening?”

His voice snaps you back, he’s tearing right through your flimsy attempts at focus with that intense gaze of his, as if seeing everything you’re thinking. You offer him a small, sheepish smile. “Of course I am! Gravity, paranormal. . . s-signatures, right?” you say, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your eyes keep drifting over his body, your ache throbbing inside, thighs pressing together as he stands there, so close you could reach out, slip your fingers through the fabric of his clothes, feel the warmth of his skin.

Ford lets out a soft, exasperated sigh. “Honestly, you’re as distractible as Stan.” 

He turns away, but your eyes don’t leave him. Instead, you let your gaze slide over the room, until something catches your eye. A strange, helmet-like device bristling with wires and so, without thinking, you ask, “Hey, what’s that thing?”

Ford’s gaze follows yours, his expression changes as he considers whether to answer. “That’s a thought-reading device. Designed to access certain mental frequencies,” he explains, stepping closer to it and closer to you. “It can pick up surface thoughts. . . theoretically, anyway. I was working on it before I. . . uhm, it’s meant to strengthen and protect someone’s mental processes. Block out. . . certain entities from gaining access to their mind.”

A mind-protective device. Of course, he’d build something like that. It’s so him, his beautiful mix of intellect, caution, that underlying fear of what he’s seen, what he’s had to fight.

“So, it could let me peek into that brilliant mind of yours?” it’s a playful a tease, mostly. But inside you just ache to know, to wonder, to feel his thoughts. Would he think about you. even once, in the same filthy, breathless way you think about him?

Stanford grins. “In theory, yes, but it’s hardly necessary. My mind is. . . complex, too complicated for most people to understand."

And then, suddenly, unexpectedly, Ford lifts the machine, his grin is bigger. “Why don’t you try it on?”

Your heart slams against your chest and panic sears through you, cutting under your carefully held composure. Oh god. No. No, no, no. Every filthy thought, every desperate image of him, of those long, deft fingers tracing down your skin, of his mouth, his hands, of him pinning you down and splitting you open on his cock, of moaning his name until you can’t breathe. All of it, laid bare, displayed for him to see? 

You choke down the crazy urge to run, instead forcing yourself to laugh. “Why, Professor Pines, are you doubting my integrity?” you counter, flashing him a daring smirk, praying it’s enough to distract him from the heat that’s burning its way up your cheeks.

Ford chuckles in response. “Integrity?” he repeats, his tone mocking. “No. But curiosity? Oh, absolutely. I think it would be enlightening to see what actually goes on behind that amused little expression of yours.”

“There’s nothing interesting in my mind,” but your words barely sound convincing to you, let alone to him.

Ford tilts his head, arching his brow in that all-too-familiar, skeptical way that makes you want to simultaneously squirm and melt. “Oh really? You know, most people would be thrilled to test out new technology. But you. . . you’re avoiding it like it’s some kind of torture device.”

“Oh, yeah, you know,” a poor attempt at casual. “I just. . . don’t wanna risk, you know, brain cells or something.” you resist the urge to roll your eyes. God, please just buy it. . . 

Ford’s laughter rumbles and by the look on his face, you know he doesn’t quite believe you. But, mercifully, he lets it slide. “Alright, alright,” he relents. “I’ll spare you. This time.”

***

The rest of the evening is a haze of Ford’s intense meticulous rambling as you both sit tucked away in the quiet of his lab, soft lamp light casting warm shadows that stretch over the various gadgets, books, and uncharted maps sprawled out on every available surface, his domain, the world he’s always losing himself in.

He’s explaining again, his words so precise about the anomaly you saw earlier today. His voice rises with each detail, the way the rain altered it, how it vanished before either of you could even think to grab it. You should be focused, but his beautiful voice turns into a lullaby. Your eyelids grow heavy, your body sinking deeper into the chair. 

And Ford notices.

The way your head tilts too far, your eyes fluttering closed just a little too long. He’s not as lost in his thoughts as he likes to think. His gaze sharpens, flicking to you with that careful, assessing precision he’s always had. He sees that quiet exhaustion in the way your posture slumps, the way your breath catches unevenly as your body fights against the pull of sleep.

His voice softens. “You’re exhausted,” he murmurs. “Of course you are. . . It’s too late. Go, get some rest. This. . . all of this will still be here tomorrow.”

A sigh tries to escape your chest before you can stop it. You want to protest, to stay longer, to pass just little bit more time with him. But the way he looks at you makes the words die before they can leave your lips. There's something unspoken in his eyes, a quiet concern mixed with that stubborn, unyielding sense of responsibility.

You try to stifle a yawn, your hand reaches out, fingers brushing the fabric of his sleeve, as if the touch might change his mind. “Maybe. . . maybe just a bit longer?” however even your own voice sounds tired.

His answer is gentle but final. “No. You need to sleep. I’ll be here, as always.”

You don’t argue. When you step away, you catch one last glimpse of him, standing amidst the piles of notebooks, the soft light casting shadows along the lines of his face, catching the silver in his hair in a way that’s so painfully beautiful so you let yourself stay a little longer before you close the door.

***

The silence that reigns in the room after you leave feels like a huge, endless void that stretches to all corners of the laboratory and suffocates in its stillness. Ford exhales slowly, a sigh caught between frustration and something deeper he can’t quite name. His gaze lingers on the door, where you disappeared through just moments ago, soft sound of your footsteps still echoing in his mind. God, he’s such a fool, he thinks, fingers pressing to the bridge of his nose, rubbing at the ache that’s been building inside him ever since you spoke those soft words, just a little longer.

He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t ignore it. The way you leaned in, hanging onto his every word, as if he were something more than he really was, something beyond the man who hides behind his work, behind his mind. The weight of your trust presses on him and with it comes the unbearable pressure of knowing he doesn’t deserve it.

And God, he tries to keep himself restrained. He tells himself that this is madness, that you’re too young, that every second he spends watching you, wanting you, is a betrayal of everything he’s tried to build.

But you’re gone now and his lab feels emptier than ever. Even as he reaches for his journal, his thoughts are still tangled with you, with the way you looked at him, the way your sleepy eyes followed his every move, the way you seemed to hang on to every word, every breath he took. Did you even realise what you were doing to him?

And as he opens his journal, he knows there will be no more notes on anomalies tonight. No theories, nothing but the restless, fevered words he can never, ever say aloud. Ford knows that if these thoughts ever slipped past his lips, they’d destroy you. You’d never look at him the same again. And he can’t lose you. He couldn’t bear to watch that disgust fill your eyes, that revulsion as you saw him for what he truly is: a man with a heart full of shame, but aching for you all the same.

He writes with a fever, the words coming too quickly for him to even think them through. He’s confessing things he’ll never have the courage to say to you. The way you make him ache, how wrong it feels, how unnatural it is to want you this way. You’re so young, so vibrant, so full of life. How could someone like him, an old man, a man of logic and reason, ever think he could want someone like you?

And yet, it’s all he can think about. It’s all he does think about.

God help him, he wants you.

Stanford’s hand trembles as he writes fast.

“The way she seems to lean closer with every word I speak, as if I’m some kind of god to her. I can’t breathe when she’s near, but I can’t stand being away from her either.”

He’s sickened by it, disgusted by the way his hands ache for you, by how his thoughts run into places he can’t control. But even so, he thinks, I can’t stop. I can’t stop wanting you.

“If only she knew what I was dreaming about, how I want to erase all layers of distance between us. I want to melt into her, touch every inch of her skin, as if she was made to belong to me, only to me.“

Ford can’t let you know how deeply he feels, how far he’s fallen for someone like you, someone so out of reach, someone who might never look at him the way he looks at you. Because if he did, if he let those words slip from his lips it would ruin you. It would break you.

And he can’t do that.

Not to you.

So, he writes. He writes because it’s the only way he can make sense of the mess inside of him. The only way he can be close to you without breaking everything.

“God, if she knew, she'd never see me as anything but the perverted old man I am.”

“God help me. . . I want her breathless. I want her shaking, clinging to me as I bury myself inside her, feeling every inch of her wrap around me like she was made for this. I want her to be mine. The years between us be damned—”

One sentence, scribbled with shaking hands: “if she knew how much I want to make her come on my cock while explaining the fundamental laws of interdimensional, she’d never look at me same way again”

“I want her shaking, spent, marked by me, by the man twice her age who should know better but can’t help himself.”

“I picture teaching her how to harness interdimensional energy, but my mind twists it, images shifting until it’s my body pressed to hers, whispering “concentrate sweetheart,” while I trust into her from behind. Her breath would stutter as I correct her technique with my hands on her hips.”

“I shouldnt crave her, not with the years that separates us like an unyielding chasm. Yet when she laughs, carefree and obvious, I imagine making her cry my name, hands guiding her hips as I thrust inside up into her, showing her exactly what an older man can do. Showing her why age doesn’t matter when she’s trembling and breathless beneath me.”

“She's got no idea, does she? I want her bent over my desk, books and notes scattered beneath her, while I thrust into her like some animal in heat, filling her over and over until there's nothing left of her but soft, pleading sounds and the way her body pulls me back in with every move. I’d guide her, make her feel exactly what it means to be touched by a man who’s twice her age and twice as obsessed.”

Meanwhile, now, alone in your room, you’re haunted by the memory of your lovely scientist, pulsing between your legs, leaving a needy ache that’s impossible to ignore. Just thinking about him, the strong lines of his hands, those six fingers that could make you see stars. . . it all sends a jolt straight through your body and suddenly, you’re melting, undone, utterly helpless to this craving for him.

You let yourself fall back into your bed, eyes closed, his presence wrapping around you like a ghost you can’t shake off. You can’t even catch a steady breath now, the dampness pooling between your thighs, every inch of you begging to be touched — not by yourself, no. You need him, his skilled, explorative touch, those six clever fingers. The memory of every stolen glance, every careful brush of his hand, it all coils up inside, a slow, delicious torment, and now it’s throbbing there, heavy with need.

You drag your fingers down the length of your body, tracing where his hands might go as you imagine him, his fingers slipping lower, finding that sweet, drenched ache and grazing it with a delicate touch that he’d know so damn well. 'Fuck,' you’d gasp, his name like a prayer on your lips as his six fingers roam, rough and relentless, pressing right against that needy opening, filling you up until you’re nothing but breathless whimpers and cries for more.

“God, sweetheart,” you hear his voice, “I’ve wanted this for so damn long. Do you feel that? How hard you make me?” and then he’d press his cock between your legs, hot veins throbbing against your entrance, and you can feel his breath on your neck as he tells you what a beautiful mess you’ve become for him.

Your fingertips brush over your clit as you imagine his hand there, gentle but insistent, exploring you with that scientist's curiosity, his six fingers pressing slow, circling that sensitive bud, coaxing soft gasps from your lips. “Let me feel you. Take it slow, sweetheart. Let me make you mine.” but even as you touch yourself now, imagining his fingers in place of yours, it’s still not enough

You arch from own hand, fingers gliding through the wetness now slick and ready, you press a little harder on your clit, circling it faster, imagining the way his hands would dig into your skin, his strong arms wrapped around you as he thrusts into you, “take it all, darling. Every inch of me.”

And by some lucky chance, Ford stands outside your door, his pulse slamming hard against his ribs, a wreck of a man just clinging to sanity. The sound of you — all gasping, breathy moans slipping through the thin wood, whispering his name in that desperate little voice — he can’t help himself as his hand flies up to the doorframe, his fingers digging in so hard they’re going white, knuckles taut, trying to keep himself together. 

But the universe is laughing at him, at his pathetic attempt at control, at the sheer uselessness of his restraint, because fuck, every gasp you make sinks its teeth into him.

Something hot runs through him, then it sinks low, thickening in his chest, then spreads down between his legs. His cock twitches, rock-hard and aching, straining against the fabric, pressing hard, begging for the attention he keeps denying it. He shouldn’t be here — hell, he should be miles away by now, somewhere that isn’t two inches from falling apart at the sound of you! But he’s not. He’s a goddamn mess, held hostage to the way you’re sighing his name.

“Fuck, sweetheart. . .” he’s going insane out here.

Ford knows how you look right now, imagined it thousands of times, laid out on your bed with those soft thighs parted, hands trailing down, fingertips grazing over warm, damp skin, teasing yourself open, getting yourself wet just for him. Fuck, he thinks, I shouldn’t be this fucking desperate.

Ford lets his hand slip down, pressing hard against the hardness straining in his trousers, feeling himself throb against his own palm. There’s no relief, just that painful, growing ache that has him grinding his teeth, biting back the low, broken sound that wants to rip free from his throat. He’s a man undone, ruined just by the thought of you, the image of you with your legs open, your body calling out for him like he’s the only one you need.

“Jesus, fuck. . .” his free hand reaches down, trembling as he slides it beneath his waistband, wrapping around the throbbing heat of his cock, feeling himself swell, hard and pulsing against his palm. It’s wrong, so wrong to be here, touching himself to the sound of your little whimpers, but fuck if he can stop.

The sounds coming from your room grow louder and it’s too much for him. He’s already so fucking close as he imagines himself on top of you, sinking inside you, feeling your cunt wrapped tight and hot around him, your body arching, your hands clawing at his back, those delicate fingers pulling him close, begging him not to stop. 

Ford’s back collides with the lab door as he stumbles in, chest heaving, adrenaline of hearing his name on your lips. He locks the door behind him.

Fumbling hands tug at his belt, fingers clumsy, impatient, tearing at the fabric as it’s the only thing standing between him and relief. Finally, the belt slides free, and he wraps a shaky hand around his cock, swallowing down a low hiss as the raw heat of his own skin meets his grip. 

He strokes himself roughly and desperately, letting his thumb graze the sensitive tip with a ragged groan that he’s helpless to contain. His mind runs further, and he pictures you, perfect and pliant, sinking to your knees before him with eyes so innocent, with lips parting as you take him into your mouth. As you let him fuck your throat.

A shiver runs through him and he leans his head back, sighing, groaning and grunting louder as he loses himself in the fantasy. God, if you only knew. If you could see him like that, a desperate moaning and trembling mess with his hand wrapped around his leaking cock. 

“Ahh— ffuck,” hell, just how much he wants to hear you make those sounds too, moan for him, he wants to feel you beneath him, warm and soft, clinging to him, legs tangled around his waist as he sinks into you. His strokes become faster. Ford imagines pressing you down onto the lab table, your dripping pussy welcoming him as he thrusts deeper, deeper, deeper, deeper until there’s no part of you he hasn’t claimed. His breath hitches, hips bucking into his hand as he imagines the way your walls would tighten around him, clenching, pulling him in. 

He’s shaking now, barely able to hold himself together, his free hand clutches at the edge of the workbench, knuckles white, as he lets himself sink fully into the fantasy. You’d look so damn perfect spread out for him. Ford’s hand moves faster, tighter, fueled by the image of you writhing beneath him, helpless, pleading, so sweet and open, absolutely his, his beautiful girl, sweetest thing. 

The pressure building until he can’t take it anymore. His hips jerk, a loud needy moan spilling from his lips as he cums, his body shuddering with release. For a few long, breathless seconds, everything fades: his mind, his shame, everything but the overwhelming, blinding wave of pleasure.

***

The morning breaks, a new day arriving, one that promises to be spent with Ford close by— and, isn’t that something to look forward to?

When you meet Stanford, the first thing you hear is, “Did you not learn anything from last time?“

You bite your lip to keep from laughing, but before you can protest, Ford is stepping closer, his coat swishing around him as he moves. The wool of his scarf unravels with practiced ease, and in a smooth motion, it’s over your shoulders, the warmth of it spreads around your neck. You want to say something, but all you can focus on is the way Ford’s thumb traces the edge of the scarf, his touch so delicate it feels too intimate for something so simple.

This shouldn’t feel like it does, you think, but your body screaming what your mind refuses to admit.

“There,” Ford says, stepping back. “You’ll thank me later.”

“I thought you checked the forecast this time,” you tease, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t today supposed to be sunny?”

Ford crosses his arms with a smile. “Yes, well. . . One can never be too cautious. After all, last time—“

“—last time, I nearly froze my ass off,” you finish, the laughter bubbling up between you and Ford shoots you a look that’s equal parts exasperated and fond, like he’s about to scold you but can’t help himself.

“I wasn’t going to put it quite so crudely,” he says, but that reluctant chuckle escapes him before he can hide it.

When the sun climbs higher, the forest around you changes in hues of gold, the leaves thinning just enough to let the light filter through in soft rays. You walk side by side, close enough to hear the rhythmic crunch of your footsteps in the fallen leaves and Ford’s murmured observations, but it’s all you can do not to lose yourself in him. His words float past, about terrain, weather, anomalies and predictions, but your mind doesn’t follow, not when your eyes keep straying to him.

You can’t help but wonder if there’s any room left for you in his head, if he ever thinks about anything other than those damned anomalies. A piece of you wants to shake him, to pull him from his thoughts, to remind him that life is more than equations and mathematics. But, god, there’s something so cute about him when he’s like this, so fully consumed by his world, and you can’t look away.

“You’re thinking about something,” Stanford starts, pulling you out of your trance. “Is it the anomaly, or. . .?”

“Just wondering what it is we’re actually tracking. I mean, last time it disappeared before we could even get a good look, so. . . what’s the plan if it shows up again?”

Ford’s face lights up with approval at your question. “It’s an elusive creature, no doubt,” and again, his voice slips into that familiar lecture tone, one you’ve learned to love despite yourself. “But this time, I have a better understanding of its behaviour. The rain threw it off last time, but if my theory is correct, today’s dry weather should keep it on course! And if we can corner it near the ravine, there’s a chance we might get a clear reading on its—”

“Ford,” you interrupt, he stops talking, his brow lifting slightly. “I mean, yes— corner it near the ravine,” you repeat. Wait, what did you just say? 

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Ford asks, smiling at you. “If you’re still tired from yesterday, I can handle this on my own.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, crossing your arms as you look at him defiantly. "Oh, please. I said I could do this a thousand times over with you and still keep up,” you challenge.

He laughs again and his laughter is so damn cute. “That, I don’t doubt.”

Time pass and as you walk beside Ford, your mind drifts, you're not really thinking about the anomaly or the hunt anymore. No, your thoughts are elsewhere. Again. Somewhere they shouldn’t be, but there they are. You can’t help but notice the way the sun highlights the strands of silver in Ford's hair, the curve of his shoulders as he walks, his posture so effortlessly confident and strong. And you think about how much you liked the way his body looked in the rain yesterday, when the wetness clung to his clothes and made every line stand out even more. 

You sigh inwardly, watching him from the corner of your eye. The weather, as perfect as it is, only makes you feel a bit wistful. Why did it have to be sunny today? You had been hoping for more rain. The kind of rain that soaked him through and made his clothes cling to his skin, the droplets tracing the curves of his chest. That was a sight you’d never forget. But today sun is too bright, too cheerful.

The soft breeze brushes your hair against your face, and you snap out of your thoughts just as you see the clearing ahead. Ford slows his pace, his gaze scanning the area with his usual calculated precision. And just as yesterday, air here feels different, as if charged. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, the unease settling in. This is it, the spot where the anomaly was last seen. But, of course, there's nothing. The clearing is quiet, calm, completely empty.

Ford steps forward, looking around with a frown, muttering something under his breath. You stand there for a moment, waiting, listening to the wind rustle through the branches and the distant call of a bird. But there's nothing. 

“Where is it?” you ask and Ford turns to you, his expression calm but with that familiar hint of worry in his eyes, the kind that usually only surfaces when he’s feeling frustrated. 

