#but maybe now I can work on the other one

[classyrbf]

um...ugh... um... anal with professor!nanami... teaching you some respect yk... yeah... in his office, scolding you while prepping on his fingers... yeah...

love your works please be happy🫶

PROFESSOR NANAMI #2 — NANAMI KENTO

SYNOPSIS...after unknowingly having sex with your professor before the first day of college, you find yourself avoiding him in attempts to save yourself from embarrassment, but when you fail your first quiz, he’s quick to see you after class

INFO...professor!nanami x fem!reader, anal, first time, nanami is a little mean, rough sex, degradation, clit rubbing, spanking, creampie, no p in v, overstim, panty ripping, fucking in his office, possessiveness (?), not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

read the first part here

it’s been weeks since your first interaction with professor nanami. You were surprised that he hadn’t noticed you or even called you out for being his student. Maybe he just decided to ignore it all together and move on with his life to save both of you from embarrassment. If so, thank god. There’s no way he’s gone a month without grading papers and seeing your name, let alone just seeing you in the crowd of students. It’d be a miracle.

But he does notice, he’s noticed since day one when you tried to sneakily hide your face at the end of class, rushing out the door. Was he shocked? Of course. You never said you were a college student, especially at this college. But what are the odds he’d end up being your professor? He finds it funny. Lately, he’s been finding every excuse to talk to you without making it look suspicious and thankfully for him, you failed your first quiz.

He’s calling down students to his desk to give them their papers, finally landing on yours, a big fat ‘F’ in the corner of it. “Y/n,” he calls out, waving the sheet. Your figure enters his sight, carefully walking down the lecture hall stairs. Slowly, he lifts his head, glasses hanging low on his nose. “See me after class.” He hands you the paper, an expressionless look on his face.

If the ‘F’ in the corner of your paper immediately caught your attention and you felt like you wanted to collapse right then and there. Really? You flunked your first quiz? And your professor, who you accidentally fucked, now sees how dumb you are? Life couldn’t get any more worse. “Okay,” you murmur, walking back to your seat with shaky hands while he calls another student.

An hour passes, and everyone else is gathering their things to head back to their dorms or their next class for the day. Your eyes tread on Nanami carefully, hoping if he’s distracted enough, you can sneak away. He tidies up the papers on his desk, pushing his glasses up. You attempt to blend it with the crowd, leaving, slinging your backpack over your shoulder.

“Miss y/n,” his voice rings in your ears, making you stop in your tracks. “Please, come here.” He folds arms across his chest, leaning against the front of his desk as he intently watches you walk towards him, barely able to look him in the eye. The last student leaves, the lecture hall completely empty, nothing but silence. “Into my office,” he orders, squinting at you.

You thickly swallow, your mouth dry and your heart pounding against your chest as you follow behind him. He shuts the door behind you, the click of the lock making you even more nervous. The smell of his expensive cologne wafts past you, the same cologne he was wearing the night you two met. “You think I haven’t noticed you hiding away from me?” He steps towards you, making you step away in return. “I’ll admit, I was a little shocked to see your face in my class of students,” he chuckled, trapping you between the wall and him. “I feel like some type of pervert. Fucking one of my students in my car? I should feel horrible, devastated even.

“I’m…I’m sorry, I should’ve told you I was—” You can’t even finish your sentence, your nerves making you stumble over your words. How are you so shy around him now, but you weren’t too shy to fuck him?

“Everytime I look at you in class, all I think about is that night. You know how fucking hard it is to try and not get a hard on in the middle of class?” He grits his teeth. His grips your jaw, forcing you to look at him, his dark eyes boring into hours. He takes your hand, allowing you to feel his semi hard cock through his slacks. “You feel that? That’s what you fucking do to me.” The warmth of your hand makes him shudder.

“It was an accident, that night was just supposed to be a one time thing,” you tried to argue, but deep down, you never wanted it to be, not with how hard he made you cum while whispering such dirty things in your ear.

“No, no,” he shakes his head, smiling. “You’ve been a bad fucking girl lately. Ignoring me, failing your quiz, what were you thinking? You need to be taught a lesson,” he huffs. His larger hand yanks you over to his desk, a smell yelp escaping your lips when pushes down, holding you there. He lightly traces his fingertips against your skin, goosebumps appearing. He pushes up your skirt, getting a good view of your ass, and the cute lace thong you’re wearing underneath. “Is this what you wear to class?” He question, pulling back the fabric and letting it snap back onto your skin.

A crack in the air breaks the silence, his hand smacking your ass, making you jolt forward. “Ah!” You whimper, your skin stinging from the contact. He wastes no time to swat his hand over your ass again, hitting the same spot. “Mmmph!” You bite down on your lower lip.

His broad chest presses against your back, his lips ghosting against your ear. “You ready to be a good girl yet?” He spanks you again, the sting making you squirm beneath him. “I’ll take that as a no.” He smack the other cheek three times back ro back, a muffled cry escaping from your lips. His eyes wander down to your pussy, noticing the wet spot on your panties. “Is that what you’re expecting? Expecting me to fuck this pretty little pussy today? You got it all wrong. Bad girls don’t get fucked in their dripping cunt.” With ease, he rips your panties off, discarding the fabric to the floor.

“I’m sorryyy,” you whine, hips wiggling in hold as he spreads your ass to get a good look at your holes. Your pussy is glistening, tempting him, reminding him of how warm and tight you are, but he shouldn’t reward you with what you want. He can’t. You gasp, feel his warm spit drip onto your asshole, a foreign feeling to you. Was he seriously going to fuck you in your ass right now? The pad of his thumb rubbed in his spit, his free hand undoing his belt and unbuttoning his pants. “Please, Professor Nanami,” you whimper, looking over your shoulder to see he already has his cock out.

He smears his precum against your ass, slapping the head of cock against it, growling at the sensation. He spreads your ass again, prodding his cock against your hole. He lifts one of your legs onto his desk, trying to stretch you as much as possible. You’re a whining, dripping mess. He spits once more on your puckering hole, slowly pushing himself in. “Ahhh, fuckkk,” he groans, his tip pushing inside.

“Nnnghh! Slow! Slow!” You cry out, reaching your hand back in attempts to stop him, but he just keeps stretching you open with his thick cock, letting you feel every inch without stopping. If it’s hurts so bad why does it feel so good? He’s already so deep inside you, his pelvis pressed against your ass, letting you feel his throbbing cock against your walls. “Oh my god, I can feel it,” you moan, bewildered by the fact he was actually inside you.

He pulls his hips back all the way, before fully thrusting back into you. “So fucking tight, hah…shit,” he pants, hooking his arm around yours, and holding them in place as he pounds into you. “Look at the fucking ass,” he grunts, smacking it before groping the burning flesh in his palm.

Your eyes roll to the back of your skull. You never knew getting fucked in the ass would feel this good. Though, it was still torture. Your pussy was still dripping, eager for any ounce of attention. Each thrust has your mind turning into mush by the second. It’s hurts so fucking good, you’re confused whether to moan or be on the verge of tears. “Please, please, I’m sorry!” You cry out. The duality of this man was beyond you. He so easily can go from whispering praises in your ear to treating you like a complete whore.

“Shh, shh, just take my fucking cock. This is what you get when you don’t behave,” he rasps out, pulling you back on his cock, leaving you no room to run away from the intense pleasure.

“Ah! Ah! Fuckkk! I can’t, I can’t!” Tears prick the corner of your eyes, your hand balling into fists, nails digging into your palms. His cock rams into your ass, you poor pussy clenching around nothing. Your brows furrow in pleasure, completely awestruck by the pleasure. Your skin is hot to the touch, that familiar pit forming in your stomach. “Mmph, I’m…I’m gonna cum!” You whimper.

“Don’t you dare cum. You don’t deserve to fucking cum for acting the way you did. Hold it,” he barks in your ear, breath fanning against your skin and sending a shiver down your spine. He’s completely unfair, his cock still fucking you so deep, making it harder for you to keep control.

You shake your head, jaw falling slack as the pleasure builds and builds, ready to spill over the edge. “Please! I’m gonna cummm!” You cry out, looking back at him, desperation written all over your face. “Ah! Ah! Please, Professor Nanami,” your eyes flicker down to his lips. “Let me cum, please,” you beg and beg, hoping he has a sliver of mercy. He smirks at your attempts, his hand reaching between your legs while you’re distracted and rubbing your swollen clit just make you break even more. His rubbing in messy circles, putting just enough pressure to make your brain fuzzy. “No, no! Oh my god, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cummmmahhh!” Before you know it, you’re spasming on his cock, body writhing beneath him, your eyes rolling back.

Nanami is completely aware you couldn’t hold back, he knows you had no other choice but to fully let go and feel the intoxicating high of your orgasm. So he keeps rubbing your sensitive clit while fucking your tight little ass, your body falling forward on his desk. Your pussy drips with your cum, creaming around nothing while you drool over his scattered papers. He hold your head down, fingers entangled in your hair watching the way his cock stretches your hole open. “Couldn’t help yourself, could you?” He snarkily says, shaking his head at you.

Incoherent babbling is all that you muster, heavy eyes barely blinking open. You were being fucked stupid in real time. His cock was all that you could feel and think of. So sit there, taking his cock, trying to right your wrongs and be a good girl for him while he uses your ass. You notice his thrusts growing sloppier and harder, hips smacking against your ass and echoing through the room. “Shittt,” he tosses his head back, licking his lips. He halts his movements, slowly sliding his cock out. You whine at the loss of feeling, looking back at him with pleading eyes. He spreads your ass, taking a look at your gaping hole, pulsing for him. “Your ass looks so fucking good stretched from my cock, baby.” He chuckles, smirking to himself like he’s proud of his work.

You lazily smile at him, biting down on your lower lip as you watch him spit on his cock, easily sliding back into your ass. “Ohhhhh,” your eyes roll back when you feel full of him again, his bruising grip on your hips pulling you back on his cock. “Yes, yes,” you huff, whining and whimpering when he starts sloppily thrusting into you again.

He looks down at you, his glasses slipping down his nose in the process, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. “Be a good girl and take all my cum in your ass, baby,” he moans, his hand now squeezing the plump flesh of your ass. “Shit, I’m so fucking close,” he breathes, chest heaving up and down with every labored breath.

“Cum in me! I’ll be your good girl, Professor! Want you to fill me up so badly,” you mewl. His abs flex, hips jolting when he pushes every inch of his cock deep inside you, settling there as hot spurts of his cock fill your ass. “Ughhh yesss!” You smile, his moans and grunts making your pussy tingle. His cock throbs inside you as he slowly pulls out, some of his cum dripping out and down to your cunt. “Mmm, fuck,” you giggle.