“Don’t worry,” he says, though his voice sounds more like he’s trying to reassure himself than you. He straightens up, adjusting his glasses. “The anomaly will show itself. We’ve got all day to catch it.” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

All day with Ford? 

Your heart skips a beat and you have to fight to keep your expression neutral. What could be better than spending the entire day with him, just the two of you in this quiet, secluded place? No distractions, just you and Ford, and the anomaly that might never show up.

It takes a little more time while you and Ford are waiting for the anomaly to appear and so, a dialogue ensues.

“I’ve seen some more strange things. In all my years of research, there have been anomalies of all shapes and sizes. Creatures from dimensions we can’t even begin to understand. Some are harmless, just curious things that wander around, never meaning to cause harm. Others. . . Others are far more dangerous. I've seen creatures that could tear through steel without breaking a sweat. Their behavior is— well, unpredictable.”

“What about the really dangerous ones?”

“There's one anomaly, one creature that I’ve encountered that still haunts me, to this day.” he looks away for a moment, as if weighing the decision to tell you more. “a beast unlike any other. Its skin is like iron, nearly impenetrable. And its mind is relentless. It doesn’t think like us. It doesn’t have the ability to reason, only the ability to kill and survive.”

Wow, you already can see it in your mind — a massive, hulking creature, covered in jagged, metallic plates, its eyes wild with an animalistic hunger.

“And you’ve seen it?”

Ford nods slowly. “Yes, once. And it wasn’t an experience I care to repeat.” and then he calls you by your name. “Listen, if we encounter anything dangerous, you stay behind me. Don’t try to be a hero, don’t try to ‘help out.’ I’ve trained for this. I know these creatures; I know their instincts and behaviours. You. . . you don’t. It’s crucial that you follow my lead.”

“I’m not helpless, you know,” you mumble, folding your arms. “I can handle myself.”

But Ford only smirks, oh how cute you are. “And if you ever find yourself lost between dimensions, the key is to stay calm. Panicking is a surefire way to make yourself vulnerable. Reality in those places doesn’t play by the same rules. Your mind can trick you, distort what you’re seeing” 

You stare at him, a mixture of awe and confusion washing over you. “Well, thanks, Ford, for the guide on how to travel through dimensions and fight the monsters that live in them.”

“Years of experience. Sometimes the hard way. But you don’t need to worry about that, alright? Just stick close, keep your wits about you, and we’ll make it out just fine.” he smiles.

“Easy for you to say,” you mutter, your gaze dropping to the forest floor. “You’re. . . you’re Stanford Pines. You’re used to dealing with this kind of thing. Me? I’d probably end up wandering off into some other dimension if I so much as blink wrong.”

He chuckles softly, and you feel his hand gently rest on your shoulder. “That’s why I’m here. To make sure you don’t.”

You open your mouth to respond, but then— crack. A twig snaps somewhere in the trees to your left. The sound is sharp, distinct, echoing through the quiet forest.

Your heart skips a beat and you instinctively grip Ford’s arm, eyes widening. He tenses, immediately going on alert as his gaze darts toward the source of the noise. “Stay behind me.”

You swallow, nodding as you press yourself close to him. Ford moves slowly, keeping himself between you and the sound, his shoulders squared, every muscle tense and ready.

Another rustle, this time from the other side. You bite your lip, feeling the cold prickling sensation of fear clawing up your spine. This doesn’t sound like a bunny, not in the slightest.

The sounds grow louder, surrounding you both. Ford’s posture tightens, his gaze focused and determined, while you hover close behind him, whatever lurks in the shadows isn’t friendly, and Ford, as always, stands ready to protect you at any cost.

Suddenly, Ford raises a hand, signaling for you to stay still. One. . . two. . . three—

A small, furry creature darts out of the bushes, a pudgy raccoon, more plump and inquisitive than fearsome. It scampers out, blinking innocently at you both and you feel sigh with a relief.

You slip out from behind Ford, who’s still standing rigidly, eyeing the raccoon with disbelief. “Well, would you look at that,” you say, glancing up at him with a slight grin. “Our terrifying forest intruder was just looking for a snack, huh?”

“Don’t get too close,” Stanford warns, still frowning. “These things are rarely alone.”

You laugh softly, crouching down and letting the raccoon sniff at your hand. “Oh, come on, Ford. You really think this little guy is hiding—”

The words die in your throat as you catch the look on his face, his eyes wide with sudden horror, mouth open as he shouts, “behind you!” and you whip around just in time to see something that makes your heart freeze, a hulking mass with matted fur and claws like daggers, looming in the shadows. Its eyes flash like yellow lanterns and a rank smell hits you, earthy and rotten all at once. You barely manage a step back before it lets out a furious roar, its maw wide enough to fit a head and then some. The sound is so loud it rattles through you and a splatter of spit flies from its jaws, landing on your clothes. You go stock-still.

“Th-that’s. . .” you stammer, but Ford’s voice interrupts you, calm and steady despite the chaos.

“Stay calm. It’s eyesight’s weak, but sound-sensitive. Just— slowly step back.”

You barely have time to take in his words before the beast’s head snaps toward you again, snarling with an intensity that shakes the trees. Immediately, Ford pulls out his gun, aiming directly at the creature, he fires off a round that echoes through the forest, hitting the beast and it lets out a howl of pain that sends birds scattering from the treetops. But it’s still very much alive, and now it looks angry, furiously angry. The monster's gaze is fixed on Ford with a vengeful glare, and he rushes towards him with a blood-curdling growl.

Ford stands firm, taking careful aim as he readies to fire again. But just as he steadies his grip, a branch underfoot shifts, making him stumble. The gun slips from his hand, landing somewhere in the tangle of roots and leaves and suddenly, he’s weaponless, the monster mere feet away.

Panic flares in your chest as you see the creature, claws poised, ready to strike. Ford scrambles back, but it’s too close, and something snaps inside you. Without thinking, you dart forward, adrenaline flooding through you and you grab a thick branch from the ground. With a yell that’s as much out of fear as it is determination, you swing it at the creature with everything you have, landing a blow that momentarily distracts it from Ford.

But that monster retaliates, slashing out in a blind fury and suddenly you feel the sting of claws raking across your leg. Pain flares sharp and hot, but you grit your teeth, ignoring it, keeping yourself steady enough to stay upright.

Ford seizes the moment, his eyes flashing with a mix of fury and fear as he snatches his gun from the ground, turning back to the creature. His voice is hoarse but resolute, “what are you doing?” he shouts irritably, calling your name again. “I told you to listen to me!”

With a final, controlled shot, he fires, the bullet hitting its mark. The monster lets out an agonized cry, staggering back before it turns and lumbers off into the dense woods, its snarl fading into the distance.

The adrenaline ebbs, leaving you and Ford alone in the sudden silence. His gaze finds yours, mad and worried all at once, his hand reaching out to steady you as your breathing finally starts to slow.

Ford’s face twists with frustration, jaw clenched tight and when he speaks, his voice is seething with barely controlled anger. “What the hell were you thinking?” he snaps. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed, charging in like that! I told you to stay back!”

You swallow, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks, not out of embarrassment or fear, but because, god, he’s hot when he’s angry, with that fire in his eyes and his tone like a damn storm. You force yourself to stay upright, despite the dull ache pulsing in your leg. “Ford, it’s fine. I just wanted to—”

But he’s already looking at you, really looking, his gaze flicking from your face to the way you’re leaning on your uninjured leg. “You’re hurt,” his tone dips from anger to something softer and worried. “Damn it, I should’ve never brought you out here. I’m such an idiot—“

“No, Ford, it’s just a little—” you try to brush him off, waving your hand dismissively, but as you shift your weight, a sharp bolt of pain shoots through your leg. You bite back a wince, forcing a smile. “Just a scratch, really.”

“Don’t even think about hiding this from me,” Ford turns annoyed and dead serious again, he steps closer as he assesses you, and there’s something really fierce in the way he insists, “Let me take a look. Now.”

For a moment, you think about arguing. But the pain flares again and you realise there's no winning against that look in his eyes. With a sigh, you give in, nodding reluctantly as you show him your new wound, from where the blood has already soaked into the fabric, turning it dark red.

Ford’s face changes instantly. “Damn it,” his hand hovers uncertainly like he wants to reach out, to touch, but doesn’t quite know where to begin. “This is— this isn’t just a scratch.”

His fingers finally settle gently around your calf, supporting you, his touch unexpectedly gentle as he examines the wound. You can feel his pulse under his fingertips, it’s obvious he’s anxious, and for a second, he doesn’t look like the Ford who always has the answers.

“This was my fault, I shouldn’t have— damn it, I should’ve kept you safe.”

***

The journey back to the shack feels agonizingly silent. Ford has one arm around your waist, nearly carrying you as you limp along, every step makes the wound throb in your leg. The sting, the ache, it’s all mingling with a sick sense of regret. You feel it settling in your chest. The whole day had been a disaster. You both went out to catch that anomaly, that one lead he was so excited about. . . and instead, you ended up facing something brutal. The monster had nearly killed you both.

Ford hasn’t spoken a word since the forest and with each passing second, it gnaws at you more. The thought appears in your mind, he must regret it. Bringing you along, letting you be there, yeah. . . he’s mad and not in the way you find hot. He’s distant, still supporting you, guiding you with a firm hand, but it’s as though he’s somewhere else entirely.

When you finally make it to the Shack, you find it blessedly empty. No Stan’s loud jokes or questions to break the heavy silence between you. Ford helps you to walk, still wordless and the whole way, you’re trying to find something to say. Some excuse, some apology, but every time you look over at him, you just see that grim look and you stop yourself.

Inside, he lets you sit on the couch. You clear your throat, forcing yourself to speak, to try to lift that heavy cloud around you. “Ford, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for things to go that way. I didn’t mean to—”

But Ford cuts you off. “No, don’t apologize. It’s my fault. I should never have let you come along, I put you in danger.”

That serious tone. . . You nod, saying nothing more and after a beat of silence, you get up slowly, mumbling something about heading to your room. Ford doesn’t stop you, and he watches you go, still worried as fuck, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s rooted there, expression tight as he watches you limp down the hall.

When you get to your room, you close the door softly behind you, but the pain in your leg has started pulsing heavier, sharper, demanding your attention. You look down and finally decide, you’re going to check it, even if just to prove to yourself that Ford’s look wasn’t warranted, that maybe you’re not as bad as he seemed to think.

You settle on the edge of your bed, carefully and slowly taking your pants off, but as you pull the fabric, the sight that greets you isn’t reassuring in the slightest. The cut on your thigh is deep, seeping a fresh, dark line of blood that’s begun to smear against your skin. “Fuck. . .” you curse, tilting your head to get a better look, your fingers hovering over the edges of the wound. Just as you’re mentally preparing to find the first aid kit, a familiar voice cuts through the silence.

“No, please, just— let me help still. I won’t be calm until I—”

In the midst of your concentration, you hear the faintest creak of the door, and before you can even react, it opens. 

You barely have a moment to react, still sitting on the edge of your bed, the bloody gash on full display as Ford steps inside, eyes widening as he looks at you. He freezes and for a moment, you both just stare at each other in silence. You’re sitting there in your panties and a t-shirt, and you don’t know if to be happy or not, realising how exposed you must look. Ford’s gaze flickers to your bare legs, to the wound on your inner thigh.

You cross your legs in shock and embarrassment. “Ford, what—” you start, but he quickly raises a hand, cutting you off.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to—“ Ford approaches, he kneels beside the bed, looking up into your eyes. “I— I can’t just leave you like this,” he pleads. “Please. . . let me help.”

“Ford—“

Ford’s hands hover over your leg. “You need to stop the bleeding, disinfect it, make sure it doesn’t get infected. It’s going to hurt, but, I can help. I’ll be gentle. Just let me. . . please.”

His eyes search yours, a quiet desperation in them that seems to say more than just his words ever could. Ford may be brilliant when it comes to the unknown, but in moments like this, when it’s you that’s hurt, he’s lost, even if he tries to sounds smart. He doesn’t want to mess this up, doesn’t want to fail you.

Slowly, you nod, the vulnerability in his gaze too much for you to ignore.

“Alright,” you whisper. “but be careful, okay?”

[elbiotipo]

Something worth noting is that the constitutions of many Latin American countries were based in the US constitution, which was at the time seen as an example of a liberal republic. So yes, indeed, Argentina once had an electoral college for example.

And indeed that electoral college and restrictive voting laws (the República Conservadora of 1853-1916~) was used to suppress popular will (something like 1% of the population could vote). After the reforms by the UCR, universal male suffrage was achieved, the electoral college always voted proportionally to the popular vote (unlike the US where it's a winner takes all system), though afterwards there was decades of coups so there weren't many elections. Woman suffrage came with Perón and Evita, as well as the 1949 constitution that enshrined worker's and social rights (later repealed by the military dictatorship, though worker's rights are still guaranteed explicitly by the current constitution)

It was with the 1994 constitution when we finally stopped that stupid system and went directly with the popular vote. In any case, as I said, the electoral college voted proportionally to the popular vote so it was more redudant than anything. (I understand, though my knowledge there is limited, that Brazil and other countries had a similar history)

This all happened because like most constitutions, the Argentine constitution has been reformed multiple times. It started mostly as a copy of the US constitution which was a model at the time, but situations changed. Worker's rights, women's right, indigenous rights, environmental rights, changes to the procedure of state, the defense against our history of coups. Many things changed (and indeed the constitution and I argue the whole political system is overdue for a change) and they did by long popular struggle.

The United States remains the only country in the world with an electoral college. Many archaic and unequal things like the all powerful supreme court or the strange voting system in the United States simply aren't found in other such democracies because they changed. It's strange to pretend the United States is a paramount of democracy because their own model of democracy is actually very obsolete, and in fact doesn't even approach the ongoing developments in popular sovereignity in countries like China (which I don't have time to write about but they're very interesting) or indeed, other "average" democracies in Latin America, Africa, Europe, and the rest of the world. And yet democracies in general are having a hard time in responding to the needs of the people (which is natural given the state of class conflict) and there are some that are particularily ossified and not a model for anyone, such as the US and the UK. If you attempt to study or measure "democracy" by their standards, you're doomed to failure.

In the coming decades new ways of concieving the state and the "res publica" will emerge. From an outsider's perspective, the liberal capitalist model of the United States is hopelessly outdated and those who cling to it (like our own Milei) are walking fossils. There is a future for democracy but it will be very different from what we know.

[obsessedhoneycomb]

Mr. Russell

George Russell x fem!reader

Summary: when you’re digging into secrets of dangerous people, you might get burned or…

Warning: this is pure filth, SMUT, 18+, cursing, spanking, reader being tied up, maybe dark theme?, unprotected sex, mafia!George, no use of Y/N

A/N: I am sick this week and laying bored in my bed made me wrote this. I hope you enjoy it!

My mind couldn’t wrap around the fact that I woke up tied to the bed, in the bedroom I have no recollection of getting into, completely naked.

“I see, you’re awake, darling.”

The voice of a man was heard beside me. Laying on my stomach with my head towards the direction of the window it was very hard to turn to that voice, but I tried my best. It was George. George Russell. The mafia boss everybody warned me about. And I didn’t listen.

“Tsk, tsk. You were a very bad girl. Poking into secrets that you know nothing about. You should’ve been careful. But.. you were so goddamn curious, weren’t you? So, I thought that you’d be happy to experience some of that secrets for yourself.”

My mouth was dry, I swallowed hard as I listened to him. Working as an investigative reporter, it was my job to look through some cases to make my articles interesting. There were some rumours, that Russell had his own sex club, and that alone wasn’t so bad, but also drugs were involved along with some torture and violence, leading to deaths of clients and sometimes even of the “employees”.

Reels of my thoughts was interrupted by his hand on my cheek, caressing it lightly, tracing gently along my jaw.

“Speechless now, huh? You know, I can make you talk.”

“No, no, I’m gonna talk, just don’t, please.”

My voice sounded desperate and hopeless, exactly what he wanted. Trying to move my hands, the restrains dug more into the delicate flesh of mine, the soft whimper leaving my mouth.

George chuckled, when he got up from the bed, walking around it to stand right behind me. I couldn’t see much, but I bet that he liked what he was looking at. Next thing I know was his hands slipping under my stomach, pulling me upwards by my hips.

“Ass up, darling. You’re a sight for sore eyes. This is how you should be - naked, desperate and completely at my mercy. But no, you’d rather dig into shit to get informations for your stupid articles about me.”

“G-George, I-“

“For you, I’m Mr. Russell.”

And with that he slapped my ass. Hard.

“Fuck… Mr. Russell.” Choked whimper escaped my mouth as I was shocked, what just happened.

“That’s my good girl.”

His hands caressed the flesh of my ass, squeezing it and massaging it. My face was flushed with embarrassment, because, believe it or not, I liked that. A lot.

“You wanted to say something, darling? I interrupted you.” He spoke so casually, like this whole situation wasn’t even happening.

“I wanted to say, that- that I never intended to interrupt your business. I didn’t want that informations for articles, it was just my own curiosity.”

“And I am supposed to believe you, huh? Because I can’t, sweetheart. I saw the drafts you wrote.”

“But-“

Another slap across my ass. This time I felt the tingling and my toes on my feet curled from it as I bit into my lip to suppress a moan.

“You’re a fucking liar, darling. And I hate liars.”

I wasn’t able to say something else, because he spanked my ass for another five times. Delicate flesh of my behind stung and surely was red, his hands marked deeply into my skin. I was panting, tears burning in my eyes, because it fucking hurt. My body, on the other hand, had its own way to betray me.

“Ah, darling, you’re a naughty girl. Look how wet you got just from a little spanking session. We’re gonna have a lot of fun together. Unfortunately, I think that you’re not gonna get back to your usual job. Maybe I will keep you as my fucktoy from now on.”

I wanted to protest, but he was always a step ahead of me, his fingers now teasing my leaking pussy. That made me shut up instantly. Just as his fingertips traced the way to my sensitive bundle of nerves, I moaned softly and I knew it made him smile.

“Mmm… I can’t wait to claim you. You make me unbelievably hard, baby. Consider yourself special, it’s not happening often, because I’m not quite impressed by anybody.”

His voice was laced with lust and desire, it was like a music for my ears, getting straight to my core, to clench around nothing, craving him, aching for his cock to fill me.

“Please…”

“Please what, darling? Use your words. Tell me, what you want.”

Embarrassed by my neediness, I buried my head into the pillow, feeling the tension in my shoulders from the way I was tied up to the headboard.

Humming in disapproval, his fingers slid through my soaked folds, poking at the entrance, my back arching from the sensation.

“You need to say it, baby. Without that, I’m just gonna tease you to the oblivion. I can do that all night.”

Now I could feel his breath fanning over my aching core, my arms pushing against the restraints.

“I want you to eat my pussy, George, fuck, please. Please!”

I let out a loud plea, begging him to taste my arousal, to relieve the tension in my lower belly.

He just tsked at my desperate attempt, his fingers smearing my wetness across my ass cheek.

“You forgot about something. I thought I made that clear earlier.”

My mind was hazy from the desire and arousal but then I remembered.

“Please, make me cum with your mouth, Mr. Russell.”

“I knew you’re a good girl, darling.”

With that words, I felt his hot lips on my wet pussy, lapping on my bundle of nerves, while sliding his fingers inside me, stretching me out. Loud moans of mine filled the room, it was like ecstasy, my legs trembling from how good he was. I tried to move my hips a little, to get more from him but his strong arm kept me in place, just like he wanted. At first he made slow circles around my swollen nub, his fingers deep inside me, poking at my sweet spot, but then he picked up the pace with his fingers, while he was practically latched on my clit. That was too much, overwhelming feeling and I was a moaning mess, gasping for air, closer and closer to my climax.

Suddenly he stopped, getting away from me and I shifted in disapproval that he didn’t make me cum.

“W-why-“

“Shhh. Don’t worry. You’ll get to cum. But I want to feel that around my cock.”

I heard him undoing his pants, freeing his rocking hard length and as far as I could see, he smeared his cock with my juices he still had on his fingers from a while ago. It made him go feral, nearly cumming instantly of how erotic that was.

“Please, Mr. Russell. Fuck me. Fuck me like a whore.”

I didn’t care about my reputation or my image after this. I needed him, his cock seemed perfect to fill me up good and it was all that mattered now. My pussy was so worked up, dripping with arousal that I would do anything to have him.

“You’re my whore. Remember that.”

He said almost breathlessly, teasing me with his cock as he neared with it to my entrance. With one slow motion he pushed into me, stretching me to the limits, while I was nearly screaming from the overwhelming pleasure. I heard his huff along with chuckle, he was really satisfied with his making, giving my ass one slap before he started moving his hips against mine.

My brain went blank, my sight blinded as I let out a choked moans, saying his name in raspy voice, my throat dry from all that.

“You love this cock, right? Nobody can ever make you feel like this. Nobody can ever make this pussy so wet like me.”

His words made my mind spinning, I was so cockdrunk that I was drooling into the pillow. Each of his hard thrust was like a heaven for my sweet spot inside me, getting me closer and closer to release.

“Oh- my-“

“You’re gonna cum, aren’t you? Huh? You think you deserve it?”

I nodded yes, desperately.

“Hm. Cum for me, darling.”

With another stretching thrust I felt my pussy tightening around him, slipping over the edge of my arousal, giving me the most toe curling orgasm I ever experienced. My body was writhing underneath him, his hand slapping my ass again to heighten my pleasure even more.

As I was coming down from my high, I also felt him twitching inside me, his pace picking up, riding to his high.

“That’s it, baby girl, I’m gonna fill you up, you’re gonna be dripping. I- ah- fuck!”

George couldn’t even finish the sentence, how he was caught off guard when my pussy squeezed him once more, ending with him painting my inner walls with his precious seed. He nearly collapsed onto me, how much he was done, breathing heavily like if he just ran a marathon.

After a while I decided to speak up. “G-George… my arms.. it hurts.”

George got out of the trance as he carefully slid out of me, kneeling beside me to untie the restraints on my hands that surely will leave marks. Then he laid down on the bed, pulling me closer to him, making me whimper a little, feeling my body sore and stiff.

“Was it the way you imagined it?” George placed a soft kiss in my hair, caressing my back lovingly.

“Mhm… much better than that, actually.” I hummed with smile.

“I enjoyed it too. We should do this role play thing more often. I felt powerful as a dangerous mafia boss.” He chuckled as he spoke.

“My dangerous Mr. Russell. You know how hard it is to say that when you’re begging for something?”

“You didn’t think that I would go easy on you, did you?”

He captured my lips in tender kiss, giving me all comfort and love I needed after that rough session.

———

Please don’t use my writings without permission! Pictures not mine, they’re from Pinterest.

[puimoo]

The Brucie and Dick relationship.

[Obligatory ‘new to comic canon’ warning, where I use my Tumblr to process all my thoughts!]

While thinking today about the impact that Bruce and Batman have on Dick growing up, I realised there was a third person to consider.

What impact does Brucie have on Dick?

Because Brucie is a big part of the Bruce/Batman/Brucie identity triangle, although he often isn’t really taken into consideration when looking at their overall relationship with Dick.  However, Brucie is who the world in general sees – his colleagues, his ‘friends’, the women he dates and the people he socialises with.  There are articles written about him in the papers, paparazzi snapping his pictures.  Businesses and charities being set up in his name.

The thing is though, once Dick comes along, Brucie isn’t just a solo act.  Now, Bruce has to decide what role Dick plays in the persona.

Brucie is deliberately crafted to send particular messages: he’s not a threat, he’s easy to manipulate, he’s rather stupid and clumsy but well-meaning and incredibly likeable.  Which means that, when they are together in public (or even when Brucie is talking about him without Dick being present), Brucie and Dick are meant to send a message as well.  I can’t see their public relationship not being just as carefully crafted as the Brucie one – if it’s not, it puts the whole Brucie persona at risk.  This isn’t Bruce having a relationship with Dick, after all – it’s Brucie.

I haven’t seen enough of Brucie and Dick together to really formulate something based more deeply in canon, so a couple of thoughts instead about what that message might be intended to be.  Is the message supposed to be that they are a shiny happy family (completely normal, as much as a man and his ward can be)?  From what we know of Brucie, that would mean that Brucie would likely be more openly affectionate when they are together, much more tactile and prouder of Dick than Bruce or Batman would be.

Is the message more supposed to be the scatterbrained playboy who collects things that interests him in a well-meaning way but moves on quickly, meaning Brucie is more likely to be kind but dismissive of Dick and their relationship?

Both versions send a message: one that is we are a normal, functional family (who clearly are not Batman and Robin!), one where the relationship is more superficial and Dick isn’t really quite that important anymore and therefore you shouldn’t worry too much about him/think about him/consider him to heavily connected to Brucie at all (and all the risks that might involve for Dick, Batman and Bruce).

Both serve a protective role and both are deliberately crafted, but neither are necessarily healthy for actual Dick in the long run – especially as this would have all started when Dick was 9-10 years old.  He’s not only having to navigate his own, actual relationship with Bruce (and Batman), but manage a fake version of it as well.  And, while Dick knows that it’s all an act and probably at times finds the whole Brucie situation deeply amusing while being frustrated at other times with how people underestimate Bruce, I could also see how the deliberate choices that Bruce makes about how Brucie and Dick’s relationship is portrayed could have a deeper impact.

After all … Affectionate!Brucie potentially highlights that Bruce chooses not to be like that with him at other times - he’s clearly capable of acting that way but doesn’t necessarily feel that way.  Or, at the very least, it highlights what could have been but isn’t.  Dismissive!Brucie potentially highlights some of Dick’s greatest fears.  

There are also things that Dick could learn just from Brucie away from the Dick and Brucie relationship (you never show your true self to people, even if they are not a threat – they are ALWAYS a threat) that have the potential to shape how he sees the world.

Again, none of these are fully realised thoughts or ideas.  There are also a dozen other variations of the Brucie and Dick relationship that Bruce might have crafted, but I think the thing I am getting at is that Bruce would have crafted something – and that potentially this might have had some impact on Dick.  He grew up with Brucie alongside Batman and Bruce, after all.  I could see young!Dick absolutely leaning into it and loving to play whatever the role was (love the ‘it’s us against the world’ feel), but you get the sense that as he gets older, some realisations might creep in.

Which leads me to my last random thought: are there some versions of the Brucie and Dick relationship where Brucie of all people is actually a better parent than Bruce is (especially later on)?  Brucie – who is generally ridiculed and looked down upon by everyone who knows that he is an act?  Who is meant to represent all the things that Bruce and Batman aren’t so as to throw people off their scent.  Are there versions of the Dick and Brucie relationship where Dick might actually prefer some of those Brucie traits to some of Bruce and Batman's more harsher edges?  

From a purely evil head canon perspective, I kind of like the thought that, out of all the Batkids, Dick is the only one who actually enjoys Brucie at times, because when Affectionate!Brucie is in action he can lean into the warmth of the father-son dynamic without it being complicated or difficult, even if it is just for a short time.  And you know what the kicker would be?  Bruce would probably tell Dick afterwards how well he played the role.

…. I did not intend to have so much to say about this relationship as I did!

[myslutwritings]

I RLLY LOVE UR BLOG OMG 😭💗💗 IF U CAN, CAN I PLEASE REQUEST A THING WITH THE FIRST 3 UPPER MOONS WHERE WHERE READER ACCIDENTALLY CUTS THEIR LONG HAIR TOO SHORT AND REGRETS IT? I HAD THE SAME SITUATION BEFORE 😭😭

Aww, thanks honey! and of course! 🖤

➤ The 3 Uppermoons reaction to your haircut

featuring: Kokushibo [uppermoon 1], Douma [uppermoon 2], Akaza [uppermoon 3]

— A/N: sorry for being gone for so long (again) i tend to disappear and reappear whenever i please. 😂💀

(not proof read btw!!)

KOKUSHIBO

let’s start off by saying that before you even pick up those damn scissors to cut off those voluptuous locks he is IMMEDIATELY stopping you.

Is he doing this because this is his special way of throwing a silent tantrum over the fact you’re cutting your hair and he’s one of those guys who likes people with short hair? NO!

Is he doing this because he’s very observant and knows you’ll fuck it up and then regret it afterwards? YES!

Do you listen to him?

…

No :)

SOOOO you end up cutting your hair.. and.. let’s say it’s a total DISASTER AFTERWARDS.

Horrible would be an understatement!

(at least to you.)

You’re flipping your shit at this point and Koku is just looking at you with a “i told you so” look.

But hey! it’s okay! he still thinks your beautiful no matter what even with shorter hair. He doesn’t care about that and only loves you for you.

You could be bald and this man would still love you to bits!

Kokushibo actually finds it silly that you think he’d care so much about your physically appearance.

He finds you freaking out over it very endearing and now you have to admit you should’ve listened to him since he was right about you ‘fucking up’ your hair.

DOUMA

“Oh my! what happened?!”

Quite literally Douma’s exact words!

He just returned back to his temple from a mission to find a pair of old scissors in your hand and hair stands all over the floor.

Oh, so messy! He isn’t too fond of messes..

But, you know, since it’s YOU, so he’ll let it slide!

Questions what in muzans name you were doing.

Let’s pretend muzan is an expression because it’s funny.

Much like Kokushibo he’ll find it amusing how distraught you are over something so little!

It’s just hair.. why do you care so much?

He still finds you beautiful! not the best at validating your feelings though because he thinks you being legitimately upset over this is stupid.

Always found you being upset by the tiniest of things so dumb but also fascinating.

Douma doesn’t feel anything (so he claims..)

So therefore you feeling so strongly compared to him keeps it entertaining.

But he finds himself feeling somewhat sorry and comforting you in the end..

Strange.

Reassures you that your hair will look great long, medium length or short. he adores every part of you!

AKAZA

Akaza actually likes your hair short!

Not even like.. HE LOVES IT!

Digs it. i’ll tell you!

I feel like he’d like women/men with shorter/medium-length hair.

(Of course he is still attracted to you regardless of your hair style)

Since you’re dating a demon obsessed with fighting..

He actually teaches you how to defend yourself (so that when he isn’t around you’ll be able to fend for yourself)

And fighting with short hair is wayyyy easier! it doesn’t get in the way when you’re training.

Whenever Akaza would train you, you’d always have to put up your hair.

It sorta irritated him because why not just cut it? Or trim it?

Until you finally go through with it..

Shit turned into a whole fiasco. ☠️

You’re upset over it but he convinces you to look on the bright side. attempting to make you focus on the positive aspects rather the negative.

“You’re still so beautiful! Don’t be upset over your hair. it’ll grow back.”

You miss your long hair and regret cutting it and you know it’ll grow back but you can’t help but feel salty.

At least it doesn’t get in the way when Akaza trains you anymore so that’s a bonus.

[osakhee]

warning signals, ex!eunseok x ex!reader

! toxic relationship, mean and angry eunseok, cheating, spanking (not very proofread 😭)

eunseok doesn't know why the tears are filling his eyes while his hand roughly hit the skin of your ass. his mind is tricking him to the point he doesn't even know if he's really here. his vision gets blurry and the thoughts flow in his head over and over again. if these months never happened, he wouldn't be in this situation.

your relationship with eunseok started to worsen over the last weeks. you loved him, he was such a nice boyfriend to you, but sometimes he felt more like a bodyguard than a boyfriend. a guard dog constantly behind you and your every move. a guard dog that could smell danger all the time and need to protect you all the time.

it was bad, but you started to lie to eunseok. you were tired of having to give up on plans and friends because eunseok didn't feel like this party was a good idea, or had a bad feeling about someone. little white lies wouldn't kill him and you'll finally have the joy to be free again without a message from him every 20 minutes.

your late night parties turned into innocent sleepovers, the bars turned into restaurants. you even hid perfectly your outfits under large clothes so he wouldn't see how tight the shorts were in your thighs or how cropped the shirt is. you stopped getting ready at home and went over to your friends' place more often so eunseok would never doubt you were about to doll up your pretty face for a sleepless night.

eunseok wasn't stupid. he knew you were playing little games and he wanted to see how far you would go. for him it was not that hard, his only wish was for people to know you're completely his, and it included being careful around everyone even your friends, wearing what he wants because as your boyfriend, he knows what's best.

tonight you were going out, and you told eunseok you would be sleeping over with a friend of yours -and not obviously dance the whole day and probably drinking and probably having a better time than at home with your boyfriend-. eunseok stood up and walked to you to put his arms around you, his hands traveling under the large hoodie you wore to cover the tight crop top you had under. eunseok gave you a quick kiss, then pulled your hoodie up, and revealed your party outfit.

"what is this for?"

"it's just some clothes i like eunseok."

"are you going out like that?"

"yes. got something to say?"

eunseok furrowed his eyebrows when you pushed him away and walked to the door. he was quick to catch up on you, his hands resting on the doorknob.

"eunseok. move i'm going out."

"i'm not letting you out like that. wearing this when i'm not with you? are you getting pretty like that for someone?"

"i do what i want eunseok, move the fuck out."

everything went overboard. eunseok's low voice grew louder as he snapped at you, you screamed back at him while trying to push him away from the door. he tugged on your hoodie, you stepped back from him. you got into fights with eunseok more and more often recently but it was rarely this bad. you had enough. tears turned your vision to a blur, and eunseok got quiet after a heavy sigh.

"listen... i just want to protect you..."

"fuck you eunseok."

you took the opportunity to walk out of the apartment when eunseok sat down on the couch and tried to calm the situation. he stood up to follow you outside but the door shutting loudly stopped him. couldn't you see how much he loves you? all he wants is to protect you, you're his after all, aren't you?

you angrily ranted to your friends while walking to the club about what happened. they make some comments about how awful of a boyfriend eunseok is, and how you should do something about it. the logical option was probably to break up with him, but you wanted more. you wanted revenge, you wanted to hurt him as much he hurt you especially recently.

the club was full and you quickly forgot about eunseok once the cool drinks flowed into your system and the music filled your ears. you couldn't care less about who you were dancing with, surrounded by unknown persons, until you caught a glimpse of a familiar face.

you've seen sungchan often, he was eunseok's best friend after all. most of the time, eunseok was glued to your side possessively and you couldn't even enjoy having a talk with his tall friend. you didn't know sungchan very well, but he's handsome, and the perfect trap.

sungchan recognized you in the crowd and greeted you with a soft smile, surprised that you were not with eunseok. you didn't really want to chat, and when you put your arms around sungchan's neck to dance with him, his voice quickly died into his throat. he naturally gripped your hips and lost himself in your eyes, swinging you to the rhythm of the music.

sungchan didn't know how to react when you kissed him, your lips eagerly moving against his, almost desperate. when your hands went through his hair and dragged him closer to you, he whined into your mouth. it didn't take long for sungchan to make the next move, your hand firmly in his to get out of the club. soon you found yourself pressed against him, trapped between his body and the wall of his apartment.

you couldn't lie, you had a great time with sungchan. he was much more built than eunseok, his hands holding you with strength when he pinned your arms on the bed and crashed his hips into yours. your moans were higher than ever, your head thrown back into the sheets and your nails scratching his shoulders. eunseok was buried at the very back of your mind and you barely remembered your boyfriend when you woke up in the morning witn sungchan's arm around your waist.

but you couldn't completely forget eunseok, who blew your phone with calls and texts. he called everyone he knew, your friends, your parents, but he didn't call his best friend. why would he need to call sungchan? yet having no reply from you, eunseok found himself at the door in desperate need to complain to his beloved friend.

no matter how hard sungchan tried to hide your presence, eunseok recognized your shoes in the hall. more than just angry, eunseok felt heartbroken. why would you do that to him, him that loved you so much, that only wanted the best for you? he stormed off without a glance at sungchan. you picked your things, waved goodbye to your newly ex's best friend and headed back to your apartment. you knew it was bad, but you couldn't go back.

a few weeks after the incident, eunseok called you to set a time where he could come and pick up the few clothes he had left at your apartment. when you opened the door to him a few hours later, you didn't even greeted him. eunseok's voice spilled venom with each words when he talked to you.

"can't even say hello at least?"

"i dont want to talk to you, grab your things and get out."

"i know i haven't been the best but you owe me an apology don't you think?"

"why would i? i was tired of you. and sungchan is good in bed."

"he'll never make you feel as good as i did."

"he's soooo much better than you, he made me-"

"what the fuck did you just say?"

you have seen eunseok being angry before, but you don't remember if you've ever seen him like that. no matter how much you hated him for how he acted, he was still as hot as ever. eunseok's hand reach for your neck to drag you close to him until his lips reached yours into a kiss. a much violent kiss, his tongue down your throat leaving you no time to breathe. he gripped on your waist to press your chest against his, his voice so low in your ear when he ripped away from your lips.

"sungchan could never make you scream like i did. he could never make you cum like i did. i'm everything you need, yet you had to be a whore and act like it. i'll put you back in the right mind."

this is how eunseok ended up in this situation. his palm hits your bare ass again, the red shape of his hand glowing on your skin. he has you naked on your bed he shared with you so often, face pressed into your pillow and your hips raised for him to hit you mercilessly. each slap makes you babble a number, but you lost the count already.

eunseok is angry enough to punish you. he's also sad enough to feel his heart race at the feeling the body he craves so much under his fingers, as if it's forbidden for him to still desire you. his cock throbs each time he grinds his hips into yours, earning breathy moans from you. the thought of you being in the same position for sungchan a few weeks ago makes him insane and he just can't wait to prove you wrong.

another harsh slap echoes through your room and you cry out eunseok's name, your legs shake from the delicious pain going through your veins. eunseok himself lost the count but he loves seeing the red handprint on your ass, he wants everyone to know you're his. his hand reach your head to grab a handful of your hair, tugging on it until your back arch against his chest, his voice a low whisper in your ear.

"enough for you to remember who owns you?"

"e-eunseok please..."

"this eager to fill you up with my cock? i thought i wasn't good enough to the point you had to slut yourself your sungchan's dick?"

"only... o-only you is good e-enough for me..."