He spanks your ass multiple times, making sure to give each cheek equal treatment. “I think you learned your lesson,” he gruffly said, pulling you up towards him and pressing a slow kiss to your lips. “That pretty ass is gonna remember the shape of my cock forever, you understand? It’s mine.” He grips your jaw, forcing you to face him. You meekly nod your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “Good.” He pecks your lips again. His eyes wander down to his watch, looking at the time. “Ten minutes till my next class. I need to freshen up.”

“Um…I have no panties,” you blurt out, reminding him that he had ripped them off of you earlier. “I can’t go to my next class with your cum dripping out my ass, Professor. What would everyone else think?” You smirk, sitting on top of his desk.

“Fuck,” he whispers, running a hand through his hair. “Listen, stay in here until my class is over and don’t make a sound.” He gives you a warning look, raising a brow at you. “I’ll drive you back to your apartment after.”

“Fine.” You smile, pecking his cheek.

“I have to run to the bathroom, okay? Behave,” he orders, glaring at you.

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[takemetodragonstone]

I didn’t like the baby reveal ending at first but I started thinking about kleya and suddenly it hits a lot harder and I get it now. it seems a bit cheap on its own maybe, but if you think about the baby as a mirror to kleya it’s really more impactful I feel. we only just found out that luthen and kleya had a father-daughter relationship—that was a baby reveal in its own way—right at the moment of luthen’s death. he really did sacrifice everything (except kleya!) for this rebellion, and he will never see the sunrise, but she will. she’ll know it was all worth it. and she’ll be free. the bix/cassian baby reveal works the same way. right at the moment he’s heading off on the path to his final mission, one that will be instrumental in bringing about that sunrise, one we know he’ll never come back from, we see bix, and their baby, who will not only live to see that sunrise, but will probably not even have any memories of a time before it came. that’s what it’s all for. that’s why all these sacrifices matter. everyone vel and cassian toasted to, and the ones who survived too, like kleya and bix, vel and mon etc. that’s why they’re heroes. so no one else has to be. so others can just live

[bloomseishiro]

Hi! Can I request some BLLK drabbles (with whichever BLLK characters you like) where the boys see the reader in tight clothes for the first time? Like, the reader usually wears baggy clothing or stuff that hides their curves/body figure, so it’s a total surprise! It doesn’t have to be a dress—tight shorts and crop tops work too!

Anyways, I love you and your fics! You’re doing amazing, hunny! 💕 Keep doing what you’re doing—your stories make me smile and feel the thrill!! 💓🩷💗

what a surprise — he sees you in tight clothes for the first time

౨ৎ ft. nagi seishiro, itoshi sae, itoshi rin

a/n. THANK YOU SWEET ANON FOR THE REQUEST!! i had sm fun writing this and ur kind words def made my day ^-^ i chose the three characters i’m most comfy with heh one day i will expand!! >.>

contents. fluff, pre-relationship, timeskip/pro soccer player bllk boys, reader wears a tight dress for rin and nagi’s + crop top/short shorts for sae’s, these are suggestive so rated 16+ pls ! 

NAGI SEISHIRO

Nagi isn’t one to go to parties often. But this one was for Reo’s birthday and you were begging him to go. 

He thought it would be less of a hassle to simply agree with you and make an appearance. Besides, he could always bring his phone and hide in the corner of the room, if needed. 

But when Nagi sees the dress you’re wearing to the party, he decides maybe agreeing to come wasn’t such a bad idea after all. 

“Does this dress make my butt look big?” you ask from his room, popping your head out of the doorframe. 

The two of you are getting ready at Nagi’s apartment, mainly so he can’t flake at the last minute, and he had stepped out earlier to give you privacy while changing. 

At your question, Nagi looks around lazily before his eyes widen slightly at the sight of you. The dress on your body is short and tight, leaving nothing to the imagination when it comes to the shape of your waist and hips. 

Nagi swallows with uncertainty. It’s different from your usual attire, that much even he could recognize. 

“Yes,” he manages to answer your question honestly. 

You beam as if that's just the response you’re looking for. “Great! I was going to wear my usual clothes, but Reo said we should dress nice since his family invited some celebrities.”

Nagi nods in acknowledgment. “Your dress is nice. But your usual clothes are nice, too.”

Hiding a giggle, you tug the dress down so it covers more of your thighs. Nagi can’t help but notice how shiny and supple your skin looks there. 

“Do you like one more than the other?” you ask playfully. 

He shakes his head hesitantly and he feels heat rise to his cheeks. “I like…both.”

“I’ll make sure to mix it up sometimes, then.”

ITOSHI SAE

Sae isn’t a saint. He’s never claimed nor pretended to be. While his focus has always been on soccer, he wasn’t one to turn down one night stands so long as they were conveniently timed for him. 

All that to say, he’s seen plenty of minimally-clad bodies before. But he’s never felt the dryness in his throat that he does now. All from seeing you in those denim booty shorts and cropped baby tee. 

Of course, the ridiculous shirt has, “Make Men Cry” written across your chest, only accentuating the curves you normally kept hidden even more. You may very well be able to reach that goal if you keep walking around like that. 

His face is neutral; only Sae himself feels the slight clench of his jaw as his eyes trail across your figure. 

“Do I look bad?” you blurt hesitantly, tugging at the hem of your shirt that landed just above your belly-button. Your fidgeting only serves to draw more attention to the exposed, soft skin on your stomach. 

Sae blinks slowly. “No. Who said that?”

“No one, but you just keep staring at me…” 

“Not because you look bad,” he corrects. “It’s because you look hot.”

“You think?” you ask shyly, peering up at him through your lashes. “My friend and I went on a shopping spree and I wanted to change up my wardrobe. Just sometimes, at least.”

Sae makes a mental note to thank your friend. “Well, if you need more clothes, you can use my card.”

“I’ll make sure to get more of these cropped tops. Since you seem to like it so much,” you tease.

“For whatever reason, only on you.”

ITOSHI RIN

Awestruck doesn’t begin to describe how Rin feels when he sees you in a silk dress that gracefully falls against all your curves. 

Galas are a pain, a stupid event he would skip if not for his PR team’s incessant prodding, but at least he managed to drag you along with him for this one. 

He didn’t, however, actually expect you to dress the part. He would’ve been fine if you had shown up in the oversized shirts and baggy pants you typically wore, but he was completely caught off guard at the sight of you now.

“Can you help me tighten the back?” you ask bashfully, turning around to reveal the almost-backless dress that held itself together by a few measly strings. “I don’t want it to fall off at the gala…”

Rin’s ears heat up and he mentally slaps himself for picturing that. “Yeah. C’mere.”

You aren’t one to wear revealing clothes often, and this is the most skin he’s seen since he ever met you. His fingers ghost the back of your spine as he fastens the strings into a little bow. His fingers jerk as he skims the softness of your skin and he clears his throat to distract himself. 

“Is this good?” he asks hoarsely. 

You tug at the straps to make sure it’s secure and nod brightly. “Yep! Thanks, Rin. Do you need help with anything? I can tie your tie in return!”

Panicked, he shakes his head and quickly fastens his tie himself. It’s the fastest Rin has ever gotten it done. Once finished, he catches you staring at him with a funny look. 

“You’re acting silly,” you say, sticking your tongue out.

“Sorry. I know. I’m just not used to you looking like that.”

Your gaze meets the floor as you shuffle your weight from foot to foot. “Is it weird?”

“It’s unfamiliar. But you look…” he trails off, cheeks a bright pink. “You look really pretty.”

You blink in surprise and an equally embarrassed look graces your features. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he coughs. “Not that you’re not always pretty. Just…it’s different.”

“Yeah,” you repeat, giggling through the shyness. “Well, if you want to see me like this more often, I guess you have to invite me as your plus one to more of these events.”

“Do you want to attend more of these with me?” asks Rin in surprise. 

“Not particularly,” you admit and Rin scoffs. “But maybe it’s worth it to see your cute reactions.”

His face heats up once more. “Shut up.” 

You laugh at him, placing your hand on your hips and only drawing more attention to your curves. Maybe Rin doesn’t hate galas, after all.

[strang3lov3]

Honey-Do

“You’re gonna work on these every day. And I’m gonna check to make sure you did ‘em all, and if you did, you get to put a sticker down. And if we fill this sheet all the way up by the end of the week, I’ll make ya cum,” Joel explains. “That’s how you can earn back your privileges, Pumpkin.”

Tags - one shot, smut, unprotected piv, creampie, orgasm denial, ddlg dynamics, fingering, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, sneaking around with bad influence uncle tommyyyyy, joel jerks off, sex before dinner, angst + tension, spankings, rewards and punishments, elements of abuse, hurt/lots of comfort, pinky promises, dark. this is a work of fiction, and all characters are adults.

A/N - have I ever not delivered. here’s your uncle tommy fill, as promised. thank you to two anons who know who they are for helping with the creation of this fic, and thank you to my dear L for editing with me! anyway, it's been a minute but i'm happy to see you all :) hope you enjoy. i wrote this through a splitting headache so i'm going to chill now.

Your bedroom door clicks as Joel unlocks it from the other side, and the hinges groan and creak as he pushes it open. He looks at your figure lying in your bed, warm sunlight painting over your skin. Joel knows you’re not sleeping. You’re just lying in the quiet room, soaking up the sun like a kitten. 

“Hi, kiddo,” Joel greets softly, smiling before taking long strides across the room to meet you. He’s stepping over your clothes and tripping on other odds and ends before he reaches you - you’ve been picking out your own clothes lately. Apparently you’ve been less than impressed with Joel’s sense of fashion. Ooohkay, he thought. You’re such a messy girl with the way you try on all of your clothes, then leave them all on the floor. Those, coupled with old, expired bottles of nail polish and lip gloss. Joel told you not to use those lip glosses, but they’re just pretty to look at sometimes. 

“Jesus, girl. Fuckin’ room’s a pigsty,” he says, and he sits on the end of your bed, springs creaking with the shift in weight. 

You ignore him. Joel leans over and kisses both of your cheeks and then your forehead, then your nose. “Don’t smile,” he teases, “Don’t you dare laugh.” And he repeats this, his facial hair tickling your skin, until you’re giggling and your eyes finally open. 

“Ohh, there she is. Mornin’, Pumpkin,” Joel says, chuckling at the way you squint through the bright sunlight. 

“Mmm…morning, D–” you’re interrupted by your own yawn, which makes Joel laugh. “Daddy.” 

Joel pushes some hair out of your eyes. “Lazy ass,” he mumbles. “Listen, kiddo. M’on patrol today, so you’re gonna be home all alone. Y’gonna be alright?” he asks, softly stroking the skin on your cheek. “Gonna be a good girl?” 

He wonders if he can trust you. If he can give you this inch, and you won’t take a mile. The doors and windows will stay locked, of course, but there’s other things he worries about. Joel knows you, you know. You’re never as sneaky as you think you are. 

“Mhm. I’m always good, Daddy.” 

Joel rolls his eyes. “Uh huh, fuckin’ smartass. You can make eggs an’ toast for breakfast, and there’s leftovers in the fridge for lunch. We’ll figure out supper later, hm? Maybe we’ll go to the cafeteria. See what they’re cookin’ up.” 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” you smile. 