"good."

he lets go of your hair and pushes your shoulders back into the pillows, parting your legs roughly. his hand travels down your back to make it arch a little more.

eunseok grips tightly the skin of your ass, his other hand pumping his cock eagerly. he has no mercy when he pushes his tip inside of your awaiting core, reaching deep inside with a sharp thrust as you whine desperately his name. deep down, you know eunseok is right. no one could fuck you as well as he did.

brutal thrusts jolt your body forward, eunseok rougly holds your waist in his fingers, his nails dig into your skin. he loves to watch the way your red ass bounce each time he grind his hips into you. he can feel how deep he's buried inside of you, your walls tightly yet deliciously swallowing his cock whole. each thrust stretches your folds a little more, your moans growing louder when his tip roughly hit every perfect spot inside of you.

eunseok slows down his pace, giving instead some strong and precise thrusts every few seconds. he can feel the head of his cock pulse into of you when you clench around him, he rolls his hips into yours enough to push him so deep inside of you. he loves hearing your cries of pleasure, he loves seeing you fall apart of his cock that you begged for so many times in the past. he hates you so much for breaking his heart, he hates how much he still crave everything from you, every little touch, every little attentions you used to have for him. no matter how sad he feels, the memories flowing his mind only makes him angrier. his hand reaches you head again, his palm pressing your cheek into the pillow until your noises are muffled by the soft fabric.

eunseok presses his hips roughly, he speeds up his pace in desperate need for a release. he doesn't think about you, he wants to think only about him. he's only filled with the intense pleasure of your tight walls around him and the pretty noises erupting from your throat each time he hits deeply inside. eunseok's thrusts get more messy as he feels his release creeping over him, one more slap on your ass as you crying out his name loudly.

your own orgasm threaten to explode at any second, the overwhelming warmth spreading through your stomach, your head spins more and more. eunseok's low groans behind you warns you that he's just as close as you. just a little more, you feel your thighs tensing and your muscles contracting...

eunseok pulls out of you with a grunt, jerking himself off with his hand quickly until he cums on your ass and back, painting your skin with ropes of pearly fluid. he massages his tip until he empties himself fully and lets out a heavy sigh, his breath becomes more steady as he watches you whine for more.

he pulls his pants and underwear back up, and the metal sound of his belt takes you out of the daze you were lost in. you lift your head up from your bed, the tears is flooding your eyes. you watch eunseok catch his breath, he pushes his messy brown hair out of his eyes without a single look at you. your legs still shake from your ruined orgasm, and you almost cry out for eunseok to come back so he can finish what he started, you want to beg him to make you cum.

eunseok grabs his clothes that he came to pick up. he turns his back to you and without even a glance at your naked state on the bed, he exists your room then you apartment, shutting the door roughly. all he hopes now is that the lost feeling of pleasure he gave you haunt you for as long as possible. he never wants to you see you again.

eunseok is mean and i want him to be mean to me... sad and hopeless lover eunseok... hope you enjoyed :3

[astr-venus]

｡⁠☆Early｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+⁠ 

｡⁠☆Cw: suggestive, she/her, black reader, swearing

Katsuki came home from work early today. Not that you were aware. You, who's still in the middle of cooking dinner while blasting some song that Katsuki can't understand. It's melodic, smooth, and so so sensual. Katsuki may not be able to understand the English song lyrics, but just from the sound he can get the gist.

You don't have the best singing voice in your own opinion, but Katsuki is entranced just from the sound of it carrying through your shared home. He feels like he's floating as slowly follows the melody through the house, not bothering to take off anything except his shoes. He completely skips past the bedroom as well, uncomfortable clothes be damned, all he can think about is seeing you.

It's like a weight lifted when you enter his sight, and simultaneously a brick is placed in his chest. He just barely peaks around the corner, not wanting to interrupt your gentle singing, nor your sybaritic dancing.

It's not like he's never seen you dance before, and by no means are you genuinely shy — plus with enough liquor in your system anything is possible — but it's different seeing you in your element. He can't control how thickly he swallows, or the heat rushing in his chest and his cheeks. He fears he resembles some sort of stupid looking tomato, and god it's so embarrassing how worked up he still gets just from looking at you. He feels like an idiotic high schooler who can't keep it in his pants. Fuck, he feels so full of disgustingly mushy emotions he doesn't know what to do with it all. Katsuki swears he'll kill you if you don't get to him first.

He swallows again watching you rub your hands up your body as you whine your hips in the air. The stove lighting feels more like a spotlight as he stares, your brown skin seeming to glisten in the yellow-orange glow. He has half a mind to just wander into your bedroom and relieve himself before you even know he's home, but tearing his eyes away feels like a crime.

With a flourish you swing your hair around, giggling at yourself when the stiff parts of your curls barely move an inch. You let out a shriek when you finally catch Katsuki standing in the door way, one of the knives you used to chop vegetables seeming to magically appear in your hands. Call Katsuki crazy if you want to, but he can feel his body practically catch on fire when the tip of your knife just barely catches his Adams apple.

What can he say. It's hot as fuck that you know how to protect yourself, whether you're a prohero or not. If he has to go out this way, surrounded by the smell of the dinner his girlfriend cooked him, her eyes glinting with something both powerful and dangerous, well he'd say he must have some damn good karma. Fuck all that dying as a martyr shit, this is the best way to be sent to the grave by far.

"Katsuki..." You sigh, panic easing out of your muscles as you lower the knife. "You can't scare me like that."

Katsuki scowls, trying to hide the real reason his face is burning. "Shut the fuck up. You're the one waving that shit around. What have I told you about situational awareness, dumbass?"

He regrets his words as soon as your little frown over takes your features. He may have been a little harsh, damn it. It didn't even help either, his whole body still feels like it's on fire.

"Bad day at work, Katsu?"

You put the knife back on the counter, and bring your hands up to his face, because of course you do. Katsuki is already having a hard time keeping himself in check, and now you have to look at him with your stupid fucking sweet soft eyes. His chest feels like it's caving in on itself you're just making it worse. The worst part about it, is he even kind of likes it. God fucking damn it.

Katsuki places his hand behind your head and shoves your face into his chest, not able to look you in the eye when you're staring so tenderly. Your hands move downwards to rest on his back, allowing both of you to hold each other close. Katsuki scoffs.

"Didn't I tell you to shut the fuck up?"

You giggle, and Katsuki decides for the who-knows-how-many-th time that he wants to hear that sound for the rest of his life. He doesn't know what he would do without your stupid fucking smile.

Woohoo !! Second post !!

Katsuki feels so much cuteness aggression that he literally gets a hard on. That's it. That's the fic.

I would say "someone save his poor soul 😔" but I fear you are what salvation looks like to him so there'd be no point.

｡⁠☆Requests open

[the-14th-ghost]

Alright, I'm fueling the fire, ya freaky weirdos

Henry Hotline SFW alphabet headcanons

Henry Hotline x reader

☎️Affection-

This man sezies every opportunity to show you that he loves you. Even if you're doing nothing. He'll compliment you, hug you, kiss you

Even if he is around Frankie or Deputy Duck, he doesn't care. Expect the best hugs you can get out of a cartoon character.

His go-to form of affection is definitely compliments and physical affection

☎️Best friend-

If he's just your best friend, he'll always have your back. Need someone to vent to? Oh wow, he just so magically appeared next to you! Or you just want a buddy to hang out with? Well, good thing his show is just so happens to be canceled. He'll do anything for his closest friend

☎️Cuddles-

This man LOVES to give cuddles. Even if he's busy with something like planning out his show or spending time with the contestants. He'll drop everything for you.

And let me tell you, when he hugs or cuddles you, he does not let go for hours. You could always ask him to let go whenever you want to, but we all know he doesn't want to lose you.

☎️Domestic-

The truth is, he'd only do stuff if HE wanted to do it. If you ask him to mop the blood off of the floor or something, he'll look at you like you just lost your mind. Maybe if you give him a kiss or two, his might do what you ask him

But we all know he's a sucker for making you happy. So he'll do some chores only when you're not looking.

☎️Ending-

Over the phone. Yes, that is a stupid way to break up with someone, but he doesn't know any other way that feels right! But don't worry, he'll never break up with you, he loves you too much! But he still has a plan, just in case

☎️Fiance(e)-

Y'all really wanna marry a cartoon character? Same

He's not too big on the whole "Settling down, getting married, and starting a family" trope. He's fine if you REALLY wanna marry him. As long as it won't hinder his work and he still gets to talk in his talk show, then by all mean, slap that ring on his finger pronto! He doesn't have all day! or if you ever want him to give you a ring, just let him know

☎️Gentle-

This phone guy wannabe loves you too much to hurt you. If there is ever a time when his headaches just get to him and he needs to let out some anger. He's leaving the room, and you won't see him until he's fully calmed down

But in normal situations where he's chill, he's so gentle around you. Kisses so light that you'll think you're touching a feather. Hugs so gentle it feels like you're hugging a teddy bear.

☎️Hugs-

Like mentioned earlier, he gives the best hugs. It'll literally leave you craving more like some sort of sweet candy.

If you ever need a hug, you know he'll always give you one

☎️I love you-

That's how he confessed, goofy! He was so nervous about asking you out that he just blurted out his feelings!

And don't you worry, he always reminds you anytime you need it. But when you don't, he still says he loves you! He loves you so much!

☎️Jealousy-

Due to his massive ego, he tends to get quite jealous. Mainly around Deputy Duck and Frankie. Especially Deputy Duck. He can't help it! He just wants everyone to know that he's the one who loves you the most

☎️Kisses-

Very very soft and passionate! Almost as if he's afraid to scare you. He knows how easily angered he gets due to his headaches, so he's just trying to make both of you happy.

He's angry? Give him one small smooch and he's floored

☎️Little one-

Surprisingly, he secretly hates kids. Especially if they try to call him. Over and over again he has been called. He can't even look at a child without getting a headache.

☎️Morning-

He does the most goofy lovey-dovey shit every morning. If you guys share a bed, he is kissing your face every morning. And if you don't share a bed, he always wakes you up with a kiss on the forehead and a soft "good morning, my dear"

I'm sorry but him saying "My dear" sends me

☎️Night-

He has the most elaborate bedtime routine ever. Skin care and all. And he'd obviously sleep in one of those fancy pink night robes, also with a face mask.

Also, he sleeps like a rock. Nothing can wake him up. Not even a train horn. Except maybe a kiss or two

☎️Open-

It'll take him a while to open up to you. Not because he's scared, it's because he's too flustered to say anything. But once he finally gets used to dating you, he starts talking to you about everything. His talk-show, his rivalry with Deputy Duck, his splitting headaches, and the list goes on and on

☎️Patience-

Due to his constant headaches, he gets angered quite easily. And it can lead to some arguments here and there. Nothing too bad, just some petty words thrown. All you have to do is let him calm down with some time by himself. Once he's back to normal, he'll mumble about how he's sorry for being so rude to you and how you didn't deserve it. He'll never hurt you :)

☎️Quizzes-

This guy remembers nearly everything about you. Your favorite restaurant, color, song, book. Anything! It'll honestly leave you speechless. Like, if you mention something you like a month ago, he still remembers it to this day. He really does love you.

☎️Security-

If someone is bothering you, his hand is immediately on your waist or back. This man has to let everyone know that you're both dating. Not a single soul can split you two apart.

But normally, he's chill when it comes to being protective. He's not too overbearing about it

☎️Try-

He goes all out when it comes to birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays.

On anniversaries, he lays flower petals all over, lights candles, and treats you to a well-deserved meal.

With holidays, he would help you set up anything. Need help putting lights up? He's tall. He's got it! Need help making food? Well, he'll give it a shot!

☎️Ugly-

His ego. Sometimes you two get into petty arguments and he can't see past himself. It's what HE wants. It's all about HIM. But like I said before, he'll apologize for any negative things he's said to you.

☎️-Vanity

This man spends HOURS in the morning just making sure he looks good. Even if you tell him he's perfect the way he is, he'll be flattered but he won't stop. Sometimes, he might even put on black lipstick or eyeshadow. He likes it when you kiss him and he has to redo his lipstick over and over again.

☎️-Whole

He gets so lonely when you're not around. Yeah, he'll still go on with his day, but he'll be a lot less talkative and sassy. But once you come back, it's like a child receiving a puppy for Christmas

"My love! Where have you been?!"

"I was in the bathroom. . ."

☎️Xtra-

Dance with him! He loves it! You could put on some swingy jazz or a soft romantic, he doesn't care! He just loves having you in his arms and spinning around with you!

☎️You-

He talks about you all the time. With Frankie, with Deputy Duck, and in his talk show. He loves babbling on and on about his beloved! Everyone knows he's one for showing off, especially things he likes!

"They're so cool, amazing, glorious, funny, outstanding, and-"

"GET OU-"

☎️Zzz-

OK this might sound weird but, he does snore but like not normally. Instead, his phone rings. Every time he breathes out his phone rings. And loudly too. If you share a bed, you'd probably have to either tolerate the noise or wear ear plugs

‐---‐‐---------------

Aaaaahh I'm sorry if this sucked. This was my first time ever writing something like this 🫠

Anyway, Henry is hot, you're cool, and goodbye

[izzyy-stuff]

For your 300 follower bash, can I request a short story/drabble where the reader is either the sixth member of TXT or a member of a gg like maybe Le Sserafim or Aespa and is in a relationship with any member (I'm ot5 so it really doesn't matter who <3) I do kind of like the idea of Hyuka being the love interest and can totally picture the other members teasing him a lot, but again any member is fine <33

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 - 𝐇𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐊𝐀𝐈

bf!blond!Kai x fem!reader

in which no matter how much his friends tease him about his girlfriend, he knows they love her just as much as he does.

wc 1.4k

warnings kissing, slightly suggestive

↪ izzy speaks... first fic for the 300 bash!! I am happy it's with huening too! I've been meaning to use these pictures for a while now.

event post | event masterlist

The smile on your face slowly fades away as you watch the three dots disappear, leaving you on ‘seen’. You raise an eyebrow in confusion, but you don’t get a chance to pay it any more attention as your best friend, Yunjin, wraps her arm around your shoulders, smirking.  

“Look who’s being all lovey-dovey again,” she teases, giggling as she snatches your phone. “You guys are so adorable it makes me sick.” Kazuha and Chaewon share a laugh with her, shaking their heads at the brunette. “Hey! Give it back! I’m in the middle of a conversation!” You try to take your phone back, but it only leads to more of Yujin’s laughing. 

Little did  you know that your dear boyfriend Kai is in the same situation as you, hiding his face in embarrassment as Beomgyu holds his phone. 

“Can’t wait to see you again,” Beomgyu reads out loud, running around the room. Usually, he wouldn’t dare to do something like this. It was Kai’s privacy, and there was no way he would cross the line, but a dare was a dare. 

“Just read it all! Get it over with,” Kai whines, his cheeks red as he stares down at his lap, listening just like everyone else. “Oh, god. I’m not reading that. That’s for sure,” Beomgyu frowns, catching Yeonjun’s attention. The youngest’s eyes widen as he realizes what chats one of his best friends has just stumbled upon. “No, no, no, don’t look through that! This far is enough. Give it back,” the blond looks up again, his eyes full of fear and awkwardness. 

But before Beomgyu can do as he asked for, Yeonjun is already up, stealing the phone from him. “Yeonjun!” Kai yells, his mind too clouded with thoughts to use honorifics. “Oh my god!” The eldest gasps. “How can our fans call you an angel?” He dramatizes. “You’re nasty.” 

“Just kill me,” Huening sighs, closing his eyes. Taehyun chuckles, patting his back. “It’s not the end of the world,” he reminds the blond, rolling his eyes when he notices Yeonjun taking pictures of the chats on his phone. Sometimes, he doubted if Jun was actually the eldest of them all. “It might be, though! She is going to kill me if she finds out you’ve read our chats.” 

“I won’t tell a soul,” Yeonjun proclaims, still laughing as he hands Kai his phone back. “But I’m glad you don’t act like a complete angel, at least with your girlfriend. Honestly, the whole innocent act has been freaking me out.” 

“I’m not even going to say anything to that,” Kai answers, gripping his phone tightly as if he were scared someone might take it away from him again. “Now, answer your girl. You don’t leave a girl waiting when she asks to hang out.” Hyuka rolls his eyes at him, opening his phone again, “I’m not stupid. I know what to do and what not.” 

“Right,” Beomgyu is the first to scoff, but it doesn’t move Kai a bit. Once his girlfriend had his attention, nothing bothered him anymore. 

♡⸝⸝  

You watch Sakura, Yujin and Kazuha go over the choreography repeatedly, mentally going over the steps along with them. You definitely couldn’t say you would excel the dance yet, but you’ve had enough for today. If you went through the choreography again, your legs might as well give up. 

“Okay, we’re clocking out now! Have fun!” Eunchae grins, swinging her bag over her shoulder while Chaewon stands beside her wearing the same annoying smirk. You catch Yujin rolling her eyes and have to laugh. “I am going to leave in a bit, too,” you say, and your best friend immediately turns to you. “What? I thought we were grabbing dinner together after practice!” She complains. 

You open your mouth to answer her, but all that leaves your lips is a shaky breath full of regret. You squeeze your eyes shut as you remember the plans you made, clapping your hands together and muttering a quiet “sorry” through them. Yujin sighs when she notices your eyes. She can’t even blame you. Not when you seem so genuine with your apology. “I kind of…forgot about it,” you admit. “And made plans with Kai instead.” 

“Alright then. You’re lucky I know Kai has been busy, and you haven’t seen him much lately,” she shakes her head, and you smile again, jumping up to hug her. “Thank you, thank you!” Yujin smiles as she wraps her hands around you. “We can have dinner tomorrow. What do you think?” You ask hopefully, and she chuckles, nodding. “Go hang out with your boyfriend now,” she says, pushing you toward the door with a laugh. 

“I’ll see you tonight! Bye!” You quickly wave at Sakura and Kazuha before the door closes behind you, and you stand in the hallway, beaming as you notice your boyfriend sitting on the side, scrolling on his phone. “Hey,” you greet him quietly, making him raise his head immediately. “You should have come in. No one would mind.” Kai grabs his bag from the bench, slightly shaking his head as he walks to you. “It’s fine,” he assures you before gently pressing his lips on yours, one of his hands wrapping around your waist while the other rests on your cheek. “Hi, pretty,” he mumbles his greeting against your lips, making you bite your bottom lip to constrain your smile. 

Hyuka holds your hand as you walk through the HYBE building, telling you about his practice and some of the stupid dares they did during their break – purposefully not mentioning the one involving his friends reading your chats – while you tell him about your practice and the main points of your new choreography, bragging about how fun they are. 

He only lets go of your hand when you get to the entrance, smiling as he lets you walk outside first, watching you walk to your car while he waits for a few minutes, just like he did many times before in order not to get anyone suspicious about your relationship with him. People don’t need to know that you’re on your way to his dorm. 

♡⸝⸝  

You chuckle at the familiar voices as you step inside the dorm room. You feel at home. Not only because of your boyfriend, but also his friends, who’ve never been anything but welcoming to you. 

“Don’t mind then. Beomgyu and Soobin got immersed in League again,” Yeonjun simply waves at you as he passes the front door on his way to his room. “Taehyun just finished making dinner, or you know where the snacks are,” he smiles. “Thank you,” you smile back, taking off your shoes. 

It doesn’t take much longer for Hyuka to arrive, too, pulling you in for a hug as soon as he gets to you. You giggle, wrapping your arms around him and relaxing. “Have they been bothering you a lot?” Your boyfriend asks softly, and you swear you could get lost in his eyes when they lock with yours. You shake your head, grabbing his hand. “You know that’s not possible.” You’re right. No matter how much his friends tease him about you whenever they get the chance, they love you just as much as Kai does. He has to smile, remembering all the times they had told him how happy they were for him. 

“Right,” Kai mumbles quietly, his eyes on your hand holding his as you take him to his room. 

No matter how much time he spends with you, every moment and touch will always be as important to him as when you first got together. “Get a room!” Beomgyu yells, making Hyuka snap out of his thoughts. “Shut up!” He yells back at him, hiding his flushed cheeks as he follows you. 

You never need to do much with Kai to have fun. Honestly, you prefer not to do anything when you’re with him. Being able to relax after a long day with some lazy kisses and back rubs sometimes means so much more than having big plans. And today is no different. 

Kai tugs your hair behind your ear and pulls you in for a kiss as soon as he sits on his bed. You get comfortable on his lap, grinning into the kiss as you close your eyes. “You’re so pretty,” he mumbles against your lips. “I haven’t been in the shower yet. I’m all stinky,” you laugh, cupping his cheek. “Still beautiful,” he assures you, not wasting any time and pressing his lips on yours again, unable to get enough. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you whisper back with a smile.