“Good.” Joel pats his thighs and then stands up, knees popping loudly. “And I want you to clean all this shit up, alright? Didn’t raise ya to leave messes.” 

You sigh heavily. “I know. I’ll do it.” 

“Good girl.” Joel bends down and kisses your head one last time. “Eat all your lunch an’ have a good day. I love ya.”

You love days where you’re home alone. You used to hate it, and Joel wouldn’t let it happen a whole lot. You hated how lonely it felt, how quiet. You’d hear things go bump that weren’t there, and you’d feel just…nervous. Joel came home once and found you all scared and trembling, and he promised he’d be home with you as much as he could. 

He made good on his promise. And you liked being home with him until you didn’t, until you found it suffocating and boring. Scary. Joel’s house went from being a quiet safe haven away from the horrors of the world to a sort of horror in and of itself. A Sisyphean loop, where nothing ever changes. And it never will, no matter how much you tug on your windows that are bolted shut, or yank on your door that only Joel can unlock. You can never leave. 

You’d stare longingly out the window, hoping to go outside on your own. Just once, maybe. To go in the woods and wander, pick at strange flowers and plants and everything else. Just be alone. Joel grants you so much, and yet, you want so much more than that.

It makes you feel bad, if you’re being honest with yourself. You know what’s out there. What he saved you from. You know you’re safer with Joel, and you know everything he’s done to keep you safe and comfortable and happy. You’re in good hands with him, even if they’re hands that hurt you sometimes. Hit you. Spank you. Choke you. They’re still Joel’s hands, and they’re warm, right? And they love you. 

He said when the weather warms up some more he’ll take you to the lake. You really hope he does. 

You spend the day reading, drawing, watching birds and other critters that come by. Joel thinks it’s cute, the way you’ve named the chipmunks and squirrels that frequent his patio. How you recognize them like they’re your friends. 

Joel tries to leave his bad mood away from home. He knows he’s got a habit of carrying it with him, and regrettably, taking it out on you. You take your moods out on him too, though. Not that it matters. He curses himself for even acknowledging the fact. He’s older, he’s wiser, he’s more patient. You’re not. He’s the parent, you’re the child. But when he comes home, you can tell it was a bad day. You can hear it in his footsteps and in the way he breathes, and it makes you tense. “Y’ready for dinner?” he asks, voice tired. 

“Mhm.” 

“Didn’t hear ya, kiddo. Speak up.” 

“Mhm.” 

“No, no mumblin’. Use your words and tell me, yes or no,” Joel demands, feeling his blood pressure begin to spike. 

“Yes.” 

Oh, you fucking…you. You’re always going to match Joel’s temper. You stare at him and he glares back, balling his fists before turning on his heel to get changed. You both need something to eat, before this goes from zero to one hundred. 

But then Joel goes upstairs, and he walks past your bedroom and sees that nothing - nothing is picked up. He’s back downstairs before he even thinks it through. Before he showers and takes a moment to breathe, even. 

“What’d I fuckin’ tell you?” 

Your stomach drops at his tone. “What?”

“I asked ya to take care of your room, and I come home to see you’ve done fuck all.” 

“I guess I just forgot, Daddy. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Joel scoffs, “Yeah, uh huh.” He pauses for a moment, then puts his hands on his hips. “We talked about this, Pumpkin.” 

“Talked about what?” you ask, and it makes Joel fucking irate that you won’t turn your head to look at him. 

“Look at me when you’re speakin’ t’me,” he barks, startling you. Looking at him from across the room, you can see he means business. Joel’s eyes are already dark to begin with, but they’ve gone black - so depthless and so endless that you can’t tell what’s behind them. 

“You’ve been slackin’,” Joel says in a low tone, breathing heavily as he takes heavy steps toward you. “S’gettin’ old, kid.” 

“I know, I just–”

“Jus’ what?”

You pick at your chipping, poorly-applied nail polish as you roll the answer around in your mind. “I don’t really want to do chores. I mean, I know my room is…but the other stuff, I–” 

“Tough. You live under my roof, y’live under my rules.”

“Then it’s your roof, your mess.” 

The words come out before you can even think about them. You press your lips together immediately, shrinking in your seat a little at the way Joel cocks his eyebrow and puts his hands on his hips. “Wanna try that again?” he asks, and you know what this is, what it is he’s doing: he’s giving you an out. And it’s awfully generous of him, considering. “Don’t make this a bad night,” he warns.

You pause this time, thinking about what you want to say next. I’m sorry, Daddy is that fucking close to rolling off of your lips when you notice that little wren sitting on the windowsill. She’s a frequent visitor, and Joel says she’s just like you. Fiery, assertive, sometimes. Vocal. A pistol. 

She looks at you for a minute, then flies off. It sends a pang of longing through your heart, and perhaps even jealousy that that beautiful little bird can spread her wings and fly away and you…can’t. Not with the locked doors and windows, not while eternally existing under Joel’s fucking microscope.

“I didn’t ask to live here, Joel,” you bite. 

“Oh, s’that’s how we’re doin’ this? This is how tonight’s gonna go?” 

“Yeah.” You get up from your place on the couch and shove into Joel’s shoulder, but he shoves you right back down. He glares at you, and you glare back as hard as you fucking can. Staring at him like you wish you could fucking…you don’t even know. You’re blinded by the same rage and upset that Joel is at this moment, but without the agency to do one fucking thing about it. Joel, on the other hand. 

He takes your jaw in his hand, squeezing your bones tight enough to bruise the soft flesh that covers them. When you jerk your head away, he squeezes tighter. “You don’t get to walk away from me,” he growls, leaning in close enough that you can feel his hot breath on your face. “I do a lot for ya. Done a lot for ya,” he says in a low tone.

“You never let me leave,” you argue. “You trap me.” 

That gets Joel, wounds him a little. His face changes when you say that, before twisting back into something darker. “That’s what you think, huh? That I trap ya?”

You swallow thickly, then part your lips to speak. Joel cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “I keep you safe,” Joel whispers. “Fed. Happy. An’ all I ask is that you follow a few simple rules. That’s all. You wanna go back out there on your own, with the fuckin’ raiders and clickers, I can make that happen. Watch.”

Joel’s jaw ticks as he glares at you, fuming at the indignant little look on your fucking face. He could hit you right now, right across your cheek. Or maybe he’ll bend you over his knee and beat you until your ass is fucking raw and bleeding. That’ll teach you, that’ll fuckin’ teach you…

The anger flows through his veins like a fucking poison, and only when one of Joel’s knuckles crack, startling him, does he let your face go. He didn’t realize he was holding you so hard.

“I don’t like you,” you whisper. 

Joel makes a face at the statement, then nods, because he’s heard it all before. It hurt the worst the first time you said it, but you came back to him crying, hours later when you’d had a nightmare and needed him. Not want - that wasn’t the word you picked. You said you needed him, Daddy, and you were so sorry. You didn’t mean it. You love him and you need him. 

He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “M’not too keen on you either, right now, Pumpkin.”    

The room is tense as you and Joel stare each other down, and neither of you budge until Joel tells you to go to your room and stay there. He tells you that you can forget going out to dinner, and you can stay in your bedroom until he feels like looking at your face again. You’re grounded, too - he doesn’t say from what. Now get out of his sight before he fucking hurts you.

You’re in your room forever, the hours alone spent alone passing like days. The sun went down forever ago, and you can’t stop yourself from crying. You held it together long enough downstairs while fighting with Joel but the moment you stepped foot into your room, you burst like a dam. 

And it sucks to cry alone, to not have Joel there to hold you and wipe your tears. But is that what you’d want? Is that what would make it all better? Maybe. Joel has a special way of being your heaven and hell, all in one man. He’s both your nightmare and your solace after a bad dream. What are you supposed to make of that? What are you supposed to do other than cry like this?

You don’t bother wiping your tears when there’s a double knock at the door. “S’me,” Joel says. “M’comin’ in.” 

You keep your back turned to him as he enters your bedroom with a plate and a glass of water, and he sets both down on your nightstand. “Went and grabbed some food. I gotcha…let’s see here. Chicken, mashed potatoes, corn.” 

“Not hungry.” 

“Not even for some pumpkin pie?” Joel asks, noticing the way your eyes widen at the mention. “Still your favorite, right?”

You pause. “No,” you answer, eventually.

“No?” Joel asks. “Hmm. Guess I’ll eat it myself. M’gonna get even fatter than I already am…this is a very unhealthy thing to do to your dear old man, y’know,” Joel says, cutting into the pie with the side of his fork, which scrapes against the ceramic plate. You flip over and sit up, and Joel feeds you the bite instead of eating it himself. “There she is,” he murmurs. 

That’s how you got the nickname. Joel asked your name many times back in that cold, shitty cabin. You wouldn’t tell him. He understood, of course, and he told you his name anyway. You were always such a stubborn girl. For the life of him, Joel could not figure out why you wouldn’t come back to Jackson with him, why the hell you were so apprehensive about trusting him. Most people jump at the opportunity to stay in the cozy, warm settlement but…not you. 

You were a tough nut to crack. It took a lot of time for you to trust Joel. He used to sit in that cabin with you while on his patrols - Tommy would show up sometimes, too. He’d just sit with you, talk a little, the way you’d do with a stray dog in a shelter. He’d bring you warm thermoses full of soup or tea and sandwiches for you to eat, and he was just patient.

And it was pumpkin pie that finally got you to come home with him. He brought you a slice one day, and you scarfed it down quickly and asked if he had more. “Nope,” he answered. “Gotta come back to Jackson f’ya want more. Got all the pumpkin pie you could eat.”

You mulled it over in your mind more than you ever had. And this was after weeks of Joel visiting you, bringing you food, sometimes dry wood to keep your fireplace warm. You didn’t trust him yet, but you didn’t…not trust him. And you really wanted that fucking pie. 

It was your choice to live with Joel, too. When he brought you back, they offered to put you in a house with other girls around your age. Nope. You wanted to be with Joel. Somewhere deep down, you know you picked him to be yours before he picked you to be his. Doesn’t that make you a little responsible for where you are now? 

“Yeah, alright, Pumpkin. I guess I could make some room for ya,” he winked.

“Breakin’ rules here,” Joel murmurs. “It goes dinner first, then dessert. Right?”

You ignore him as you swallow your bite. He’s only teasing. And besides, this is not a battle he wants to fight. At least you’re eating, anyway. Joel puts his hand on your knee and speaks softly, “I shouldn’t have gotten on your ass the way I did.” 

“No. You shouldn’t have,” you snap, and Joel feeds you another bite of pie. You take the fork and eat the rest of the slice quickly, then lay back down and flip over.    

His poor, sweet, tender-hearted girl. Don’t you know that attitude of yours is only gonna get you in trouble? Joel thinks it's just where you’re at in life - he thought he knew the world like the back of his hand when he was your age, too. 

Joel turns your face and wipes your tear-stained cheeks, all swollen and raw. Eyes rimmed red as more tears well up, then spill down, back into your hairline. “Oh, sweetheart. What am I gonna do with ya?” he sighs, gently thumbing away those tears again. He wipes a few crumbs of pie crust from your lips, too.

You sniffle and shrug, avoiding his gaze. A hiccuping sob escapes your lips. “S'okay. Drink some water,” Joel tells you, pulling you upright. He gives you the glass, has you take a few sips, and he notices the way you look at his hand between your thighs. He notices your muscles twitching, eyes widening…knows exactly what you want as he rubs his thumb over the skin. Joel knows you want him to fuck you, to make you feel good, because you always feel better after he gets you off. Presses your little reset button. He’d reckon those pretty pink panties of yours are a little soaked, too. Poor thing. And isn’t this part of tonight’s problem? 

You can’t get anything past Joel. You’ll never be able to. 

“Daddy–”

“Not tonight, kiddo. Y’lost them privileges.” 

“Please,” you beg. Joel takes your glass of water and sets it down on the nightstand. 

“No,” Joel bites, pulling his hand away. He pulls your blankets over your shoulders, then turns off your lamp. “Daddy’s gonna have to think of a way for you to earn ‘em back.” He kisses you on the forehead, saddened by the way you turn away from him. “I love ya with my whole heart, Pumpkin, but you are gonna learn that there are consequences for your actions. Now get some sleep.”

Joel takes the glasses and checks to make sure the baby monitor is on, then leaves you. A night of sleep will be good for you both. 

But it is a hard night, isn’t it? You spend the night tossing and turning - Joel can hear it on the tinny, crackling speakers of the receiver. He doesn’t rest any easier either, so he gets in the shower late at night. Maybe the distant noise of the running water will soothe you to sleep. 

He washes his hair and his body, then grips his cock tightly in his fist. He strokes himself slowly, top to bottom and over and over again, building to a quicker pace in short time. “Ohh, Pumpkin,” he whispers, cumming over his knuckles. Joel rinses himself off and dries himself, then checks on you in your bedroom - you’re out like a light. Good. Fuck, he hates fighting with you. 

In the morning, you tiptoe down the stairs, stopping first behind the wall to steal a peek at Joel before he sees you. He’s got breakfast made already - French toast, eggs, hash browns. You take your place at the table, yawning as you twirl a fork between your fingers. “Mornin’, sweetheart,” Joel murmurs, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head. He serves you a large helping of breakfast, your Felix the cat cup is already filled with juice. “Sleep okay?” he asks, sitting next to you and serving himself. 

You shrug. 

“Yeah, me too,” Joel agrees. You and he eat in silence for a couple of minutes, the only sounds being the chirping birds and the cutlery scraping against the plates. Joel finishes his food before you do, and when he does, he gets up from the table. You watch him set his dish by the sink, then grab a couple of papers or something from the counter and bring them back to the table. “Been thinkin’ about how you can earn back your privileges,” Joel begins. Your attention is immediately caught by a few shiny, sparkly papers, decorated in little stars. “Stickers,” Joel explains, peeling one off and sticking it on your nose. “See?”

“Mhm.” You grab the packs of stickers, but Joel tugs them back. 

“Ah, ah, ah. Can’t have those yet. You gotta earn ‘em.” Joel shows you a larger paper next, something he made and drew up himself. ‘Pumpkin’s Honey-Do List’.

“What’s honey-do?”

“S’a chore chart,” Joel explains. “Honey, do this for me. Honey, do that. Get it?” You nod. “We’re gonna use this chart to keep track of your chores, okay?” 

Before you answer, you take some time to look over the chores Joel wants you to do. Sunday through Saturday Joel wants you to tidy your room every day. “Every day?” you whine, thinking of the enormous mess sitting in there right now. It’s gonna take for fucking ever to deal with all of that.

“Every day,” Joel answers. “F’ya stay on top of it, it’s not much of an issue. Been tryin’ to tell ya that, Pumpkin.” 

The rest of the daily chores listed are no surprise. Do the dishes, set the table, make the bed, sweep. But there’s some new ones at the bottom of the chart - dust all the shelves and baseboards, wash the windows, mop. Joel explains that they only have to be done once at some point this week. 

“You’re gonna work on these every day,” Joel says. “And I’m gonna check to make sure you did ‘em all, and if you did, you get to put a sticker down. And if we fill this sheet up by the end of the week, I’ll make ya feel good again. That’s how you can earn back your privileges.”

You think about it, looking over the chore chart. Joel’s all capital letter handwriting, and the silly pumpkins he drew at the top of the chart. “Hey, you,” Joel taps your arm. “We square?”

You still don’t know. You don’t know why you’re hesitant. You’re just…that’s just who you are. Stubborn, indignant. A rebel with a heart of gold. 

“Psst. Take the fuckin’ deal, kiddo.” 

“Okay, Daddy.” 

Joel holds out his fist, pinky finger extended. You wrap your pinky around his, and then he brings both his and your hands to his lips and kisses your knuckle.  

You get started after breakfast, cleaning up your room while Joel takes care of some other stuff around the house. It’s not so bad when you have a goal in mind and a better attitude about the entire thing. It goes by quickly, too, and you feel better when your room is put back together. You don’t know why you let it get so bad. Maybe it’s reflective of your mood. 

Dishes come next, and it’s made easier because Joel cleans as he cooks. It’s just a matter of washing and drying a few plates and forks and glasses, then putting them back into the cabinets. Sweeping comes after that, and then you’re done until dinner tonight when Joel needs the table set. 

It is nice to walk through the house with him as he inspects your work. The concentrated frown on his face as he looks in your closet at all your clothes all hung up and folded neat, and the way it splits into a smile of approval. “Y’did good, kiddo,” he murmurs as he kisses your head. It takes you a moment to decide how exactly you want to place the stickers down, but you like doing it. It’s going to look so pretty when it’s filled in. 

Tomorrow is the same, and the next day, and the next day. Joel does his walk throughs every evening, and then you do your stickers at the table. “Mm, doin’ some neat patterns there, I see,” Joel says gently. 

“Mhm.”

“Very pretty, sweetheart. I’m so proud’a ya,” he smiles. “Couple more days, right? Finish strong.” 

When you wake up on Friday, you feel excited. There’s really not much in your room to clean, not much to sweep around the house, not much of anything to do, really. 

…Until Joel reminds you about the specials. “Ahem,” Joel says, pointing to the chores at the bottom of the chart. “These need’a get done, too.” 

“Oh, fuck.” You cover your mouth before Joel has a chance to scold you. “Sorry.” 

He makes a face at you, but he lets it go. If letting a dirty word slip is the worst thing you’ve done all week, then so be it. You probably picked it up from him, after all. 

Joel quickly makes you a sandwich at the counter, then slices it in half and puts it in the fridge. That’ll be your lunch later. “Uncle Tommy’s coming by today,” Joel says. “But don’t think you can sweet talk him into helpin’ you with those chores, Pumpkin. This is still a punishment.” 

“Mhm. I know, Daddy.” 

“Good girl.” Joel kisses you quickly on the cheek, then he’s out the door. “I love ya. Be home later.” 

When Joel leaves, you go upstairs and shower, then pick out something to wear - just a pair of shorts and a tee, neither of which you particularly like, but that’s okay. You don’t want to dirty your favorite clothes. After checking your list, you get started with dusting first. You’ll work top to bottom, and then do the windows at the very end, per Joel’s suggestion. 

Dusting is tedious. It’s tedious to take every little knickknack and tchotchke off the shelves, but you do like the way the wood sparkles after you wipe it clean. And it feels better, too. There’s a noticeable difference when you clean the place, like you’re washing away everything bad that’s built up over time and starting anew. 

You pause cleaning briefly to eat the sandwich Joel made you, and then you’re back to cleaning, on your hands and knees as you wipe the baseboards. You still have some tall cabinets and shelves to dust, but you’ll figure that out later. 

The back door opening startles you, and in comes Tommy, handsome as ever and smiling so big when he sees you. “Hiya, sweetheart.” 

“Hi, Uncle Tommy,” you greet. You feel Tommy’s eyes on you as you dust, tracing over every inch of your figure. It’s awkward as you clean and Tommy stands there. You’re not exactly sure what he was sent here to do. Maybe he’s your babysitter or something. 

He peruses the house, and you wonder what he’s thinking. You have a more difficult time reading him than you do Joel, though that doesn’t mean Joel is always easy to read, either. Tommy notices your chore chart and smirks at it. Good fucking god. 

Baseboards are done now, so it’s time to finish those cabinets. You drag a chair over to the kitchen counters, but even with the added height, you can’t reach the tops. “Uncle Tommy?” you ask. 

“Yeah, honey.” 

“Do you know if Joel has a step stool or something around here?” 

Tommy holds up a finger before he’s off to check for you. There’s nothing in the closet, nothing in the garage, either. “Don’t think so, sweetheart.” 

“Hmm…” 

“Whatcha thinkin’?”

Joel would throttle you if he knew what you were about to do, but he’s the one who didn’t account for your inability to reach the tops of the cabinets he wants cleaned. You hoist yourself up onto the counter top with a rag in hand, wobbling as you stand up tall. 

“Woah, woah, woah. Let me use the chair an’ I’ll get ‘em myself, darlin’,” Tommy says as he stands behind you, his fingers tapping against your legs as he gets ready to catch you. He gets a nice look up your shorts from this angle, too, llikes the lace on your panties. “Gonna crack your goddamn skull open, girl.” 

“You’re not supposed to help me,” you tell him, frowning at how disgusting the tops of these cabinets are. “Ew.” 

“Says who?”

“Daddy,” you answer. 

“Ohhh. Daddy says so, huh?”

You sigh, “Yep.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Get down, honey. I don’t like ya up there like that.”

You know better than to argue with Uncle Tommy. He’s fun, sure. But he does have the authority to do whatever Joel does to you, too. Joel’s made it clear that when Tommy’s around, you are to listen and obey him the same as you listen to Joel himself. You turn around and bend down slowly, feeling nervous and unstable on your feet. “C’mere, sweet pea. I gotcha.” Tommy grabs your waist and steadies you, grunting as he helps you down. 

“Can’t believe your old man’s gotcha doin’ all these chores without any music,” Tommy says. You shrug, and Tommy’s off toward the living room where Joel’s got a turntable and some vinyls. He puts them on every once in a while, but you’re not always into the music he picks. 

Tommy puts on Jim Croce and does a little dance that makes you giggle. He wiggles his hips and snaps his fingers, biting down on his bottom lip. “Alright,” Tommy claps his hands together. “Let’s get to work.” 

He takes the rag from your hand and stands on the chair, dusting the tops of the cabinets himself. “I appreciate this, Uncle Tommy, but you really shouldn’t…if Joel finds out–”

“You gonna tell on me, sweetheart?”