⋆✶ izzy's tags @beomiracles @seoulzie @adel222 @inkigayocamman @flowzel @love-be0m @virgo-and-libra @hwanghyunjinismybae @liaatiny @minaateez ✶⋆ Want to get notified? Join taglist here !

[southtopaz]

PSYCHO KILLER - SCREAM

Summary: in which Iris Morris has to navigate her personal relationships while surviving a psycho.

Warnings: Fem!reader, angst, mention of violence, swearing, mention of death, Tara Carpenter x Fem reader, multiple parts, slowburn.

Word count: +6,5k

A/n: this part will follow the events of Scream 6 but it will take place two years later from Scream 5. English is not my first language, so I apologize for any grammatical mistake.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13

Iris winced, hissing softly as the antiseptic stung against her busted lip. Mindy was gentle as she dabbed the cotton against the wound, her brow furrowed in concern.

"This fucking hurts," Iris muttered, unable to mask the discomfort.

"I know it does," Mindy replied, her voice soothing yet firm. "But look at the bright side: that guy probably has a broken nose because of you."

Iris couldn't help but let out a small, reluctant laugh. "That made me feel strangely better."

"As proud as I am of you for punching that asshole, maybe next time you could avoid the whole bleeding thing."

"He deserved it,"

"Totally, but you've got to stop acting like a rabid dog. You can't fight everyone that annoys you" Mindy said, setting the used cotton aside and crossing her arms.

"Yes, I can,"

"Jesus, Iris," Mindy replied, exasperated. "We really need to talk about your anger issues."

After a moment of silence, Iris finally broke it, her voice filled with worry. "Do you think Tara is pissed at me?"

"Oh, definitely," Mindy replied, her tone teasing. "Are you going to talk to her?"

"I'm not apologizing for punching him," Iris declared, crossing her arms.

"You definitely shouldn't," Mindy said, nodding vigorously. "That bitch deserved it! But maybe you two could talk about what happened before?".

"Before?" Iris's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yeah! I'm pretty sure she's more upset that you left her dancing alone than about you fighting that guy," Mindy explained, a smirk creeping onto her face. "Knowing Tara, she probably thought it was hot,".

"What?" Iris exclaimed, her mouth agape.

"Not you acting surprised". Mindy snorted. "Are you having a stroke right now, Ris?"

"I'm just... confused," Iris admitted, shaking her head as if that might clear her thoughts.

"Want me to clarify the situation?" Mindy offered, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "I'm talking about when you two were dancing, definitely not thinking about sleeping with each other!"

"What? We weren't looking at each other like we wanted to do that. Don't be stupid!" Iris shot back, but she couldn't help the flush creeping up her cheeks.

"Then stop eye fucking each other for one second."

"What the fuck? That's ridiculous. We don't do that."

"So you never thought about it?" Mindy pressed, her eyebrows raised in challenge.

"No," Iris replied defiantly, but her tone wavered slightly.

"Oh, come on! You fucking liar, Fifteen-year-old you has a lot of things to say right now,".

"Shut up, Mindy, you're really pissing me off," Iris snapped, crossing her arms like a petulant child.

"Can't handle the truth?" Mindy teased, winking.

"We are friends," Iris insisted, her voice firm.

"Are you though?" Mindy countered, leaning closer. "I'm your friend, and you definitely don't look at me like that. Thank God, by the way!" She rolled her eyes dramatically.

Iris opened her mouth to retort but was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Sam in the doorway. She paused, her expression a mix of curiosity and confusion as she took in the scene: Iris with a look of disbelief and Mindy with her signature smug smile.

"Mmm, what is going on here?" Sam asked, her head tilting slightly as she crossed her arms.

"I was just telling Iris how she should talk to your sister so they can stop eye fucking each other," Mindy declared, her tone cheeky.

"WHAT THE FUCK"

Mindy just laughed and winked at them as she left the room, her job clearly done.

A moment of awkward silence settled between Iris and Sam before Sam finally spoke up, breaking the tension. "So..."

"Don't listen to Mindy," Iris quickly interjected, trying to wave away the earlier conversation. "She's on crack"

Sam chuckled softly, stepping closer to her friend. "I just wanted to thank you for today. Seriously, what you did for Tara..."

"It's nothing," Iris replied, shrugging it off.

"Yes, it is! Who knows what could have happened to her if you weren't there?"

"I'll always be there,"

"I know." Sam paused, biting her lip nervously. "But do you think she's right about... you know, the things she said?"

"I mean, Sam..." Iris hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "I can't blame you for wanting to protect your sister. God knows I'm just as paranoid. But Tara has a point, at least to some extent."

Sam looked down, nodding in agreement. "I just want her to be safe. She means everything to me."

"I know, but you have to let her live, too," Iris replied gently.

"You think she hates me for being so overprotective?" The vulnerability in Sam's voice didn't go unnoticed.

"You're her sister; she loves you. You two just need to talk it out," Iris reassured her, pulling her into a warm hug. Sam hugged back tightly, grateful for Iris's support. When they finally released each other, Sam turned to leave.

"Oh, and you should also talk to her," Sam added, pausing at the door.

"Yeah, I'm aware," Iris said with a sigh.

"Because you know Mindy was right," Sam said playfully, a smirk spreading across her face. "You two are tiring me out with all this will they, won't they."

"WAIT, WHAT?"

Iris felt a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach as she prepared to talk to Tara.  The tension in the air had been palpable all night, as things had taken a weird turn between them and she knew she had to address it, even if it made her uncomfortable. She tried to block out Mindy and Sam's words; they weren't helping her anxiety at all.

Knowing Tara had likely sobered up but would soon be grappling with a headache, Iris grabbed a bottle of pain relievers from the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, she headed toward Tara's room, her heart racing with each step.

As she reached the door, she knocked lightly, announcing her presence. Tara was reclining on her bed, half-propped up on one elbow, deeply engaged in a conversation with Quinn. The moonlight streaming through the window illuminated Tara's features, casting a warm glow on her expression, but Iris could see the fatigue lurking beneath her surface. When they both turned to her at the sound of the knock, Tara's surprise was evident, and Quinn, sensing the shift, quickly rose to her feet.

"I'm gonna go, let you guys... chat," Quinn said, her voice soft as she headed for the door. As she passed Iris, she exchanged a meaningful glance with Tara, a silent communication that Iris couldn't see before the door clicked shut behind her.

"Figured you would need these," Iris said, holding out the bottle of pills and giving it a gentle shake. She stepped into the room, placing the bottle on the small table in front of the bed, feeling the weight of the moment settle around them.

"Thank you," Tara replied, managing a tight-lipped smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You can go back to your room. I'm pretty sure the fighting is done for the day."

Iris couldn't resist a playful retort. "That's a shame; I was ready to throw some more punches." She flexed her arms dramatically, trying to lighten the mood, before sitting next to Tara in the bed.

"Oh yeah? Everyone better start fearing for their lives then,"

"What can I say? I'm just too cool,". They exchanged a silly smile, the kind that made the world around them feel a little brighter. For a moment, they stood in comfortable silence, both of them trying to find the right words.

"Thank you," Tara finally said, her gaze drifting down to her feet, the weight of her words hanging in the air. "For not letting me go up those stairs."

Iris shifted closer, their shoulders brushing lightly. She could feel the warmth radiating from Tara, and it gave her a sense of comfort. "It's no problem really. I would gladly punch him again if you asked me,"

"Yeah, but then you got hurt," Tara replied, tilting her head to study Iris's face more closely. Her eyes dropped to the small bruise on Iris's lip, a reminder of the confrontation.

"It's okay, I don't mind. It was just my lip," Iris said with a shrug, trying to brush off the concern. But there was something deeper in Tara's gaze that made her heart race, a mix of gratitude and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on. The air felt charged, as if the silence between them was waiting for the right moment to spark into something more.

Tara glanced down at her white shirt, noticing the faint, dark stains that marred the fabric now that she had gotten rid of her tie and suit jacket. A hint of panic crept into her voice as she asked, "Is that blood?" It seemed the mess wasn't limited to just the cut on Iris's lip.

Iris's eyes widened for a moment. "No?" she replied, trying to deflect.

"You're not supposed to answer with a question, Ris," Tara teased, a grin tugging at her lips. Iris laughed quietly, and Tara felt a rush of warmth at the sound. There was something magical about being the reason behind Iris's smile, a feeling that made her heart swell.

"I think I was more messed up than I realized," The shorter girl admitted, the weight of her words sinking in.

"What happened? You don't usually drink like this," Iris probed, concern threading through her voice.

Tara looked away, unable to meet Iris's gaze. It felt as if the truth was etched across her face—how she had drowned her worries in drinks, all to forget the sight of Iris leaving with that boy, Damon. The memory stung, and she forced herself to swallow hard. "I just... had a lot of things on my mind,"

"Anything you wanna share?" Iris nudged her gently in the shoulder, her touch lingering just long enough to send a shiver down Tara's spine.

"Not yet, if that's okay," Tara replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I respect that," Iris said, her understanding evident. "I have a lot on my mind too." The air between them shifted, Tara felt the walls she'd built around her emotions start to crack, and for the first time, she considered sharing the weight of her feelings with Iris. But for now, she simply held on to the fleeting connection they shared, hoping it would be enough.

"Did you have fun?" Tara asked, her voice light, but there was a hint of curiosity behind it.

"I did, especially when I got to dance with you." Iris locked her gaze onto Tara's, the sincerity in her eyes making Tara's heart skip a beat.

"Yeah? You weren't that bad,"

"Maybe we can do that again sometime. I think I still need some practice." Iris wiggled her eyebrows exaggeratedly, and Tara couldn't help but nudge her playfully, a warm laugh escaping her.

"You didn't dance with Damon?" Tara inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Damon?" Iris laughed, shaking her head. "He would rather die than dance with me. Not even his boyfriend gets him to do it."

"Boyfriend? Oh," Tara said, her surprise evident.

"Yeah, why?" Iris asked, tilting her head slightly, curiosity piqued.

"I thought... maybe you two..." Tara trailed off, her voice softening.

"What? No way! He's just my friend, and besides, he is gay,"

"Sorry, that's embarrassing." Tara instinctively put her hands around her head, trying to shield her blush, but before she could hide, Iris gently grabbed one of her hands, intertwining their fingers in a warm clasp.

Iris looked down at their joined hands, the softness of Tara's skin grounding her. "Besides, even if he were into women, I wouldn't go for him either," she said, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"Too picky?" Tara asked, her heart racing with an unexplainable thrill.

"Maybe," Iris replied with a slight shrug. "I guess I'm more into brunettes."

Tara's heart raced so fast she thought she might faint. The implication of Iris's words washed over her like a wave, leaving her breathless. "Good choice," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

After a moment of silence, where the only sound in the room was the rhythm of their breaths, Iris finally spoke up, her voice gentle yet firm. "You know, don't be mad at your sister. She loves you and she's just trying to protect you."

Tara sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I know, but still, sometimes it feels like too much." The weight of her words hung in the air, thick with unspoken emotions.

"Maybe," Iris replied, rubbing soothing circles on Tara's hand. "But she's just trying to keep you safe. So am I." The warmth of Iris's touch sent a shiver of comfort through Tara. "Even if we both still live with the fears of the past."

"I'm sorry for that," Tara muttered apologetically "I didn't want to be rude. I know how much better you got after therapy."

"It's okay," Iris assured her, a soft smile breaking through. "And yeah, I did. Perhaps you should consider it too." At the look on Tara's face, Iris snorted softly, the sound lightening the mood. "Geez, I'm not saying now, but maybe in the future if you ever need it."

"Is Iris the psychologist talking or Iris my friend?"

"Both?" They both laughed, the tension easing further. "I didn't want to go either, but now I see how much I've improved."

"I see it too," Tara replied, sincerity in her tone.

"Before, I would've never gone to that party," Iris continued, her gaze turning introspective. "I remember being constantly on edge, like someone or something was out there just waiting to attack me." She paused, taking a breath to steady herself. "Don't get me wrong, sometimes I still feel like that, and I think it had become a part of me. But I've learned to embrace it."

"I never told you this, but I'm really proud of you," Tara said, her voice steady.

Iris took a deep breath. "It also helped me not to be scared of love or feelings anymore," she admitted, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "It's funny; I almost thought I would never be able to feel again."

"And do you?" Tara asked, leaning in slightly. "I mean, feel again? Are you still scared of it?"

"I haven't been scared for a while," Iris said, her eyes reflecting a vulnerability that was hard to ignore. "Not when it's the most beautiful feeling." They locked eyes, unable to look away, and the moment felt charged, almost electric. Tara had to look away, her heart pounding, she didn't want to get her hopes up.

"So should I be worried about the line of people that are probably waiting to date you?" Tara teased, trying to deflect the intensity of the moment.

"I highly doubt anyone would wait," Iris replied, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"You'd be surprised," Tara shot back, her heart skipping a beat as she realized they were moving closer to each other, the space between them shrinking without conscious thought.

"It's more probable that I should be the one worried about the people waiting to date you," Iris countered, her tone light but her eyes serious.

"Believe me," Tara said, her eyes tracing every movement Iris made, captivated by her "There's nothing to worry about."

"Good, because you can do so much better than date that perv Frankie,"

"You think so?" Tara whispered, her voice barely audible, as if she were afraid to disturb the delicate moment they were sharing.

"Tara..." She breathed out, struggling to find the right words to convey the depth of her feelings. "You're—" She paused, the weight of her emotions pressing down on her, making it difficult to articulate just how much Tara meant to her. "Everything."

"Anyone would be lucky to have you," Iris finished, her voice filled with sincerity. The words hung in the air, causing Tara to hitch her breath, her heart racing as if it were trying to escape her chest. She took her time looking at Iris, the warmth radiating between them making the world outside seem irrelevant. Her gaze slowly shifted to Iris's lips, a magnetic pull drawing her in. Gently, Tara brought the hand that wasn't holding Iris's to brush against her wounded lip, her fingertips caressing it with a tenderness that made Iris suppress a whimper. The soft touch sent a jolt of electricity through them, both feeling the intensity of the moment.

"Does it hurt?" Tara asked, her eyes searching Iris's for an answer, only to find Iris staring intently at her lips, mirroring her own longing.

"Not really," Iris breathed out, the words escaping in a whisper that felt charged with meaning.

Their foreheads pressed together, the warmth of their skin mingling as they both tried to steady their breaths, the air thick with anticipation. "I'm not messed up anymore," Tara whispered, her voice soft but firm. "Just to let you know."

"Okay," Iris replied, her heart fluttering in response. They leaned in, their faces inches apart, the world around them fading into nothingness. Just as they were about to bridge the gap between them, the door swung open.

"I forgot... my phone," Quinn said, her voice cutting through the moment. But then she stopped short, taking in the scene before her. The two girls, so close together, made Quinn's eyes widen in surprise. She grimaced in apology, Iris and Tara pulled back quickly, their cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Shit sorry, um—did I cockblock you?" Quinn questioned, her voice cutting through the charged air, making both girls look at her in surprise.

"What did you just say?" Tara blurted out, her tone a mix of disbelief and annoyance. "God," they both exclaimed simultaneously, the embarrassment radiating off Iris as she pressed her hand against her forehead, while Tara's expression shifted to irritation.

"I cockblocked you" Quinn said, her eyes wide as she assessed the situation.

"No," Iris insisted, shaking her head vigorously, desperate to stop Quinn from digging herself into a deeper hole.

"I cockblocked you, didn't I?" Quinn pressed on, oblivious to Iris's attempts to ease the tension.

"Quinn if you continue saying cock im going to kill myself".

"Immediate no," Tara interjected, her voice firm, but Iris stood there uncomfortably, not really knowing what to do with herself.

"Quinn," Tara sighed, looking down at the floor as she tried to gather her thoughts. "What did... what did you need?" Her brows furrowed in disbelief; she couldn't fathom how her day had taken such a turn.

"My phone," Quinn replied, her tone casual as she bent down to pick it up from Tara's desk.

"Don't ever enter a room like that," Tara told her seriously, her voice low but laced with anger.

"I won't," Quinn promised, shaking her head earnestly, though a hint of sheepishness crept into her expression.

"It was rude," Tara continued, her irritation bubbling beneath the surface.

"I'm gonna go," Iris said awkwardly, signaling toward the door as if she were trying to escape the situation. "I think I left my... um, window open." The words tumbled out in a rush, and she turned to leave but paused for a moment. "Talk to your sister, okay? She heard what you said," Iris said, her voice softening just a bit before she slipped out the door.

"Okay," Tara smiled at her, but the moment Iris left, that smile vanished. She turned to Quinn, a steely resolve settling in. "I'm going to kill you."

Quinn's eyes widened in panic. "I'm so sorry, sorry!" she mouthed as she hurried out of the room, leaving Tara alone with her thoughts.

Tara sighed in disbelief, her mind racing with a mix of frustration and lingering hope. As the door clicked shut behind Quinn, she couldn't help but lay back on her bed, a smile creeping onto her face. She let out a giggle, the warmth of the earlier moment with Iris still tingling in her chest. Maybe, just maybe, she was finally on the verge of getting what she had always wanted.

Iris and Tara were sprawled comfortably on the couch, the soft glow of the television casting a warm light across the cozy living room, mingling with the faint hum of conversation from their group of friends nearby. Laughter bubbled up now and then, a lighthearted soundtrack to their evening as everyone made an effort to enjoy themselves, if only for a little while.

Iris leaned back against the cushions, her head tilting slightly as she glanced at Tara, who was curled up beside her with a playful grin. Tara's hair fell in soft waves around her face, and Iris couldn't help but admire how effortlessly beautiful she looked in the low light.

Tara leaned back against the cushions, "What do you want to watch?" she asked.

"Let's just see what's on the news," Iris suggested, reaching for the remote. She clicked through a few channels until the familiar logo of the news station appeared on the screen.

As the reporter started talking, Tara settled down next to Iris, their shoulders brushing together. Iris could feel a familiar warmth spread through her, a reminder of how comforting it was just to be near her. They exchanged a quick smile, but that moment of serenity shattered when the news reporter appeared, his face serious and his voice steady.

"And in other news, a recent investigation has uncovered troubling details related to the events of last year's incident of Woodsboro," the reporter said, his tone grave. Iris's heart felt like it skipped a beat, her stomach twisting as memories flooded back, memories they had tried to put behind.

Tara stiffened beside her, the color draining from her face as she listened intently. "No..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Iris's eyes were glued to the screen, watching as the reporter continued to speak. "I'm standing in front of the apartment building where the mutilated bodies of two students..." They heard the sound of Chad's footsteps thundering after the door, his desperation palpable as he raced to catch up with Sam. Just a few moments later, Sam and Danny walked in, their expressions full of concern as they approached.

"What's going on?" Sam asked, glancing around the room, her eyes wide and searching, with Danny trailing closely behind her, a look of confusion etched on his face.

Quinn, with a sly smile, couldn't help but comment, "Cute boy. Nice," pointing up at Danny, a playful glint in her eye.

But the levity was short-lived as the news turned grim. "Were discovered. Their names have just been released by police. Jason Garvey and Greg Bruckner".

"No," Iris heard Tara whisper in disbelief. In an instinctive gesture, Iris quickly grabbed Tara's hand, squeezing it tightly to offer comfort in the midst of the unfolding chaos.

"Holy shit, that's that chode from our film studies class!" Mindy exclaimed, her finger jabbing at the TV where the breaking news report was streaming. "The ones obsessed with Argento!"

The atmosphere thickened as the report continued. "Also found at the scene were various Ghostface costumes, a character popularized by the Stab movie franchise".