“N-no…” you mumble, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. 

“Then your daddy won’t find out,” Tommy replies. 

He finishes the cabinets quickly, then gets off of his chair with a grunt. “Okay, darlin’. What else ya gotta do?”

“Uhmmm…” you trail off, mentally tallying the chores you’ve already done. With Tommy’s help, you’re just about finished. “Windows are last,” you tell him. 

Tommy nods. He grabs a spray bottle from a closet as well as two squeegees, then hands you one. “You wanna do the outsides or the insides, sweetheart?” 

“Insides,” you answer. “I’m not supposed to go outside without Joel.” 

Tommy makes a real show of looking around, raising his eyebrows and squinting dramatically. “Funny, darlin’, I don’t see Joel anywhere,” he says, then pauses. “Why don’tcha wash the outsides and get some fresh air, honey?”

“Okay,” you smile. Tommy gives you the spray, then opens the door and tells you to meet him at the kitchen window. You feel exhilarated as you leave and round the house, loving the sun on your skin and the breeze in your hair. When you meet him on the other side of the window, he motions for you to spray yours down, which you do. Then Tommy opens the window and reaches for the spray, then shuts the window. You flinch when he squirts it at you, and laugh when it hits the glass and not yourself. Tommy winks, then squeegees his side of the window as you do the same. 

He nods his head to motion to you to go to the next window, where you and he repeat the routine. You do the same with the next one and the one after that, and when you’re finished, you come back inside and rest on the couch. 

“Think that means we’re ‘bout done, huh?”

“Yep,” you answer, then pause. “You won’t tell Joel, right?”

Tommy sits next to you and zips his lips. “M’not a narc, honey. So we get to put stickers on your chart now, don’t we?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Joel has to do a walk through,” you explain. 

“Ahhhh,” Tommy nods, understanding. “So whatcha gettin’ for fillin’ in all the stickers?”

Your cheeks heat up at the question and you shy away from Tommy, which makes him laugh. You have no poker face at all. 

“Uh huh,” Tommy winks. “Oh, I get it.”

You squirm in place a little, wondering if you should talk more about it. You kind of want to, honestly. Joel tells you that you can tell him anything, but you know you can’t. Not just anything. “It’s been a week,” you admit finally to Tommy, and immediately you feel relieved to have someone else to talk to about this. About Joel. “Well, almost. Tomorrow makes a week.” 

Tommy scoffs. “Well shit, kiddo. Your old man’s a fuckin’ hard ass.” You shrug silently, and Tommy raises an eyebrow at you. “You can agree, y’know. Ain’t gonna hurt. An’ I won’t tell him if ya do, either.” 

“A little,” you admit, quietly. But Tommy hears, and he smiles. 

“Can’t go a day without it, myself,” Tommy tells you, stretching out on the couch a little. He rests his hand on your thigh, drawing little patterns down to your knee and back up again, patterns that make your skin tingle and make you feel funny inside. Nervous, excited…in almost the same way Joel makes you feel nervous and excited. But there’s an added layer here. You know you shouldn’t be letting Tommy do this to you.

“I think you should reward yourself, ‘f I’m bein’ honest. You did all your chores, after all. Right?” 

“...yeah.” Uncle Tommy has a funny way of making the guilt in your belly disappear, if not for just a moment. It’s in the way he speaks and the words he chooses, and it’s in his sparkling brown eyes and his charming smile.  

“Why don’tcha go to your room and take care of yourself, then? Hm?”

You shake your head. “Joel - Daddy says I’m not allowed to,” you reply. 

“Ohh. Not allowed to do it by yourself.” Tommy clicks his tongue and turns his head toward you. “S’too goddamn bad. Joel’s gotcha on a short fuckin’ leash, don’t he?”

He slides his hand up your thigh, inching his pinky finger past your shorts. Tommy likes the way your breath hitches in your throat when he traces the thin, damp fabric of your panties with just his fingertip. Sensitive fuckin’ girl.

“And you’re really hurtin’ for it too, I can tell. A fuckin’ week, good lord,” Tommy whispers, then pauses before speaking again. “Well, I’d reckon you’re not doin’ nothin’ wrong by lettin’ Uncle Tommy make ya cum, huh?” 

“I-” you stutter, “I really - I don’t know, Uncle Tommy.”

Tommy grins, his eyes so warm and so black, so endless. “Oh, sweetheart. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it in my book.” He wriggles his fingers up your shorts a little more, and slips them past your panties. That little gasp when he touches your lip, lightly teasing you there. Good lord. 

“Then s’gonna be our little secret,” Tommy whispers. “Somethin’ special, jus’ for me and my sweet girl,” he says. “How ‘bout that, darlin’?”

You nod before the little voice in your head telling you not to do this becomes too loud. You can trust Tommy, right? He wouldn’t do anything to get you into trouble with Joel. And like he always says, what Joel doesn’t know won’t kill him. 

You can’t ever pull one over on Joel, but you can try. And if Tommy’s right, and he probably is - you’ll succeed.  

“Good girl,” says Tommy, pulling your body into his lap. He unbuttons your shorts and pushes them down your legs, then cups your pussy with his large hand. You sigh at the relief that comes with the pressure, resting against Tommy’s chest. “C’mere, honey. I gotcha.” 

You spread your legs for him and he rubs you through your panties, just lazily at first, feeling you dampen the fabric. He traces your clit next, “Oh, fuck,” you moan, leaning into him. “More,” you gasp. 

Tommy slides his hand under your panties, touching your bare heat. You’re so fucking warm and so fucking wet, with that pool of arousal he’s created. And it didn’t take much, did it? No, no. Of course not, not when you’ve been starving for it for so long. Longer than a week, too. Tommy knows the way you look at him and what goes on in that head of yours. And if he were a betting man, he’d bet that when you do summon the courage to get yourself off on your own fingers, despite Joel’s rule, that you’re thinking of him. Maybe not every time, but enough.  

“Uncle Tommy,” you moan, eyes squeezing shut as you arch into his touch. You rock your hips as he circles your clit, reaching for his thick bicep. You hold him tightly, whimpering, “Oh my god.”

“Y’wanna hold onto me?” Tommy chuckles quietly, rubbing you slowly. “You can hold onto me, sweet pea. M’not goin’ nowhere. Jus’ you and me right now, sweet girl.” 

He’s so warm, and he smells so fucking good. It’s nice to be in a pair of arms that are safe and dangerous, but different from Joel’s safe and dangerous. You watch yourself in the freshly cleaned windows, all wrecked as Tommy pleasures you. 

He’s sliding his fingers down your seam next, then pushing two into your entrance. And it’s when he curls them rhythmically, looking for that special, sweet little place deep inside you, that you really start to moan. “Relax,” Tommy whispers, squeezing you tightly. “Hold still, honey. Be good.” 

Tommy shifts the positions a bit so he can rub your clit with his other hand while fucking you on his fingers. It’s not long before release is right around the corner, with all of that hot, sparkling pleasure blooming deep in your gut. Your thighs begin to shake and twitch, “You cum nice for me now,” he whispers. “Show Uncle Tommy how hard you can cum.” 

And that’s all it takes for you to fall apart, crying out loudly as he fucks you through your orgasm. Tommy doesn’t let up until you’re a shuddering, gasping mess, until he’s made certain that your needs have been met. A goddamn week, he thinks. That’s fucking ridiculous.

“You cum so pretty, sweetheart,” Tommy whispers, pulling his fingers away from your cunt. They’re all shiny and drenched in your arousal, and he brings them to his lips and sucks them clean. He pats you twice and you get up and off of him, all shy and bashful as he stands up and stretches, his rock-hard erection bulging through his denim. “Fuck, look whatcha do t’me,” he groans, pressing his palm against it. “I’m off, kiddo. Gonna let me leave without a hug and a kiss?” he asks. 

You wrap your arms around his thick middle quickly, perhaps needing the hug more than Tommy even does. You kiss his cheek, and Tommy squeezes your ass. “Alright. Keep outta trouble, honey. I’ll see ya when I see ya.”

A few hours later, Joel’s barely got a foot in the door before you’re taking him by the hand and leading him through the house, showing him how well you cleaned everything. “Jesus, girl. Can’t a man eat dinner first?” 

“No,” you answer. “Look at the windows.”

Joel laughs, “I know, I see ‘em, Pumpkin. They’re sparklin’.” 

“And the baseboards–”

“Are nice and dusted, I see it all, sweetheart. You did good. Wanna go get your stickers?” 

You show Joel that you’ve already got your stickers and your chart in hand. “Go ‘head and put ‘em on then, honey. Y’did good,” Joel says, then pauses as you put the rest of the stickers down. The only one that’s missing is dishes and table setting for today, but that’s because it hasn’t been done yet. Joel tells you he trusts you, and you can put the stickers down anyway. “And you did do it all by yourself, right, Pumpkin?” 

“Mhm,” you lie. 

“An’ if I ask Uncle Tommy if he helped, what’s he gonna tell me?”

“No,” you lie again. 

“Good answer,” Joel replies, then pauses. “Did you play with yourself this week?” he asks.

“No.” 

“Promise?” Joel asks. “Did anyone else play with ya?”

“Nope,” you tell him. Joel smiles, then kisses you on the head and sits down on the couch as you admire your chart. You join him on the couch, sliding onto his lap instead of taking your usual place right next to him.

“Hey, you,” Joel smiles. “What’re you makin’ me for dinner, hm?”

You shrug. “I’m not even hungry,” you tell Joel, and he makes a face. 

“Sure you’re not.” 

You think you know what that means, what he’s doing. He’s deliberately quiet, waiting for you to ask for what you want. But you say nothing as you sit on his lap, eyes wide as you wait and wait and wait for what you’ve earned, squirming on his lap a little. “Whatcha so squirrely for?” he asks finally. 

“You know, Daddy.” 

“Mmm. Don’t think I do,” Joel drawls. “M’not a mind reader, Pumpkin.” 

But you’re too shy to say it out loud. So you take Joel’s hand and stand up, yanking him with you. He groans as he stands up, knees cracking. You hold his hand as you lead him toward the stairwell, “Where ya takin’ me?” he asks. 

“Mmmuhno,” you mumble, walking up the stairs with Joel trailing behind. 

“You dunno, huh?” he teases, amused as you take him towards his room. “Mmm, Daddy’s room. Okay,” he sighs dramatically. “Guess it’s bedtime, since Pumpkin says so. And I was gonna let ya stay up an’ everything, but alright.” 

You’re such a quiet, shy girl as you sit on the end of Joel’s bed, swinging your feet as he undresses himself. You pull at a string on your shorts, waiting for Joel to get the hint. You’re sure he does, but he’s just dragging this out, the same way you are, really. 

Joel, standing naked except for his boxers, turns to you. “Y’look like you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart.” 

“Mm-mm,” you lie, unable to hide the smile that makes your lips curl up. 

“Oh, I think ya do. Wanna tell me what it is?” Joel asks. 

Finally, you relent. “Did I earn back my privileges?” you ask, biting down on your smile. 

Joel chuckles. “Was wonderin’ when you’d ask,” he says, leaning in close. He puts both of his hands on your knees, squeezing you there. “Yes. You earned ‘em back, Pumpkin.” 

You hum in delight and smile so big, then whisper something in Joel’s ear. “Well lie on down, then,” Joel murmurs. “You know what to do.” 

It takes no time at all for you to take off your clothes and lie on Joel’s bed completely naked, legs folded in half and swaying side to side as you wait for that inevitable dip in the mattress that comes from Joel settling between your thighs. It arrives all in good time, and Joel spreads you wide so he can devour you alive. 

He pushes your knees toward your chest and wears a crooked smirk at how anxious you look, ready for him to start. You’re wiggling your fingers, fidgeting with his comforter. Joel teases you with a couple of kisses pressed against your knees and your inner thighs. “Daddy,” you whine, pushing your hips toward his face. 

“Oh, I know, I know,” Joel murmurs, quieting your whines with a kiss to your pussy. “Iiii know, sweet baby girl.” He licks you from bottom to top with his tongue flattened, dragging it slowly through your slick folds. And Christ, how swollen you are - poor thing. But you did it to yourself, didn’t you?

“I am so–” Joel interrupts himself to suck on your clit a little, “So proud of you, Pumpkin,” he says, “My girl. You did so good for me, baby.” 

His beard tickles your inner thighs as he kisses you all over, then goes back to your clit. He circles it a few times with his tongue, then licks lower, burying his tongue in your soft, dripping entrance. You reach for his beautiful aquiline nose as he fucks you on his tongue, drawing up that gorgeous slope and past his forehead, tangling your fingers in his curly, graying hair. 

“Daddy,” you moan, whimpering for Joel as he drags his tongue back up and down your folds. He builds a rhythmic pace then, circling your clit repeatedly, all while allowing you to rock and grind against his face. He guides you orgasm quickly, savoring the way you gush into his mouth, your clit throbbing beneath his tongue. 

You’re fucking soaked, a mess of both Joel and yourself. Joel shoves his boxers down his thighs, erection springing against his soft tummy, and swipes his fingers through your folds. He collects your arousal on his hand, then uses it to coat his hard length. “Ready?” he asks, hovering over you. 

“Mhm.”

“Y’wanna help Daddy put it in?” 

You nod quickly. Joel knows you like to have some semblance of control over the pace at which he enters you, so he likes to grant you that. Not always, though. Sometimes he’ll split you in half just to remind you of who’s in charge here, usually when you get a little mouthy or something like that. 

You take Joel’s cock in your hand, tracing the bulbous head and the veins that climb up the shaft. You tilt your hips and drag him through your folds, sighing softly at the way you tease yourself. 

“You’re killin’ me here, kid,” Joel grunts, taking your wrist in his hand to stop you. 

“Sorry.”

“S’all good, baby.” 

You notch his tip at your entrance. “Your turn, Daddy,” you tell Joel softly. 

And in he goes. He slides into you slowly, filling you with the entirety of his length. “Ohh, big stretch. Attagirl,” he praises, grunting as he bottoms out. 

It always takes you a minute to get used to him. You do your little routine, make your little faces as you squirm and get used to his cock stretching you out, and when you’re ready, Joel begins to move. “Watch,” he says. “Look, look. Wanna show you something,” Joel tells you softly. You lift your head as he pulls out, his thick length all coated in your arousal. “Ain’t that somethin’?”

“Yeah,” you agree, letting your head fall back again. Joel braces himself on his forearm as he thrusts back into you, building to a slow pace. He’s in no rush, really, not when he’s sliding his big hand up your waist and over your ribcage and squeezes you there. He could crush you, you know. His delicate girl. He could do it. 

Joel bends down and skims his mouth and the tip of his nose over your breasts, taking time to wrap his lips around both of your nipples. He loves you so much, the elegant, gentle shapes of your body. All of those curves, all for him. 

The special way he fucks you - nothing comes close to this. No matter what, good day or bad, this will always be yours and Joel’s to savor. 

His cock is dragging against your g-spot, his pubic hair grinding against your clit. It’s all becoming too much, too sensitive for you to even cum. But Joel tells you to anyway. “Can’t, Daddy,” you whimper.

“Sure ya can,” Joel says. “S’been a week, honey. I know you’re needin’ it.” 

But are you, though? Not really, when Tommy took your punishment and reward into his own hands and made good and sure that you were well satiated before he left. And with the orgasm Joel pulled from you using his tongue, well. 

“One more, nice and big,” Joel encourages. “Show your daddy how hard you can cum on his cock, huh?”

Funny. Didn’t Tommy say the same thing?

Joel rubs your clit in practiced circles, coaxing along your release as he thrusts into you harder, faster, and deeper. And then it’s happening, and Joel’s name is spilling from your lips in breathy moans as you cum so hard on his cock, feeling indescribably full as your pussy pulses around him. It’s such a weighted, overwhelming feeling, and it washes over you in wave after wave. “Oh, baby girl.” Joel’s right behind you, breathing your name as he milks himself with your cunt, spurting rope after rope of his cum. “Take it nice an’ deep f’me,” he says, and like the most perfect girl you are, you take it all. 

Joel pulls out of you, not worried about the cum that spills on his comforter. It’s seen better days anyway, he thinks. 

After you both come down, Joel breaks the silence. “Think we should redo our date?” he asks, still breathing heavily. 

“Yes,” you answer. 

“I think so too,” he says. “Go pick somethin’ pretty to wear, and meet me in the shower to get cleaned up. Maybe we’ll see Uncle Tommy there or somethin’ too, huh?”

-

more dark daddy!joel here

anyway, i love ya. thank you for reading ♡ please dirty talk me in my inbox and reblog, because your words go a very long way in keeping me motivated to write. wouldn't be doin' this without ya.

aaaand the cat tax. remember that when it takes me a while to publish a fic, THIS IS WHO IS MAKING IT DIFFICULT TO DO SO!! okay!! do you see this! he's sitting on my arm like a fuck. fricken gizmo.

[paarksunghoon]

resignation (6)

SUMMARY: For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.

NOTES: life comes at ya fast…updates will come as I have more inspo and time to write. :) this is unedited

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: cunnilingus, slight coercion (but is it really if she wants it?).

SERIES PLAYLIST + SERIES MASTERLIST

***

Midweek comes around slower than you’d like and it feels as though your days are dragging on the more you try to tie up loose ends and review resumes of potential candidates. 

Sunghoon has agreed to transfer some of the responsibilities onto the secretaries for the time being. They’ll be responsible for attending meetings in-office and other tasks that can be taken off of your plate as you focus on what’s at hand. 

“Are you any closer to finding me a new assistant?”

He asks this at least once every few hours. He’ll do it when he hears you typing away on your keyboard or when you’ve neglected to hear him call you from the door. Sunghoon says it with a smile that looks too playful for your liking. 

“Not any closer than I was since the last time you asked me.” 

“Shame. But perfection takes time, doesn't it?”

You roll your eyes. “Come in and close the door, will you? It’s hot as shit outside and you’re letting all of my cold air out.” 

“Maintenance is working on fixing the air conditioning in the main areas. My office isn’t as cold as yours, I’ll say that.”

“Maintenance likes me better.”

“Nuh uh.” 

You look up from your monitor. “What are you, a child?”

“Maybe.” You roll your eyes again and focus back on your work. “Any candidates I should know about?”

“Are you asking me because you’re interested or because you’re bored?”

“Is there any difference?”

“Yes. You either care about who’s going to take over my position once I’m gone, or you enjoy watching me suffer by being in my presence.” 

“The latter, actually. You’re cute when you’re angry at me.” You scowl at him. “See? Cute.” 

“I’m not cute.”

“You say that, and yet you are.” 

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re really cute, especially with my hand between your legs.” Your face grows hot and Sunghoon grins when he realizes he’s rendered you speechless. 

“If you aren’t going to be of any help, might as well go back to your office and do your job.” 

Sunghoon puts both hands up. “Alright, alright. I did come here with the intention of an update, though. Heeseung mentioned you’ve made some progress when I saw him earlier this morning.” 

“Some. I’ve been getting hundreds and hundreds of applications, and it’s getting hard to sift through all of them.”

“What kind of things are you looking for?” 

“Experience, mostly. Someone who meets half of these qualifications and won’t be an ass about it.”

“Got any contenders?” 

“I haven’t met with anyone yet, so I can’t be so sure right now. I’m in correspondence with some to meet at the office next week for an initial interview before I decide.”

“How many interviews?”

“Three. One introduction, a second so they can see the office, and a third with you.”

“With me?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, you. I need you to like your assistant.” 

“The way I like you?”

You near your throat. 

“I surely hope not.” 

“You don’t have to worry about that. I just need an assistant who can handle the job and not complain about it too much.” 

“That’s the goal.”

“Who are you meeting with next week?” 

“Cho Miyeon’s coming on Monday morning and Kang Taehyun will be coming the same afternoon.”

“Yang Jungwon on Tuesday too, huh?” Sunghoon peers over your shoulder and stares at your calendar. “You’ve got a busy week.”

“I’m doing my best. My workload is being shared while I look for my replacement, so it’s not too bad. Don’t get any ideas and add things on my docket, though.”

“Well…”

You sigh. “Sunghoon, please. I’m trying to be diligent and do right by you, but you’re making me want to quit on the spot.” 

“Hear me out at least, okay?” 

Sunghoon sits on the edge of your desk and sees the top button of your blouse unbuttoned. It’s not enough for him to see your bra underneath, but his mouth runs dry thinking about it. 

“It’s our turn to choose a restaurant for the next quarterly dinner party. As you know, it’s important because we as a company build internal connections and reward those who work under us with an all expenses paid meal.”

“Plus quarterly bonuses from the respective employers.”

He nods. “Yes, plus the bonuses. Anyway, I’ve booked a reservation at a highly rated Spanish place that serves tapas style for tonight. Cool, huh?” 

“You cannot seriously expect me to drop my plans to work.” 

“You don’t have plans.”

“Okay, fair point. But Pochi, Sunghoon. And I don’t want to work!”

“We won’t be out until late into the evening, if you’re worried about feeding her. We’ll leave the office early and I’ll have you home before nine. And you won’t be working. Not really.” 

“Asking me to try food for a work event is considered work.”

“Just come with me, okay? If you like it, we’ll host the party there. If not, we try another one on the list.”

“What list?”

Sunghoon merely smiles but he doesn’t explain further. “Don’t worry about it. Get yourself hungry and we’ll leave at five.”

“You, leaving work at five…”

“Early, I know.” Sunghoon laughs. “So what do you say?”