"No way," Iris whispered, her heart racing. Deep down, she had sensed something was off about Jason with his weird interest on Sam going to that party, she didn't want to imagine what was his plan. She could feel Tara's gaze burning into her, a silent acknowledgment that they are both thinking the same thing.

Sam let out a deep sigh. "Pack a bag. We leave in ten," she declared firmly, her voice cutting through the silence in the room.

"Sam! Wait, Sam!" Tara yelled, springing up from her seat to chase after her sister.

"We're getting out of the city," Sam replied, her tone leaving no room for debate.

"I'm not getting stabbed in the name of these fucking movies again!" Iris interjected, standing up with determination. "I'm buying the tickets." The fierce resolve in her eyes made it clear she was serious.

"What?" Danny blurted, confusion and concern mingling on his face.

Chad turned to Danny, gently but insistently pushing him backwards. "Thank you very much, suspicious new guy, but we got it from here," he said, waving him off with a quick flick of his wrist. "Have a good night. Get home safe. Go, go, go." His tone was urgent, he needed to protect their little group.

As Tara sprinted after her older sister, she watched as Sam headed straight for the knife stash, her hands deftly pulling knives from the holder. The glint of steel caught the light, and Tara felt a chill run down her spine as she realized what Sam was preparing for.

"Sam, just wait a minute here—" Tara exclaimed, her voice rising with anxiety. She could already sense where this was heading, and she hated it. "Let's just talk about this!"

"Sam, bring me one!" Iris shouted, her resolve unyielding.

"On it," Sam replied tersely, her focus unwavering.

"No, wait, Iris, not you too!" Tara pleaded, desperation creeping into her voice.

"No, we are leaving," Sam hissed, storming past Tara with two knives in her hands, she handed one to Iris, who accepted it without a question.

"No, wait, let's talk about this for a second!" Tara tried to reason with Sam, her voice softening as she attempted to pull her sister back from the edge of impulsive decisions. "This attack might not have anything to do with us!" Tara's words hung in the air, a fragile hope that perhaps they could find a different way out of this nightmare.

Sam spun around, the sudden movement stopping Tara in her tracks. "Are you serious?" she demanded, her voice a mixture of disbelief and frustration.

"It's Halloween! Everybody's wearing masks!" Tara countered, her tone defensive as she tried to make sense of the chaos spiraling around them. "You don't know"

"Tara, this isn't a coincidence!" Sam snapped, exasperation spilling over. "You knew those guys!"

"Barely," Tara shot back, her voice heavy with shadows of doubt and fear.

"You guys looked really friendly," Iris interjected, only adding fuel to the fire.

"Not helping, Iris!" Tara retorted, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

"There's no way you think that it's just a coincidence that the guy you met and got close to you, was found dead with a stash of Ghostface costumes" Iris pressed, her tone fierce, eyes blazing with intensity.

"Thank you," Sam said, shooting Iris a grateful glance "Chad, Mindy, back me up."

Chad hesitated, glancing at the floor as he searched for the right words. "It's a little bit..."

"Close to home," Mindy finished for him, still perched on the couch with Anika, who looked equally troubled by the unfolding drama.

"See?" Sam exclaimed, her frustration beginning to morph into a desperate plea for understanding.

"It's better to prevent than die in the process," Iris added, her voice firm.

Tara turned to Iris, hurt flashing in her eyes. "Why can't you be on my side for once?"

"I'm always going to be on your side," Iris replied, her voice steady but tinged with sorrow. "But not if it ends with you dead."

Tara turned around, her eyes landing on the ginger-haired woman perched on the couch. Quinn sat there, her expression a clear reflection of fear and confusion as she absorbed the tension radiating through the room.

"Quinn, your dad's a cop, right?" Tara asked hurriedly,desperation creeping into her tone.

"Can you call him and find out what's going on?"

She turned around once again to shout at her sister and Iris "Before you two make the unilateral decision to abandon my college education and flee the fucking state!"

Quinn hesitated for a moment before nodding, her brow furrowing with concern. "I'm calling him now," she said carefully, raising her phone to her ear.

"Thank you," Tara replied, her voice softer now, though the underlying anxiety remained.

Just then, the phone rang, and the atmosphere in the room shifted dramatically. Everyone seemed to freeze, wide-eyed and tense as they exchanged anxious glances, the ominous sound amplifying the dread hanging in the air. Iris reached for Sam's phone, her fingers shaking slightly as she glanced at the caller ID.

"Gale Weathers," Iris read aloud, a sarcastic laugh escaping her lips. "I think the fuck not."

With that, she hung up abruptly, placing the phone back on the table with a decisive clatter. Gale had turned their tragic story from the previous year into a sensationalized tale, cashing in on their traumas, and it got on Iris's nerves. She remembered how Gale had twisted their experiences into a narrative that painted Sam as a "natural killer" and Iris as a "naive lover." None of them held the older woman in high regard at that moment.

"Why did everyone just freak out when her phone rang?" Ethan asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"You gotta keep up, my dude," Anika replied, her tone dripping with incredulity as she shook her head at him like he was a dumb child.

"You've never watched the Stab movies?" Iris turned to Ethan, an inquisitive glare piercing through the boy. As he shook his head in denial, she stared at him for a moment longer, watching him struggle to maintain her gaze, his discomfort palpable.

"Sam," Quinn called out, worry etched across her features. "My dad wants to talk to you."

Sam looked up, her expression shifting from frustration to concern as she took the phone from Quinn. "Mr. Bailey, hi"

"Hey, Sam. I was actually just about to call you," he replied, his tone professional yet tinged with urgency.

"Well, my sister thinks I'm probably overreacting," Sam told him, a hint of frustration seeping through.

"No, unfortunately, you're not," he said, the gravity of his words settling heavily in the air.

"What do you mean? What's going on?" Sam questioned, confusion etching lines on her forehead.

"I'm afraid I need you to come down to the station," he said, his voice firm with concern.

"Alright," Sam replied, her mind racing as she processed the sudden shift in the conversation.

Hanging up the phone, she felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Without saying a word to anyone, she moved towards the door, her pace brisk and determined.

Tara and Iris exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. In an instant, they moved to follow Sam, urgency propelling them forward. "You guys stay here. We'll go with Sam," Tara called out. They didn't wait for a reply; they were already at the door, Sam poised on the threshold, ready to step into the night.

"Tara? No, get back inside. Lock the door," Sam called out, turning to face them, her expression unable to hide her frustration. "Iris, go with her and keep her safe."

"Are you serious? Now you don't want to stick together?" Tara shot back, disbelief lacing her words as she crossed her arms defiantly.

"She's right, Sam. You're insane if you think we're leaving you alone," Iris chimed in, her voice resolute as she stepped closer to Tara.

Sam hesitated, glancing between her sister and Iris, her resolve wavering under the weight of their insistence. "I just—" she began, but the look on their faces told her all she needed to know.

With a reluctant sigh, she finally relented. "Fine. Let's go." Together, they started walking towards the station, each step heavy with unspoken fears.

As The three of them walked down the street, Sam's phone began ringing once again. She instinctively glanced at the screen, and her heart dropped. The sight of the caller ID made her freeze in place, rooted to the pavement.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Iris asked, her voice laced with concern as she noticed the shock written all over Sam's face.

Tara, too, stopped walking, her eyes darting between Sam and the phone, a look of disbelief crossing her features. "What the fuck?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. They all could see the name glaring back at them: "Richie Kirsch."

"I...I never deleted his contact," Sam confessed, her voice shaky. "This is coming from his number."

A chill ran down Iris's spine, her instincts kicking in. "Don't pick that up," she warned, urgency rising in her tone.

"Yeah, just let it ring," Tara echoed, glancing around as if expecting someone to jump out from the shadows.

But Sam, lost in a whirlwind of emotions, ignored their pleas. With a deep breath, she pressed the green button, accepting the call against her better judgment.

"Who is this?" Sam demanded as she gripped the phone tightly.

"Hello, Samantha. Did you miss me?" The voice was unmistakable, distorted by the sinister quality of a voice changer, sending shivers down their spines.

"Oh God, I hate this motherfucker". Iris muttered, burying her face in her hands in frustration. Sam, determined to face this threat head-on, switched the call to speaker mode so Tara and Iris could hear as well.

"I want you to think long and hard about whether you really want to do this because the last two people that fucked with us ended up dead" Sam growled into the phone, her voice low but steady.

"You should be thanking me, Sam. Jason and Greg were gonna kill you, your sister and all of your friends" Ghostface replied, his tone mocking and sinister. Just then, the three girls caught sight of a suspicious figure approaching them from down the street, a hood pulled low over his face, obscuring his features.

Instinctively, Iris stepped in front of Sam and Tara, her body tense as she faced the stranger. The man walked past them, his gait slow and deliberate, yet he didn't make eye contact. Iris's heart raced as she glanced back at her friends, trying to gauge their reactions while keeping her eyes on the hooded figure. The atmosphere grew thick with tension, each of them acutely aware that this was far from over. "I gutted them before they had the chance"

"Thanks dude for murdering people in our name".

"Hello to you too, Iris. I can't wait to formally meet you," Ghostface mocked, his voice dripping with amusement.

"I can't wait to meet you either," Iris retorted, her voice steady despite the quaking fear in her stomach. "So you can personally meet my knife" Her heart raced, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she spoke.

Sam sensed the tension building and quickly interjected, hoping to redirect the focus. "So what? You're protecting us now?" she questioned. She wanted to pull Iris back from the brink of confrontation, fearing that provoking him further might escalate the situation.

"Not quite," Ghostface replied, his tone icy and calculated. "I'm going to show the whole world who you really are. A liar and a killer. I'm going to punish you". Each word dripped with a chilling certainty, as though he relished the thought of punish them.

"You shouldn't believe everything you read on the internet, asshole" Sam shot back, her anger boiling over.

"Don't be cute. You're gonna pay for what you did. And I'm not gonna stop until I butcher you. You and anyone who gets between us. You and Tara better watch your backs" Ghostface said. "As for you Iris? I'm going to have so much fun watching you beg to end you once I force you to watch the final moments of everyone else".

"You want me dead? Get in line motherfucker"

"You better watch your backs."

"You better watch yours." Sam snapped, her voice laced with venom.

"Tara, behind you!" Iris shouted, her voice slicing through the night air with urgency. The adrenaline surged through her veins as she realized the danger. She had been so consumed by the call that she hadn't noticed Ghostface stealthily approaching.

Before she could even process the situation, a gloved hand clamped around Tara's neck, getting ready to stab her right in the chest. Panic gripped Iris, but there was no time for fear—only action.

"No!" Tara screamed, her eyes wide with horror as she felt the presence of the killer. Iris lunged at Ghostface, her small frame colliding with his. The force of her impact sent them both tumbling into the nearby bushes, leaves and branches scattering in all directions.

"Run!" Sam shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. She grasped Tara's arm, yanking her forward with a desperate urgency. The street stretched out before them, dark and foreboding, but they had no choice. They had to escape.

"In there!" Sam pointed towards a convenience store glowing dimly in the distance, its neon lights flickering like a beacon of hope. The three of them sprinted down the empty street, their hearts pounding in rhythm with their frantic footsteps.

"He's coming!" Iris yelled.

"Help! Somebody!" they cried out, desperation lacing their voices as they dashed for the store. Ghostface was close behind, his presence a looming shadow, ready to strike at any moment.

"Please help us!" Tara shouted once they were inside. They tried to get to the front of the line in order to talk to the owner.

"There's a fucking line here, girls" someone snapped.

"Someone is trying to kill us" Iris yelled defiantly, her voice echoing in the cramped space. "You think I give a fuck?" Just as the words left her mouth, the store door swung open with a jarring creak, revealing Ghostface, who entered with an unsettling calm, his dark figure cutting through the fluorescent lights like a shadow.

"You got a problem here" The guy who snapped at them bravely said as he approached the killer, who in response just tilted his head, the mask obscuring any trace of emotion, before stabbing him in the gut multiple times. Gasps of horror erupted from the other costumers, their panic palpable as they rushed toward the door, desperate to escape the unfolding nightmare. Another guy tried to stop him but that just resulted in him getting stabbed in the neck.

The three girls exchanged horrified glances, their eyes wide as they gasped in shock, instinctively backing away from the scene. The air felt charged with fear as Ghostface began to advance towards them, his movements deliberate and predatory.

"Hey!" The store owner yelled, popping up from behind the counter with a shotgun. He pulled the trigger but it wasn't fast enough as Ghostface dodge it just in time. The man looked appalled as he walked through his store to approach the killer only to find that he disappeared.

"Go out the back!" He shouted at them.

"Thank you!" Tara yelled in response, the three of them not wasting another moment before rushing towards the door.

"Fuck, it's locked," Sam cursed out as she and Iris continued to force the lock in order to open it.

"Keys!" Tara called to the man. "We need your keys!"

The man began searching for the keys and just when he finally found them, Ghostface appeared out of nowhere and used the fact that he was distracted to stab him in the chest. The owner fell into the floor grumbling in pain as he tried to escape the store but it was no use as Ghostface grabbed the shotgun that was on the floor and shoot the man in the head making all the blood splutter into the fridges.

Sam pushed both girls down onto the ground signaling them to keep quiet as they crawled to another aisle.

They could hear Ghostface's footsteps as he fired at the freezer behind them, glass shattering everywhere. He squeezed off a few more shots, but a quick glance told Iris that he was getting closer. Sam seized a can and hurled it to the far end of the store, hoping to divert his attention.

Unfortunately, it didn't buy them much time. They managed to get to another aisle in silence, but then Ghostface turned, locking eyes with Iris for a brief, chilling moment.

Before Ghostface could pull the trigger again, the three girls acted on impulse, shoving the shelves of food onto him with all their strength. Cans and boxes tumbled down, creating a chaotic barrier as they scrambled to escape the scene.

"Run, go!" Sam shouted, her voice laced with panic. The urgency in her tone snapped Iris into action. She grabbed Tara's hand, feeling the tremor in her friend's grip, and urged her forward.

"Tara, we have to move!" Iris cried, noticing how her friend stood frozen, eyes wide with fear. Sam was already darting ahead, glancing back to ensure they were following.

They sprinted toward the door, hearts pounding, Iris let out a sigh of relief when they were finally outside and they could hear Police sirens getting closer to them.The relief didn't last long as once they turned around to look back at the scene, they found the Ghostface mask laying on the ground, which could only mean one thing. He had escaped.

[pinkandpurple360]

Trying to analyse apology tour just feels like sorting through slop

The opening is bizarre. A silent treatment has blitz crawling back to be listened to, his personality has done a large backflip from the angry pained person he was the day before. To a grinning idiot trying to make his first fan like him again.

He is used in the same way now as he was in the stupid opening song of the previous - for “mean” careless sex jokes, to be contrasted against the overly sensitive weepy, whiny, half self pitying half self aggrandising “woe is me” Prince. Who is just so above that sort of thing because he’s a deep, generous, kind, occasionally naive and silly innocent romantic precious baby boi with sad backstory. Oh brother. Bring out the violins.

This type of bias from the solo author, Medrano, is just embarrassingly obvious. She gives stolas every win, all of his points are framed as right, she only lets the other character argue if he incriminates himself by warped facts, in a way that can contribute to stolas being right. She doesn’t even try and write this as an “argument.” It’s a case of her favourite OC evar educating and schooling the OC she is less fond of right now, with his superior mind and superior super deep beautiful emotions always put in a background of stars and constellations. Feelings that in truth, don’t go beyond “I want you around cause I’m lonely.”

In between making him cry and weep for our pity, she adds in moments of unfounded indignant behaviour, rage that his privilege dare be questioned, moments of malicious torment, and shaming. Copious amounts of shame. All to pleasure her audience with the satisfaction of stolas winning.

He is just enraged that his ‘feelings’ of attachement that define his identity at this point, are not being returned adequately with acts of servitude, praise, flattery, and gratitude. And while this biased scene is bad enough, Verosika has to be inserted to enable stolas and build him up as if Vivziepop isn’t doing it enough herself with this writing. Because as we probably all know, stolas doesn’t have any friends of his own. He only has Blitzøs adversaries to join with, or a loved one who Blitz is arguing with, to back him up because doing that makes blitz pissed off.

Nobody can defend stolas without just projecting their own feelings about something else, onto him. Or regurgitating his frankly irrelevant tragic backstory. Because this writer knows this is a very bare bones argument she’s trying to make. You have to squint terribly hard and erase a lot of events to make the owl look good and most importantly, look right. Because he isn’t. He’s a creep who believes he fell in love with his object and has never stopped treating him as just an object to throw gifts at in exchange for his loyalty.

He speaks in this whimpery, shaky but loud and overpowering voice, commanding the whole situation. But is given tears in his eyes between each breath enough that you don’t question it. It’s very hard to watch.

The party. What ensues is vivziepop having a slightly worrying fixation with torturing blitz and wishing death on him, using countless nameless voiceless characters as props. And all of them exist, of course, to be enablers of stolas and make him look morally good and correct. But they’re also made into such filthy commoners that the dear pretty clean beautiful prince is terrified of their barbaric rituals. Verosika while rich, is still his emotional support poor.

“He is better than him, he is better than all of them, he is better than everyone. He cries, he gives gifts, he sings songs about his lovely love. Stinky blitz only talks about penises and cloaca’s and says fuck. Stol’s is just so silly, he is baby. Poor baby. Speak from your heart baby.He deserves so much. He sings so fantastic. If you don’t think so, kill yourself.”

.

.

Definition of trying too hard. If you’re a writer and one of your OCs takes this much of an emotional hold over you, you need to stop writing and re-evaluate.

[goblin-jr]

And then i go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like i love you. 

Part 10 of 12

Synopsis: romantic getaways and breaking the peace

Pairing: unrequited JJ x Reader, Eventual Rafe x Reader

masterlist

—

The soft creak of the ferry’s wooden deck echoed underfoot as it began its slow departure from the Outer Banks, the promise of a day full of freedom waiting on the other side. The boat was barely half full—most of the early passengers were already lost in their own worlds, gazing out at the water or chatting with their companions. For a moment, it felt like Y/N and Rafe had the whole world to themselves, just the two of them, standing on the edge of this small, quiet boat, staring at the horizon that stretched endlessly before them.

The sun had barely risen, casting a golden light across the water that shimmered and danced with the ferry’s wake. The breeze tugged at their hair, the saltwater scent familiar and clean. Y/N stood close to Rafe, her shoulder brushing his as she leaned in, breathing in the cool air. She had never felt so content. The worry that usually followed her around like a shadow—about what people thought of her, about the secrecy, about everything that was complicated—seemed a distant memory as they stood together in this little slice of normalcy.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she murmured, looking out at the water.

Rafe’s hand found hers, his fingers lacing through hers in a natural gesture that still felt like a small, private triumph, one they hadn’t yet shared with anyone else. He gave her a small, almost secret smile. “I told you it’d be better this way.”

Her lips curved into a teasing grin as she nudged him lightly with her shoulder. “You and your overconfidence. I didn’t expect you to be right about everything.”

“Always am,” Rafe replied with that familiar cocky grin. The sunlight caught his hair, giving him that golden glow she used to only see in her dreams—like a perfect image of a summer day, untouchable and carefree. He looked down at her, and for a moment, his expression softened. “You okay?”

Y/N met his gaze, feeling the warmth of his touch in her hand, the quietness of the moment settling over them. “Yeah, I am,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “I feel... I don’t know. I feel like we’re finally getting it right. For once.”

Rafe squeezed her hand, then pulled her a little closer, as if keeping her near him could somehow make the world outside of their small bubble disappear. There were so many things unsaid between them, things they couldn’t say because of where they were from and who they were to each other, but in this moment, none of that mattered. Not here, on this boat, in the quiet of early morning when no one was looking and the world felt like it had paused just for them.

She let out a small breath, resting her head on his shoulder, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under her cheek. It was simple—just the two of them, in the open air, surrounded by the vast ocean that stretched out endlessly, like an invitation to explore everything the world had to offer.

They didn’t speak again for a while, content to let the silence carry them. Rafe’s hand stayed firmly in hers, the connection between them feeling more solid with every passing second, like it was building a foundation they could keep returning to, a place where the complications of life could be left behind.

For a moment, Y/N allowed herself to believe that it could stay this way—that they could stay this way. No secrets, no shame, just them. And even though the reality of their situation lingered in the back of her mind, she didn’t want to think about it. Not now. Not here.

As the ferry picked up speed, Rafe leaned down to kiss the top of her head, a simple gesture but one that made her heart race. It wasn’t the first time he’d kissed her, but there was something about this kiss—something about the fact that they were in public, surrounded by people, yet hidden in plain sight—that felt new. She tilted her head to look at him, eyes meeting his with an intensity that spoke volumes more than words could say.

“I like this,” she whispered, voice soft but filled with meaning. “I like being with you.”

Rafe didn’t hesitate to answer, his voice low and sincere. “Me too.”

—

The arcade was a burst of neon colors, the rhythmic clinks and beeps of machines filling the air with energy. The walls were plastered with posters of old-school video games, and the smell of popcorn and sugar lingered in the air, adding to the nostalgic charm of the place. It was a throwback to simpler times, a spot where the world outside—full of secrets and expectations—couldn’t follow them.

Y/N and Rafe stepped through the door, and the change in atmosphere was instant. The music grew louder, the flashing lights more intense. She felt a surge of excitement, her usual nerves melting away in the warm glow of arcade lights. This wasn’t a place where they had to hide; they could just be themselves, acting like any normal couple without worrying about anyone recognizing them, without looking over their shoulders.

Rafe grinned, his eyes scanning the room as he nudged her with his elbow. “So, what’s first? Claw machine? Air hockey?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, looking over at the claw machine, already skeptical. She had always thought they were a scam, but something about Rafe’s confidence made her curious. “You really think you can win me something?”

His grin widened, full of that familiar mischievous energy. “Just watch. I’ve got this.”

He walked over to the machine, slipping a coin in with ease and grabbing the controls. Y/N leaned against the side, crossing her arms, watching him as he manipulated the claw with surprising focus. “You sure about this?” she teased, her voice a little playful but mostly skeptical.

Rafe, however, was utterly serious as he maneuvered the claw over the prize—a plush unicorn with a glittery horn that was definitely not her first choice. “This is it,” he said, voice low and dramatic, like he was trying to summon some kind of mystical power. “This is the moment I show you how it's done.”

He pressed the button to lower the claw, his face filled with absolute focus. Y/N crossed her arms, looking skeptical. “Uh, sure. Just don’t embarrass yourself.”

But as Rafe’s hand tightened on the joystick, the claw moved in the wrong direction, then jerked to a stop, then spun around in a circle like it was on its own personal dance floor. He furrowed his brow, eyes locked on the claw, utterly convinced it would redeem itself.

“Alright, no big deal,” he muttered to himself, a bit of nervousness creeping into his voice. He adjusted his grip on the joystick, trying again. This time, the claw managed to hover just above the unicorn’s fluffy head. His fingers twitched, ready to press the button.

But instead of grabbing the toy, the claw dropped... and just barely grazed the unicorn’s ear before slipping harmlessly back into its starting position.

Y/N stifled a laugh, her lips twitching as Rafe looked at the claw machine, wide-eyed, like it had just personally betrayed him.

He didn’t look at her, but she could tell he was mentally cursing himself out. “Okay, okay, that was just a warm-up,” he said, voice defensive. “That was nothing. I’m gonna get it this time.”

She didn’t even try to hide her grin as she leaned against the machine, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “Yeah, sure, you’ve totally got it. This next round’s yours, I can feel it.”

Rafe shot her a quick glance before focusing all his energy on the claw. He moved it back and forth, his eyes squinting as if he could will the claw to grab the prize. When the claw lowered, it was supposed to grab a plush unicorn sitting smugly in the center, but—

It missed entirely.

The claw wobbled and jerked, like it was trying to do a dance it had never practiced.

Y/N immediately burst out laughing, leaning against the machine to keep herself steady. “Oh my god, this is priceless. You’re a natural, Rafe.”

He grimaced, his face reddening slightly. “I was just warming up,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, clearly trying to salvage his dignity. “One more try.”

With another coin dropped into the slot, Rafe took aim once more. His hands shook slightly with exaggerated seriousness, and Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle.

“This is so embarrassing for you,” she teased, her grin growing wider.

“Shut up,” he said under his breath, moving the joystick. This time, he positioned the claw directly above the unicorn. He gave the button a confident press—

And the claw dropped… only to grab a random, sad-looking stuffed snake wedged in the corner.

“No, no, no!” Rafe said, his voice rising in frustration. The claw hung the snake awkwardly in midair, before it dropped it with a dramatic clunk to the bottom of the machine.

Y/N burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the arcade. “Okay, now I’m just concerned. Are you sure you’ve seen a claw machine before? This is bad.”

Rafe shot her a look, narrowing his eyes as he pushed more coins into the slot. “Shut up, I’ve got this. You just wait.”

After another five agonizing minutes of Rafe failing to even come close to winning, Y/N was nearly crying from laughing so hard. At this point, he was getting visibly frustrated, his face redder with each failed attempt. His concentration was so intense, it was almost adorable—almost.

“I don’t understand,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s like the claw’s rigged. This is totally rigged.”

“Rafe, you’re just really bad at this,” Y/N teased, her voice full of affection and amusement. “I’m honestly starting to think the machine’s gonna make you pay for wasting its time.”

“Okay, one more try,” he said, this time with a hint of defiance. He slapped another coin into the machine with the confidence of a man who’d just spent the last ten minutes proving he had no idea what he was doing.

As he clutched the joystick once again, Y/N leaned in, a grin plastered on her face. “If you don’t win, I’m just gonna tell people I let you win at everything.”

“Not funny,” Rafe muttered, but the humor was there in his eyes. He finally got the claw to lower, and for a moment, it seemed like it was going to be the one—he was right there, the claw hovered just above the unicorn. His fingers twitched over the button.

The claw descended. And then… it grabbed a random, sad-looking plush cactus from the corner of the machine.

Rafe let out a long, defeated sigh. “I can’t win. I just… I can’t.”

Y/N’s laughter was almost uncontrollable now, tears forming in her eyes as she clutched her stomach. “You’re a disaster! I’ve never seen someone so bad at this.”

Rafe, though, was not defeated. He held the cactus up with a dramatic flourish. “Fine. You think this is a joke? I’m taking this cactus. It’s mine now.”

Y/N, still laughing, shook her head. “You’re delusional.”

He shrugged, the cactus dangling from his hand like some weird victory trophy. “It’s a sign of my character—I’m too cool for unicorns.”

But as they walked away from the machine, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sudden rush of warmth in her chest. Rafe’s usual arrogance had given way to something more real, more human. He wasn’t perfect, and he knew it. And that made him even more endearing.

As they stopped near a wall of neon lights, Y/N reached up and gently tugged the cactus from his hand. “You’re so stubborn,” she said, her voice quieter now, a softness in it she hadn’t even realized was there. “But I like it. You know that?”

Rafe’s expression softened, just for a moment. He tilted his head, eyes meeting hers with an unexpected gentleness. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice surprisingly low.

Y/N nodded, her thumb tracing the rough fabric of the cactus’s stitches. “Yeah. You’re kind of perfect just the way you are.”

He stared at her for a second, his usual smug grin gone, replaced with something more vulnerable. “Don’t tell anyone,” he said, a chuckle in his voice, “but... I think I like it, too.”

Y/N smiled, the laughter still dancing in her chest but now accompanied by something sweeter, something more real. “Maybe next time, try the claw machine again. Just… don’t get your hopes up too high.”

—-

The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, casting the beach in that perfect golden hour glow that made everything feel like a dream. Rafe and Y/N wandered down toward the quieter stretch of sand, away from the noisy crowds. The cool breeze off the water tangled in their hair, and for the first time in a while, everything felt just right.

“Alright,” Rafe said, kicking off his sneakers and walking closer to the water. “This feels way better than some crowded arcade.”

Y/N nodded, slipping out of her sandals and wiggling her toes into the soft sand. “Way better. We’ve got the whole beach to ourselves.”

They walked in silence for a moment, letting the waves crash softly at their feet. The world around them felt distant, and for once, the pressure of their secret relationship didn’t feel as heavy. It was just them, in this tiny bubble of peace.

“So,” Y/N began, her voice playful again as she nudged Rafe with her elbow, “how’s the cactus doing?”

Rafe glanced down at the plush cactus, which he’d tucked under his arm like it was a real pet. “The cactus is a masterpiece. It’s going to be famous one day. You’ll see.”

Y/N laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Is that what you're calling it now? A masterpiece?”

“Well, it’s a symbol of my success,” Rafe said dramatically, holding the cactus up like a trophy. “One day, I’ll sell it for millions. You’ll say, ‘I was there when Rafe Cameron won the cactus.’” He paused, looking down at the plush toy, then back at Y/N. “You’ll be proud.”

Y/N chuckled. “Sure, sure. I’ll be the proudest person in the world when that happens.”

They reached a small cluster of rocks where they could sit and face the ocean. The sound of the waves was soothing, and for a moment, they both sat quietly, just taking in the view. It wasn’t awkward, though; it felt comfortable, easy.

“You know,” Rafe began, after a long pause, “I never thought I’d enjoy a day like this.”

Y/N glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” he said, a little more thoughtful than usual. “It’s always been about... showing off, I guess. Or doing things for the wrong reasons. I’ve always had to be someone else, or whatever. But today—today was just… us.”

Y/N smiled softly, not sure what to say at first. “Yeah,” she agreed. “It feels nice, doesn’t it?”

Rafe nodded, turning his gaze out over the ocean, the soft orange and pink of the setting sun painting the sky in vibrant streaks. “I think I’ve been spending too much time worrying about what people think. You know, trying to be this guy I’m not. But I don’t need to do that with you.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered a little at his words, the way he looked at her so honestly. “You don’t need to pretend with me,” she said softly. “I don’t care about any of that.”

He turned his head to look at her, his expression more open now. “I know. I like that. You’re different. It’s... I don’t know how to explain it, but I don’t have to worry about trying to impress you.”

She smiled, nudging him again. “You know, you don’t have to impress me. You already do.”

Rafe’s grin spread again, though this time it wasn’t the usual cocky, self-assured one. It was more genuine, softer. “I’m pretty sure I just impressed you with my cactus, but I’ll take the compliment.”

Y/N laughed. “Alright, alright, I’ll admit it. You’ve got some skills with that thing.” She paused, looking out at the ocean. “You know, I used to come out here a lot when things were tough. It helped me clear my head. It’s kind of nice, just sitting here.”

Rafe watched her for a moment, then gave a small, thoughtful nod. “I get that. I used to come out here, too, just to get away from everything. Sometimes it feels like the only place where I don’t have to be anyone but myself.”

They both sat there for a few more moments, the waves rolling in and out as the sky darkened. The world felt quieter, like time was slowing down just for them.

Rafe finally spoke again, his voice softer, more vulnerable than it had been all day. “Thanks for today. It’s... it’s been a while since I’ve had a day like this. Just being with someone, not worrying about what’s next or what people think.”

Y/N’s smile softened, her heart full as she reached out to touch his arm. “I’m glad. You deserve days like this.”

Rafe met her eyes then, and for a second, everything else faded into the background. “I’m glad it’s with you.”

The air between them felt charged, and without thinking, Y/N reached out to take his hand in hers, the simple touch making her feel grounded in a way she hadn’t expected. Rafe squeezed her hand gently, and for a long moment, neither of them said anything. They didn’t need to. The quiet between them felt just as perfect as everything else about this day.

“Alright,” Rafe said after a beat, breaking the silence but keeping that warmth in his voice. “We’ve had our deep moment. You ready to go find some real food? Because I’m pretty sure this whole ‘weird stuffed animal’ thing isn’t going to keep me full.”

Y/N grinned. “Absolutely. Let’s go get something that isn’t a cactus or a snake, alright?”

“Deal.” Rafe stood up, offering her a hand as he pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go. But next time—I’m picking the food.”

“Deal,” she said, laughing again, as they walked back toward the town, hand in hand. 

—

The day was slowly winding down, the golden hue of the setting sun casting long shadows over the streets of town. Y/N and Rafe wandered aimlessly, enjoying the peaceful quiet that came with the evening hours. The bustling crowds had thinned out, leaving the streets calm and serene, the perfect setting for their leisurely stroll.

They passed by shops with colorful windows, the occasional chatter of people filling the air, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. Rafe’s hand brushed against hers every now and then, a small but constant reminder of how close they’d become, even if they had to hide it from everyone else.

As they turned a corner, a small jewelry shop caught their attention. The display case outside was filled with delicate necklaces, rings, and bracelets, each piece glinting in the late afternoon light. There was something about the simplicity of the shop, with its vintage charm and understated elegance, that drew them in.

Y/N stopped in front of the window, her fingers lightly pressing against the glass as she studied the glittering bracelets. Some were simple, some were more elaborate, but they all held a kind of quiet beauty. She glanced up at Rafe, who had his hands tucked into his pockets, looking around the small street.

“Think we should go in?” she asked, a playful note in her voice.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, glancing over at the shop. “Are you asking me if I want to look at jewelry?” he teased, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Y/N shrugged, still eyeing the bracelets. “I mean, I think you might find something in there that suits you. Sparkles and all.”

Rafe laughed softly. “Yeah, well... sparkles aren’t exactly my thing. But sure, let’s see what’s in there.”

They entered the shop, the door chimes ringing lightly above them as they stepped inside. The air was filled with the soft scent of wood and polished metal. A gentle hum of calm music played in the background as they wandered among the displays, browsing through the array of jewels, none of which seemed to stand out as the piece.

After a few moments, Y/N picked up a bracelet with small, delicate charms that jingled lightly when touched. She held it up in front of Rafe, raising an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

Rafe leaned over, taking a look. “It’s... shiny,” he said, not exactly convinced. “Not really my style.”

Y/N smiled, placing it back on the counter. “Yeah, I thought so too. But it’s cute.”

They wandered for a few more minutes, picking up pieces, admiring them, but neither of them felt compelled to buy anything. The items were beautiful, sure, but the whole experience felt oddly distant—like they were pretending to be someone they weren’t.

Finally, Y/N turned to Rafe with a shrug. “I don’t think either of us is really in the mood to buy anything, huh?”

Rafe chuckled, his eyes lighting up as he gave her a playful nudge. “Nope. I don’t think I could pull off any of these anyway.”

“Not even the sparkly ones?” she teased, a grin tugging at her lips.

“Especially not the sparkly ones,” he said with mock seriousness. “But hey, it was fun just looking.”

They both laughed, and after a few more moments of lighthearted banter, they left the shop, hands still brushing occasionally as they walked back down the street, continuing their slow stroll toward the ferry.

As they approached the dock, the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, painting the sky with soft shades of orange and pink. They boarded the ferry in silence, finding a quiet spot at the railing, where the cool breeze was starting to pick up. The water shimmered in the fading light, and the soft hum of the boat’s engine was a comforting backdrop to the peaceful moment.

Rafe leaned against the railing, his eyes scanning the water as they pulled away from the shore. Y/N stood beside him, looking out at the horizon, a quiet smile on her face as the day slipped away. But even with the serenity of the moment, there was a small pang in her chest, a bittersweet feeling that the day was ending so soon.

As they stood there, the sound of the ferry’s engine humming softly in the background, Y/N glanced at Rafe out of the corner of her eye. She’d been thinking about it all day—the small thought that had lingered since they’d walked through that jewelry shop. Without saying anything, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small wrapped box. She turned to Rafe, holding it out to him with a quiet smile.

“Hey, I know we didn’t buy anything earlier, but...” she trailed off, handing him the box. “I got you something.”

Rafe blinked, clearly surprised. “You did?”

Y/N nodded, her smile widening. “I couldn’t resist. You might not love sparkles, but I thought this would look good on you.”

Rafe took the box, carefully unwrapping it with a mix of curiosity and amusement. When he opened it, he found a sleek, glittery bracelet, the kind that wasn’t too flashy, but had just enough shine to catch the light. He looked up at her, his eyes softening.

“You got me a bracelet?” he asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

Y/N laughed, shrugging. “It’s not a sparkly one, I promise. Just... something simple. I thought it’d suit you.”

Rafe’s lips curled into a smile. “It’s perfect, actually.” He reached out, taking her hand and slipping the bracelet onto his wrist. “I love it.”

Before she could say anything more, Rafe surprised her by reaching into his own jacket pocket and pulling out a small velvet bag. “I guess I owe you one now,” he said, his grin widening.

Y/N raised an eyebrow as she took the bag from him. “You didn’t have to—”

“I know, but I wanted to,” he said, his voice softening a little. “Open it.”

Y/N carefully untied the string, revealing a delicate necklace with a tiny, intricate pendant. It was a crescent moon, silver with a small diamond at its center, catching the last of the sunlight. Her breath caught in her throat. It was beautiful—simple, but breathtaking.

“Rafe,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “It’s... it’s perfect.”

“I thought you’d like it,” he said quietly, watching her reaction. “Something to remember today by.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling. “I’ll never forget it. Thank you.”

They stood there for a moment, both wearing gifts from the other, feeling the quiet, shared happiness of the day slowly settling in. But as the ferry glided through the water, a quiet sadness started to creep in, an awareness that the day was coming to an end.

“You know,” Y/N said, her voice low, “this has been... one of the best days I’ve had in a while.”

Rafe nodded, his expression soft. “Yeah. Me too.”

The sound of the waves crashing against the side of the ferry filled the silence between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. They didn’t need to say anything else. The day had been perfect in its simplicity, just the two of them, stealing moments of normalcy in a world that often didn’t allow for it.

As the ferry neared the shore, they both felt the weight of the inevitable separation. They’d go back to stealing glances and secret rendezvous—at least for a little while. But for now, all they had was the evening, the ferry ride, and the gifts they’d given each other, which were more than just jewelry. They were reminders of a day they’d never forget.

—---

A few days later, the sun hung low over the beach, casting a warm, lazy glow as it started its descent. The Pogues were settled around a makeshift bonfire on the sand, the air thick with the scent of smoke and saltwater. The group had sprawled out in the usual way—Pope meticulously stacking sticks for later, JJ tossing pebbles at driftwood targets, and Kie stretched out on a blanket, flicking sand absently as she chatted with Y/N.

It was one of those rare, easy days when the crew could just unwind, the kind of day they all secretly loved. JJ had spent the past few minutes trying to balance a stick on his nose, to no success, though his persistence was making everyone laugh. When the stick inevitably fell to the sand, he groaned dramatically. “This is why I’ll never be a circus performer,” he announced, to a chorus of exaggerated gasps.

“I know. Total missed calling,” Y/N replied, grinning as she tossed a few pebbles toward him. Kie snorted, tossing one herself, but missed and hit Pope, who looked over with mock offense.

“Can we at least hit JJ?” Pope said, rolling his eyes before grabbing a handful of sand, aiming for JJ’s shoes instead.