“I say you want me to ignore all of my tasks and distract me with food. Why can’t you go with another assistant who actually gives a shit about this party?”

“Because I care about your opinion, not theirs.” 

“I don’t have time to entertain this when it’s not on my immediate priority list. You can bring Jongseong to dinner, for all I care. He’ll appreciate that more than me.” 

Before you know it, he’s on the floor and turning your chair to face him. 

“Sunghoon!” 

He situates himself between your legs and spreads them apart by pushing your knees away. His fingertips gently touch your skin and inch up the skirt you’re wearing, pushing the fabric up your thigh. Your resolve seems to crumble when you see him like this and look around hastily. 

“W-What are you doing?” 

Sunghoon doesn’t speak. He looks at you and smiles like he knows something you don’t.

“My window is open,” you say in a haste, trying to push his hands away from your legs. 

Sunghoon merely laughs and leans down to press a kiss to the inside of your knee while maintaining eye contact. You sit frozen in your chair as you watch him stand, eyes trained on his semi-hard cock outlined in his trousers. He makes no fuss and faces the windows to close the blinds before turning back to look at you.

“Better?” 

All you can do is nod. Sunghoon drinks you in with his eyes. His gaze starts at the bottom of your heels until you feel his stare drag up your body, locked in on the flesh of your collarbones until his eyes meet yours. It’s hard to keep eye contact with him when he’s looking at you like that, never mind the fact that the outline of his dick is practically at eye level. 

He brings his hand to his mouth and rubs his jaw, huffing something you can’t quite make out. He then resumes his positions on his knees and this time, you don’t complain when Sunghoon pries your legs apart. 

“Can I try to convince you?” he asks in a sultry tone. His voice might as well be made of soft velvet and you find yourself nodding. “Yeah? Can I have my way with you right here?” 

Sunghoon has his answer when you widen your legs before him and parts his mouth like he’s in awe. He observed the way your skirt rides up your thighs even more, then shifts his gaze to your covered cunt. Sunghoon looks like he might as well be high; his gaze is hyper focused between your legs and his well you panties mold to the shape of your cunt. 

His bottom lip becomes wet with his saliva and you’re almost positive that Sunghoon would start drooling the longer he looks at you. His hands delicately hold your ankles in place when you brush your thumb against the corner of your mouth. 

“You’re drooling.” Sunghoon looks up at you.

“I can’t help it,” he says, kissing the pad of your thumb. “You’re so perfect down here.” 

Your cheeks flush for the umpteenth time. Sunghoon’s hands move from your ankles to gently caress the outer skin of your calves before he brings one hand to push your skirt until it sits just below your waist. You lift your hips to help him and settle back down in your chair at a steep slouch. 

Sunghoon holds you there and you feel as if you’re being presented on a platter. Still unused to being like this in front of him, you resist the urge to close your legs to prevent yourself from being even more flushed than you already are. He pushes his face between your legs and gives one, long kiss to your covered slit. 

“So perfect.” Sunghoon mumbles against you, and you suck in a quick breath. He sticks his tongue out to taste the wet slick soaking from the fabric. “That’s really good.” 

Never in a million years would you have ever guessed how good Sunghoon looks on his knees. He’s brash and confident, proud and stoic. The ease in which Sunghoon fell to his knees knowing he’d see what you hide between your legs makes you feel like you’re on top of the world. Sunghoon, who stands down for no one, kneels on his knees for you. 

He pulls your body down and brings his tongue all over your covered cunt. The surface of his tongue makes you clench against him and buck your hips. Sunghoon chases after it, pushing against you harder than merely grazing like he was previously. He licks a confident stripe and laps at your panties like a kitten drinking milk. 

His ginormous hands and caresses your outer thigh like he’s trying to make you relaxed and unashamed of the pleasure he wants to give you. You’re reminiscent of how you felt the morning Sunghoon’s hands were on you for the first time—nervous, excited, and extremely horny. 

When Sunghoon pulls your panties to the side to reveal your lap to him, he groans and his warm breath makes a shove run down your spine. He admires the way your pussy clenches in front of him and kisses your naked slit like he’s trying to reassure you.

“Relax, love. It’s just me.”

“Kind of hard to relax.” 

“Why?” Sunghoon kisses your slit once more and you sigh in contentment.

“I’m not used to people looking at me like this.” 

He looks up. “Get used to me between your legs.” 

When you deal with Sunghoon’s demands during working hours, you’re a force to be reckoned with. He’s stubborn and loves to fight back until you frustratingly give up or until you’ve backed him into a corner. You’re used to his hotheaded tendencies and never back down if you can help it.

But Sunghoon’s hands keep you locked before him so gently that it makes you think you’ve got nothing to worry about. His fingers caress your skin in a way that makes you tingle with excitement and lust, and it’s been a while since you’ve felt this way about anyone. 

He can feel your body respond to him when you loosen the tightness in your hips and let your legs fall beside him. Sunghoon’s mouth kisses your outer lips and avoids your clit, but the feeling is all the same when you haven’t been in this position in years. He takes his time, moving his plush and moistened lips across your skin like he’s mapping out every inch of you.

Sunghoon’s head moves to your inner thigh and his hair brushes your skin. His eyes remained closed as if to savor the taste of your body. You can’t seem to look at anything but him like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you close your eyes and allow yourself to lose yourself in his touch.

Feeling so exposed is out of your comfort zone. You feel completely naked in front of him despite wearing a blouse and a skirt, technically. The sheer act of intimacy, even if Sunghoon walks away from you forever after he’s done kissing you between your legs, still feels like more than a mere hookup like your previous experiences. 

Sunghoon is still fully dressed and you wonder if he’s as hard as he was before kneeling. Your mind races when he switches legs and kisses all the way to the inner portion of your knee, dabbing gentle pecks that makes your heart race much faster than you would’ve ever anticipated. 

He must know by now you’re as inexperienced as a woman your age could be. It’s never for the lack of trying; men leave you disappointed and the pool of new lovers falls short when you aren’t the type of person to lose yourself in strangers who will never love you back. Sunghoon touches you like he’s more than somebody you’ve worked with for the last six years. It scares and excites you all at once. 

His breath ghosts over your cunt before he sticks his tongue out to lick a fat stripe. It feels like the entire surface of his tongue covers the entirety without a single inch being undiscovered by his mouth, and the sensation makes your toes curl in your heels. It’s enough to make your back arch slightly. Sunghoon watches you and puts both of his hands at the side of your hips to keep you steady before him. 

Sunghoon takes his time and doesn’t rush it like you think he will. He sounded so desperate to get you to agree to come with him to dinner tonight. You were sure he’d get on both hands and knees like a dog to beckon you to come. The sense of urgency seems to have been tossed out the window when he closed the blinds. Despite being in your office and hearing faint sounds of the copy printed from outside the doors, you feel like it’s just the two of you existing in the same space. 

His tongue moves up and down your slit slowly. Sunghoon’s eyelashes are long and dark, fluttering against his cheek with every pass. You wonder if this is what he looks like when you’re kissing him. It’s unfair how sexy he looks when his tongue is coated in your slick and when he’s sighing against your pussy like this is a meal that has finally satisfied his craving. 

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs against you the second he pushes his tongue past your folds. The vibrations continue to add to your pleasure and you buck your hips against his face. 

“S-Stop talking.”

He chuckles. “I think you like it when I talk to you like this.”

You shake your head stubbornly. Sunghoon hums like he doesn’t believe you. His fingers dig into your hips to pull you closer to his face instantly, latching onto your cunt with the urgency you anticipated beforehand. He shoves his tongue deep inside of you to the point where you grip the handles of your chair until your knuckles feel sore. Your palms have grown sweaty and you fear you’re losing your grip on both the chair and your sanity. 

He looks up at you before taking one hand and putting it in his hair. It’s like a foreign instinct takes over. Your hand grips his hair until you’re holding his head in place. His eyes flicker back to yours before focusing on lapping up your wetness, no doubt coating the lower half of his face in it. 

There’s no real method he’s adhering to. It’s messy and growing louder by the second with his saliva mixing in with your juices. Sunghoon slurps you up like he’s trying to taste all of you at once and flexes his jaw to accommodate shoving his tongue inside of your folds and thrusting. 

Your legs eventually wrap around his shoulders and Sunghoon can feel your heel digging into his suit jacket. He doesn’t mind. You’re sure this encourages him to fuck you like this harder because his tongue moves in circles inside of you when your thighs keep his head locked in place. His dark brown eyes open to look right at you and the moans you’ve been holding in escape. 

Sunghoon moans against you too. Your whimpers and short breath sent the blood straight to his cock, but he knows this isn’t the time nor the place to make you moan the way he wants you to. He’ll take what he can get, but that single, deep moan that came from his tongue bouncing over your clit makes him think it would be worth it for everybody to hear you come.

He looks so good with your thighs suffocating his face. Sunghoon doesn’t complain, he just puts his hands on your thighs and squeezes you to keep them there. Your hips start to chase his mouth when you feel your orgasm building and when Sunghoon sees your chest heaving off of the chair, he keeps his steady position and flicks his tongue across your swollen bud. 

You don’t even realize your hips are rolling against his mouth until you come against Sunghoon’s tongue. He doesn’t give you a second to breathe as he laps it up, opening his mouth as best as he can with your legs still wrapped around his face. He moans when he tastes all you have to offer and bucks his hips to grind against the tightness of his slacks when he sees your eyes wired shut and mouth gaping. 

The grip on his hair loosens when your body relaxes and so does the grip on your legs. Your breath feels much heavier than before and when you open your eyes, Sunghoon’s looking at you with a drunken smile on his face. Your cheeks instantly heat up and you try to pry your legs back down, but he keeps you steady there and moves his head to kiss you on each thigh.

“You look so pretty when you come.”

“S-Sunghoon…”

“Yeah, love?” 

You blush harder. “You’re just…” 

“I’m just what?” 

You avoid eye contact. “You looked really hot.” 

He laughs and you feel his eyes still staring at you. Sunghoon lets go of your legs and helps settle them back down on the ground before pushing your panties back in its proper place. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand and sits on the back of his knees to help you regain balance and sit upright in your chair as you fix your skirt in an attempt to look decent. 

“You did so well for me,” he says, pushing upwards to kiss you. Your taste lingers on his lips. Sunghoon braces himself on your thighs and his palms feel comforting. 

“I-I can’t believe I let you do that in my office.”

“Such a rebel, hm?” Sunghoon chuckles between kisses before pulling back to look at you. “Did that convince you to come with me tonight?” 

You nod shyly. “I don’t want you to think I’m the type of girl who can be bribed by sex, though.”

“I don’t think that of you. Matter of fact, I know I had you reeled in when I told you I’d take care of the details.” 

“Hmph.”

“I ate you out because I wanted to.”

Sunghoon kisses you again before standing up. The sheer size of it makes your mouth water and you see the small, wet stain left by his precum. He watches you with fascination and watches your hand reach out with hesitation, pulling back before you’ll do something you might regret. 