Kie, lying on her side with her head resting on her arm, caught sight of the necklace Y/N was wearing. It caught the light, sparkling just enough to make Kie raise an eyebrow. “Hey, that’s new. Where’d you get that?”

Y/N instinctively touched it, a small, knowing smile creeping onto her face. She shrugged, trying to keep her response light. “Oh, just something I picked up.”

Kie’s eyes narrowed, not entirely convinced. “Really? It looks kinda... fancy for just something you picked up.”

Y/N laughed it off, brushing it aside. “What can I say? I have expensive taste.” She grinned to soften the response, hoping Kie would drop it.

Kie eyed her, but didn’t press. “Uh-huh,” she said, turning back to the group as JJ started running after Pope, both of them laughing.

Y/N’s fingers brushed the necklace again, feeling the quiet connection behind it. It was a secret, one she wasn’t ready to share, but in this moment, that was enough.

The easy laughter echoed over the water, filling the space with a calm none of them thought to question. It was the kind of afternoon that always made them feel like everything else could wait until tomorrow.

But that calm didn’t last.

A sharp ping broke through their laughter. John B had pulled his phone from his pocket and quickly checked the screen. At first, it seemed like nothing; he barely glanced at it before his thumb hovered over the side button to lock the screen again. But Y/N, perched next to him, didn’t miss the slight smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.

She wasn’t the only one who noticed.

JJ, who was surprisingly perceptive when it came to sniffing out potential teasing material, caught the expression too and smirked, leaning in. “Yo, JB, who’s got you grinning like that?”

John B stiffened slightly, shoving the phone back in his pocket. “No one, just a…friend.”

Kie raised an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. “A ‘friend’? John B, I think you forget all of your friends are sitting right here.”

Pope snorted, nudging JJ. “Yeah, and I’ve never seen you smile like that at one of my texts, man.”

Y/N felt the tension creep up, hoping they’d let it go, but JJ was already zeroed in, leaning forward with his usual mischievous glint. He held out a hand. “Alright, let’s see this ‘friend’ then.”

John B held up his hands defensively, scoffing. “Back off, alright? It’s nothing, just a text.”

JJ wasn’t one to back down easily. With a grin, he lunged over and snatched the phone out of John B’s hand before anyone could blink, ducking back with a triumphant laugh. John B groaned, already reaching out to grab it back, but JJ sidestepped, eyes locked on the screen.

The smile faded from JJ’s face as he read, replaced by an exaggerated, delighted grin. He held up the phone for everyone to see, pointing at the screen with a loud laugh. “‘Val’ says she misses you, babe!”

“Val?” Kie echoed, her brows knitting in confusion. “Who the hell is ‘Val’?”

Pope squinted, glancing over JJ’s shoulder to read the screen. “Dude, you’re getting ‘babe’ texts from ‘Val’ now?”

“Come on, guys,” John B muttered, snatching the phone again, but JJ held it out of reach, tilting his head curiously.

Y/N quickly tried to step in. “Guys, relax. It’s probably nothing, just some weird joke between friends.”

Kie raised an eyebrow, not buying it. “Yeah, right. ‘Val’ says babe like it’s no big deal?”

Y/N, trying to keep things light, leaned over to JJ with a laugh. “Maybe it’s a nickname for someone he’s trying to impress. Like, uh, ‘Valencia,’ or some other exotic name. Very mysterious.”

JJ blinked at her. “Yeah, sure. And I’m definitely not going to ask why ‘Val’ says ‘babe’ in all their texts.”

John B was looking at Y/N, his expression torn. He gave her a pleading look, and for a second, she knew he was ready to just admit everything. She met his gaze, giving a slight, emphatic shake of her head, silently telling him: Don’t you dare tell them.

For a moment, he hesitated, torn between protecting the secret and wanting to rip off the band-aid. But then Pope’s eyes went wide as he finally connected the dots.

“Wait… ‘Val’?” Pope said slowly, his eyes narrowing as the realization began to settle in. He glanced up at John B, his voice tinged with disbelief. “That’s not just a friend, is it?”

John B hesitated, his fingers absently running over the edge of his phone as he met Pope’s gaze. “No... I’m... seeing someone.” His voice was quiet, as if he were testing the waters, waiting for the storm to hit.

Y/N's stomach twisted. She couldn’t look away from John B in that moment, the air between them thick with something unspoken. She could feel the tension in her chest as she opened her mouth, her voice barely above a whisper. “John B, please...” Her eyes begged him to stop, to not say any more, to not let this reveal itself like this.

But he didn’t look at her. He just met her gaze for a split second before turning back to the group. There was something resolute in his eyes, an unspoken promise: It’s going to be okay.

He took a deep breath and finally let it slip out. “It’s Sarah Cameron.”

Kie’s face flushed with a mix of disbelief and anger. “You’re dating her?” she practically spat, rising to her feet in shock. “After everything she and her family have done to us?”

John B looked defensive, trying to keep his cool. “It’s not like that, Kie. It’s just—”

But Kie was already shaking her head, not having it. “It’s exactly like that, John B! After all the crap her family’s put us through, and now you’re just gonna ignore it because you like her?”

“I don’t care about her family, Kie,” John B snapped, clearly frustrated. “I care about her. I’m not gonna let their problems be mine.”

Y/N, feeling the tension rise, quickly stepped in, her voice trying to keep things light. “It’s really not that big of a deal, Kie. John B’s dating who he wants to date.”

JJ blinked, his frustration still simmering. “Look, I’m not thrilled about the whole ‘Kook’ thing, but as far as Kooks go, Sarah’s not that bad. It could’ve been worse... I mean, it could’ve been someone like Ruthie or Rafe.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted at the mention of Rafe. Sure, JJ could brush off Sarah, but Rafe? That was a whole different level—one that would never be as easy to accept. She could already feel the weight of the confrontation coming, and it made her sick to her core.

But Kie was seething now, her eyes burning. “Are you serious, JJ? She’s been tearing us down for years, and you’re just gonna excuse that because John B’s having some little romance? She’s part of the problem. Her family’s the problem. And you think dating her is just fine?”

John B held his ground, though his voice was quieter now, more strained. “I don’t care what her family’s done. It’s not about them, Kie. It’s just about Sarah.”

Kie looked between John B and Y/N, her voice rising in anger. “So, what, you’re just gonna ignore all the times she’s acted like we don’t exist? Like we’re just some lower class that’s not worth her time?”

Y/N, feeling the tension reaching its peak, cut her off, her voice sharp but calm. “Look, I don’t see what the big deal is, alright? John B is his own person. He can date whoever he wants.”

That just made Kie’s anger explode even further. “You don’t see the big deal? This isn’t just about who John B is dating, Y/N. This is about everything she represents! She’s a Kook! And now you’re all just fine with that?”

JJ looked back and forth between Kie and the others, his voice quieter now as he tried to defuse the situation. “Whoa, okay, okay, let’s just all chill. Kie, we get it. But maybe yelling about it isn’t gonna make it better. It’s John B’s choice. We can’t really do anything about it.”

But Kie wasn’t having it. “You think I’m just supposed to pretend it’s okay? After everything?”

The words hit hard, and the air grew thick with tension. Kie stormed off, her steps quick and angry as she muttered under her breath. Pope hesitated, glancing at John B and Y/N before following Kie, clearly torn.

JJ, shaking his head, threw his hands up. “Man, what a mess.” He paused, glancing at John B and Y/N. “You good?”

John B let out a heavy sigh, dropping onto a rock. “Yeah… just not what I expected.”

Y/N sat down beside him, her expression softening. “You did what you had to do.”

The sun dipped lower, and the day that had begun so relaxed and carefree felt a little heavier now, the silence between them thick as the fallout from Kie’s anger lingered in the air.

—-

A/n: i wrote chapter 11 before i finished this so sorry if it seems off 😭😭😭

Anyways, val and vlad made an appearance! Is it controversial if i say they are the best couple in the show

—

Next time: the midsummer ball

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Taglist: ​​@hockeybabe87 , @idiotussupremus , @certifiedhaters , @oatmealisweird, @sluggmuffin , @maybankslover , @ren-ni, @wh0reforbucknasty , @enjoymyloves , @bilssturns , @dragonslight , @willowpains , @sidney-86 , @urbrunettebombshell, @fluffybunnyu

[system-of-a-feather]

hi, i have been thinking about the topic of fusion, and what i want my long-term goals to be, and i was wondering. do you ever feel like being fused is exhausting? not the process of fusion, i know thats exhausting because healing is exhausting. but like. do you ever feel overwhelmed due to being all parts of yourself at once? i havent experienced any fusions yet (hopefully in the future!) but ive seen people talk about how even when fused, none of the parts disappear but instead are all part of the "you" that always exists. my only frame of reference for how that feels for myself is blendy cofronting, which in my experience can be pleasant with 2 or 3 parts, but any more than that gets overwhelming and disorienting

Actually? Surprisingly? No. Not really at all honestly. The funny thing is that I used to wonder the same thing so I absolutely understand the frame of reference and perspective and assumptions that go with it, but its extremely comfortable and LOW energy to be fused for me.

The actual thing that happens is that you don't really get that "too many parts in front" fatigue like... ever or fronting fatigue like ever - at least thats how it is for me.

I relax a whole fuck ton better as a fused whole and while a lot of fusion still has me having to learn my new / fused "me" and how I operate on a baseline, thats an entirely different thing than trying to balance all the differing and contrasting parts or trying to understand and negotiate that because like... They are all simultaneously me and I VERY freely and fluidly exist as and between all of them. There isn't really "compromise" I have to make because.... we just co-exist harmoniously as one without even needing to explicitly talk about it or discuss or put intention into coming to a shared understanding, we just... do and know and its really really really really fucking easy living as a fused whole compared to being multiple parts

Like even if you were to ask me just as ONE part versus how I am now, there is not a single part in our system that has ever actually been so comfortable and so not-fatigued existing as I am as a whole

Everythings a lot more balanced, managable and our window of tolerance is STUPID fucking large - and I don't mean that in a "relative to where we used to be" or "relative to someone with as much trauma as I do" but genuinely STUPIDLY huge compared to most generally neurotypical non-traumatized not-severely-mentally ill people and I largely thank that to Post Traumatic Growth honestly.

But like... tldr, not really at all for me surprisingly. Maybe really early post fusion when I was still figuring myself out a lot but like.... Thats more so the process of fusing than being fused itself imo.

(Side note edit: Sometimes I DO think itd be better to explore a situation and issue as independent parts and so sometimes I DO operate in a more system / plural way of existing for however long its beneficial, but thats less to do with fusion not helping me as much as it is that I think a plural lens and perspective has a lot of perks in navigating complicated situations.)

Anyways tagging a few others who might have a different answer / perspective on this since they are either in a different stage of a fusion / integration and/or have a different way of existing with their fused / integrated state than me.

@hiiragi7 @reimeichan @subsystems

[strawberryshortcake0413]

Last Hope chapter 4

Hello everyone :D i have finally decided to upload a chapter i postponed for weeks. Hope yall enjoy it, lmk your thoughts and reactions

Characters:yandere Leon S Kennedy (older version) x reader

Disclaimer: This fanfic contains dark-themed topics, such as kidnapping, depression, suicidal thoughts, non-consent, unwanted pregnancy,etc

Warning: yandere Leon Kennedy, kidnapping, non-consent, depressed reader, manipulation, Stockholm syndrome, unwanted pregnancy, emotional & mental abuse

Chapter1 Chapter2 Chapter3

God. 

You were crazy. You were confused and blind. You didn't know whether it was love or hate. 

Hating your kidnapper seems to be the logical explanation most people would come up with. But again, most of those people had not been kidnapped, nor was Leon S Kennedy the one who did it. 

A few days ago, you had played with his nerves more than ever.

You took a small knife from the kitchen when he allowed you to watch him cook. Trying to be sneaky was harder than it sounds. 

You have been his good girl for a whole month, yet trying to steal a knife to kill him. 

Little did you know, Leon had already noticed your little trick, sneakily putting it in your sleeve while you kissed him.

He was happy that you were showing affection without any fuss at first. But when he saw your true intentions, he was furious. 

That same night you tried to stab him when he was sleeping. Or pretending to be asleep, waiting for the right moment to give you what you were itching for.

To say the least, you got your punishment.

Even though you got him mad a couple times during the months you lived in the isolated house, it was never this bad. It never went as far as Leon refusing to acknowledge you or tamper you like his usual self. 

Humans are social creatures. Communication was the key to survival starting from the ice age to the modern world. People need love, someone to laugh and talk to. Without these, life was darker than the pitch of hell. This what you felt like was happening to you. Leon was the only being you talked, communicated, snuggled in for a long time. 

Now he was trying his hardest ignoring and giving you silent treatment. Thinking more about this situation, it was half funny, half painful. 

If you start from the funny part, he was childish. The one who made sure to comment about how stable and mature for a family was now acting like a spoiled, mad 5 year old. 

At the same time, you realized you were truly alone. Here, in this prison of a house, you at least had someone to give a shit about you at least a bit, even if it was toxic. But thinking about your past life, you had nobody for you.

Hell, if you made a bet with a stranger your mom would stab you from the back if she wanted to have your boyfriend in her bed, it was not a lie you would lose a few bucks. 

You are alone in this miserable life with no one except a mentally ill old man. You were sure he had an addiction problem before by the looks of his face. It's easy to tell when you grew up with one. And worked to help those people, sacrificing everything that had the curse to be yours. 

Guilt was filling the room, almost drowning you till you can’t breathe. Even if he was shit, he still cared for you. Were you this pathetic to try to crawl back in the arms of someone you attempted to murder? Yes, you were. But who cares? Who cares as long as he forgives you? You are just going to pretend everything is fine till everything is not and the cycle starts all over.

You felt even shittier when the memory of you holding the knife and sitting on his lap when he was asleep, ready to slice his throat. If your childhood self saw you like that, she would think you’re a monster. 

But in the end, you were one. That’s why you have no one good enough that is willingly to stay with you. 

You had willingly pushed away someone that actually cared for you without even thinking. How stupid are you to try to do that? You cared and craved the attention that came with him. You were just not used to love that you immediately persuaded it as poison.

He locked you in the same room with no food and water for 3 days. No matter how much you pleaded, he wouldn't budge in. 

“Leon… Daddy… Please…” you begged again. You had already lost count of your whining and were begging for him to let you out. 

“I'm sorry. I won't do it again. Please?” 

Leon signed hearing your whining repeatedly in the morning before he even had his first cup of coffee. Work was already harder these past few days, your whining made it even more irritating. 

Hell. He should even add a little bit of vodka in his coffee since destiny decided to play with him again. 

Leon had already decided the love of his life bumped into him at the hospital, but he was starting to realize it was an illusion his heart made to bear with the pain of real life struggles.

Leon was starting to see the truth that you will never be someone he wanted. All he ever dreamed of was the perfect american dream where he had a beautiful wife and a few kids running around his house. If the Raccoon city event never happened, he wouldn’t even have looked your way. 

You were rude, wild, inconsiderate, and lacked motherly instincts. Leon was not even sure if you thought like a normal person. He was not blind to your personality. When he was carefully selecting you as his future wife and the mother of his kids, he noticed quite a lot of details. 

The way you responded to children crying, someone immature, or confused people asking for help or getting unlucky in life, he took notes of how you stare at them and how you respond with your body language.

He knew you were not a good person. He knew you wouldn’t be a good, caring mother. 

Despite the fact he refused to acknowledge your real self, he had hoped someday you will grow to love him and want to have children of your own. Little did he know, he felt angry at himself for giving you too much hope. 

In his own delusion, Leon thought you completely had given up the thought to escape and run away. Never in a million years, he would have imagined you holding a knife and almost killing him. 

Now, he didn’t even know if you were the right choice to go with for the rest of his life. 

But listening to your pleas, apologizing, and regrets pulled a string in his heart he hadn’t acknowledged since he was twenty something. 

Maybe you realized you were nothing without him. You didn’t have the basic needs of a human if he didn’t bother to notice you. You should be grateful. You should be grateful he takes care of you better than he takes care of himself. You should be grateful he chose to save you from your miserable little life before him.

But hearing your cries changed his already made up mind. It was something he would only do for you. Something he hoped that would change your mind about starting a family. 

Leon stared down at you with a cold glare as you whined pathetically before crawling and hugging his legs as you sobbed like you’re at your father's funeral. 

As much as he loves his parents, only one memory is engraved on his mind from his childhood. He remembers that day, clearer than water. Holding a bare white rose while people stared at the big hole in the ground as his parents were put to peaceful sleep forever without anyone interrupting them again. 

Standing there alone and confused why his parents would never come back. What did his parents do to be killed like that? Still to this day, Leon doesn’t have any idea why his parents were targeted out of all the people in the world.

His main goal is to never let any of his children go through that pain. Not in a single day he had a moment of lasting peace. Why would he not deserve a little dose of happiness others knew the taste more than once? 

You were his last hope. Last hope for a new beginning. To something he can’t have again.

“I’m sorry. Please. Daddy. I love you. Please, forgive me” you cried, sniffing your runny nose while kissing his legs. As much as you would have loved to make comments about his hairy long legs, you were not in the right position to be sarcastic.

“If you try to pull that shit again, your “daddy, i love you” is not going to work again.” he muttered before grabbing your wrists, pulling you up.

“See what happens when you disobey me?” Leon eyed your tired figure from the lack of food, shower and him.  

“I won’t do it again. I promise.” you muttered, hugging him hesitantly. It was a strange feeling for you. Even before you were forced to show affection, you never felt genuine enough to hug a person before. Sometimes rare visitors would hug you, it only gave you ick.

Something about it made me want to cry, while something else was making you angry at Leon. Where did his promise of taking care of you no matter what went when he was mad? Were you just a little toy for him to abandon when life gives him something sour? Is he someone that would abandon you at your lowest just like everyone else?

Walking into the kitchen you were greeted with a vegetable soup with a slice of bread, poured in the plastic bowl he bought for you specifically. 

“Eat well.” Leon muttered as he sat next, watching you devour the food. 

“Slower. It's not good for the body”

After a few minutes of eating, he brought you into the bedroom, showering you carefully before helping you put on a fresh set of pajamas.

“Sleep” Leon muttered as he laid beside, kissing your temple. 

Warm, soft blanket made you feel like a newborn being swaddled in its mothers tight embrace. After spending 3 nights on the cold flooring of the house, the bed felt like heaven.

Not to mention the fact, after a while Leon would occasionally rub your clit through your pants or give your nipple a hard pinch enough to awaken something in your belly.

As much as he missed you, Leon quickly learned you were even worse than him somehow. The way you begged for another round at 2 am at night proved everything he needed to know. 

“My baby missed me so much. Huh?” the older man smirked, feeling you clench as his pace increased. Your hands went back to the bed sheets while you babbled nonsense.  

“You see how much I love you?” Leon muttered as he stared at your dilated eyes.

As you nodded, he felt a satisfaction he hadn’t experienced in a while. Soon he felt himself finish inside you. 

“Promise me. Promise me that you would love me forever” 

You took a long shaky breath, brain foggy from the your body was being warmed by his warm cum. 

“I will… I will as long as you do” you said as Leon captured your lips in a passionate long kiss. Spit connecting you two still as he pulled away. “Sweet dreams baby”

Next chapter start: Leon grinned to himself as he started connecting all the clues God left for him. Your moody, bratty behavior, sweet cravings, morning sickness. He was trying to tell Leon his dreams are coming soon. 

Now that he knew you were with a healthy child, he was never going to let you go. If he had to fight for the sake of his child, he wouldn’t hesitate even if it’s you. After all, a child was more important than your temporary stupidity.