He doesn’t force you to touch him, nor does he ask you to do anything in return. You watch him with hooded eyes and the sight of you looking up at him while he stands will fuel his dreams for days to come. 

“You’re hard.” 

“That I am.”

“All that from eating me out?”

He laughs. “You underestimate how much I’m attracted to you.”

Your eyes flicker up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. So much that I ate your cute little pussy in your office.” 

You swat the side of his thigh and look away from him. “I…My pussy isn’t cute.”

“So cute and so tight. Felt it with my fingers and I felt it again with my tongue. Can’t help but wonder what it’ll feel like with my dick.” 

“Sunghoon!” 

“Too soon?” The blush on your face gives your desire away, but he laughs and backs off. 

“I have a pair of fresh slacks in my office. Let’s finish the rest of today and then we’ll head over for dinner, yeah?”

You raise your eyebrow. “You’re gonna walk out of my office while you’re hard?” 

“It’s like, two inches from yours.” 

“People could see.”

“Aw, are you worried about me?”

You huff. “Let people see how hard you get for me, for all I care.” 

Sunghoon smirks. “Atta girl. I think I just might.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Just how you like me to be.”

You don’t argue with him. You both know he’s right. He eventually makes his way to the front door and is about to leave before he comes back around your desk. Sunghoon takes you by surprise and leans down to kiss your lips once more before wordlessly exiting your office.

It takes a great deal of strength to stand up and open the blinds.

***

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[cheftsunoda]

conflict of interest

smau

charles leclerc x lawyer!reader x alexandra saint mleux

in which charles needs a lawyer and everyone on the grid recommends you…the one who reads NDAs like novels, redlines million-dollar contracts with a Montblanc pen, and somehow still finds time to go viral on tik tok for roasting poorly written sponsorship deals. he thinks it’ll be quick—one meeting, a signature, maybe a stern look over a brand clause or two. then you show up in monaco in heels and a tailored suit, quoting the FIA regulations better than his race engineer and making alex laugh harder than he’s seen in months. his Instagram explore page becomes full of edits of you. add in alex, who takes one look at you and says, “she is dangerous.” but won’t stop inviting you to brunch. suddenly, the paddock’s favorite couple has a third problem. or maybe… a third solution.

fc : bella hadid and various pinterest girlies

little draft for you all as I am working on finishing heal your heart rn — enjoy mamas

⚠️not proofread⚠️

—

charles_leclerc

liked by uhavebeenserved, alexandrasaintmleux, carlossainz55 & 859,265 others.

charles_leclerc : proud, proud, proud 🤍 @/lec

scuderiaferrari: 🍦💛

liked by author

alexandrasaintmleux : so proud of you, mon ange!

liked by author

usernameee : need to try asap

uhavebeenserved : congratulations charles! can’t wait to try! 💛

liked by author & alexandrasaintmleux

charles_leclerc : would not have been possible without you! have some on the way to you right now 😉

liked by uhavebeenserved

username0 : who is she??

username20 : big time lawyer in monaco— half the grid has worked with her. she is also on tik tok and makes fun legal content!

arthur_leclerc : im out already

charles_leclerc : literally how— you got like 5 yesterday!

charles_leclerc : fatty

arthur_leclerc : stop arthur slander @/uhavebeenserved HELP

liked by uhavebeenserved

uhavebeenserved : all im hearing is good press for @/lec…if arthur likes it that much its clearly fabulous…and i would be nice to ppl who r giving me free press charles

liked by arthur_leclerc & charles_leclerc

—

uhavebeenserved

liked by charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, lando & 1,855,467 others.

uhavebeenserved : i don’t only serve subpoenas but i also serve cunt

alexandrasaintmleux : belle fille 😻

liked by author

uhavebeenserved : ur the most beautiful alexxx

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

username1 : yn would you help me sue my ex for traumatizing me?

uhavebeenserved : absolutely I’ll do it for free

username4 : sjsjsjs I can’t with her

username5 : yn!! any advice on surviving law school?

uhavebeenserved : no distractions, study your ass off and knee any misogynistic men in the nuts :)

username5 : will do mamas. i promise to make you proud

liked by author

username00 : the amount of pure cunt and beauty you exert should be illegal

lando : how does one exactly serve cunt?

liked by author

uhavebeenserved : it is a way of life lando. you will learn eventually little one.

yourbff : god im obsessed with you

liked by author

scuderiaferrari: Nice car😉

liked by author

uhavebeenserved: pretty, ain’t she?

kikagomes : we miss you in the paddock pls come back soon

liked by author

maxverstappen1 : agreed

liked by author

carlossainz55 : need legal advice on if I can sue for emotional distress

uhavebeenserved: is this about f**rari? bc we may have a case carlos

carlossainz55 : 🤐 (yes)

liked by author

redbullracing: we will happily host you, yn!

mercedesamgf1 : pick us!!

mclaren : you’d look great in papaya!

scuderiaferrari: i think we are the obvious choice

uhavebeenserved: omg yes fight over me

username15 : why is half the grid in her comments?

username00 : she is pretty close to most of them as she has represented them before

—

vogue

liked by alexandrasaintmleux & 243,643 others.

vogue : What’s in Her Bag: Court Edition. Monaco based lawyer, YN LN, breaks down her everyday courtroom essentials—from highlighters to Hermès.

username00 : her casual paddock pass in her bag is killing me

username15 : she really said I don’t need this during court but I never empty my bag ever

username10 : multi purpose queen

username7 : so we’re all seeing the paddock pass and Alexandra’s sunglasses right?? ok just checking

username8 : how do you know they r hers?

username20 : Sunglasses last seen on Alexandra in a Milan street style reel 3 weeks ago. Do with that what you will.

username8 : damn ok detective

username20 : plus if you actually watch the video…she literally said “oh these belong to alex, i need to get them back to her.’

username17 : alexandra already likeddddd

username18 : the back of her paddock pass literally says “guest of charles leclerc” hmmm

username0 : they are friends don’t make it what it’s not

username22 : you guys are literally all focused on the wrong things—THERE WAS A PIECE OF PAPER THAT SAID ‘GOOD LUCK MON CHÈRI -C’

username15 : do you know how many men in this world have c names?

username22 : pls stop killing my joy

—

alexandrasaintmleux posted to her story!

seen by charles_leclerc, uhavebeenserved, arthur_leclerc & 232,545 others.

charles_leclerc : wish I could’ve been with my favorite ladies😞

alexandrasaintmleux : we will see you tomorrow pretty boy

uhavebeenserved : best day ever with you pretty angel

alexandrasaintmleux : u r making me blushhh

arthur_leclerc : where was my invite

alexandrasaintmleux: lost in the mail maybe

—

uhavebeenserved added two posts to her story!

{caption 1 : guess where I am???} {caption 2 : @/scuderiaferrari made me do hot laps with @/charles_leclerc…still feel ill}

seen by alexandrasaintmleux, lando, charles_leclerc & 3,375,266 others.

lando : still mad you let charles take you but not me

uhavebeenserved : I value my life

charles_leclerc : hope I didn’t make that pretty head spin too much

uhavebeenserved: ur good I think I still have all my wits about me

uhavebeenserved: I was too busy staring at you to get dizzy

charles_leclerc : your beauty was definitely distracting me- if we would’ve wrecked I’d have to sue you for being too stunning

—

hot laps!

YN slides into the passenger seat, sunglasses on and helmet over her head, calm as ever. Charles is already grinning behind the wheel.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Well I suppose with how much they pay you that you are somewhat decent and won’t kill us.” YN said dryly, tugging on her seatbelt.

Charles lets out a low laugh and turns on the ignition. The car comes alive.

“What was your first impression of me?” Charles asked as he took off down the track without warning.

“Fast. But not in the way you think.” YN said as she gripped the door handle, trying to steady herself.

“That sounds like you’re insulting me.” Charles said with a chuckle.

“You talked way too much in our first meeting. Absolutely rambling.” YN said with a small smile.

“And now?”

“Now you know when to shut up so that sounds like progress to me.”

He raises an eyebrow, cornering harder than necessary.

“If you weren’t a driver, what would you be?” YN asks, setting the cards in her lap.

“I’m not sure but I think I have some legal issues so I’d still need you.” He said with a smirk.

YN chuckled lowly. “Sounds like job security for me.”

“Or a very expensive habit.” Charles stated smoothly.

“Biggest red flag in a person?” Charles asked.

“People who treat rules as suggestions.” YN murmured.

“Uh-oh.”

“Exactly.”

“What’s your red flag?” Charles asked with a cheeky smile.

“I argue for a living and I always win.” YN said.

“Good thing I like a challenge.” Charles glances at her grinning.

“You know you didn’t have to say yes to this.” Charles said as the car started to slow down.

“I didn’t.” I said.

“So why did you?” Charles asked.

“Because I don’t mind the speed when I know who is driving. I already said no to Lando.” YN said causing another laugh from Charles.

“I’ll take that as consent to ask you out to dinner.” He said as he reaches over to help YN unbuckle herself.

“Only if you read the fine print, Leclerc.” She said with a smirk and stepped out of the car.

Towards the end of the video there was a cute clip of Charles helping YN take off her helmet and him smoothing down her hair.

—

alexandrasaintmleux reposted scuderiaferrari’s video with the caption : “only watching for yn, she is funny as hell”

—

alexandrasaintmleux added a post to her story!

{caption 1 : she is always working} {caption 2 : managed to convince y/n to come to brunch with me}

seen by charles_leclerc, uhavebeenserved, scuderiaferrari & 347,246 others.

charles_leclerc : she was literally already up working when I left this morning

alexandrasaintmleux: i know!! i told her she was insane.

charles_leclerc : do not let her pay for herself, use my card.

alexandrasaintmleux: already on it:)

uhavebeenserved : always a lovely day spent with you, mon ange

alexandrasaintmleux: i love youuuuu

—

twitter!

F1gossipgirls: does anyone else think it’s odd that alexandra reposted the hot laps video that YN and Charles were so clearly flirting in and the proceeds to hang out with her all day??

view comments

usernameee : ARE WE FRIENDS? ARE WE FLIRTING? ARE WE THROUPLING?

username5 : alexandra watching her boyfriend flirt with the lawyer then taking the lawyer out for drinks??? no notes. this is cinema.

username7 : guys maybe they are just all friends and alex doesn’t get jealous or doesn’t care

username17 : i could not be friends with someone who is openly flirting with my man like that

username00 : if this turns into a “two girlfriends and a driver” scenario I SWEAR I will never recover

username14 : charles rn trying to understand if he’s being soft-launched into a love triangle or quietly removed from it.

username0 : so is this a friendship? a situationship? a legal partnership with romantic benefits? we need answers.

—

uhavebeenserved added two posts to her story!

seen by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, lando & 2,164,175 others.

lando : still can’t believe you’ll go out with Charles and not me

uhavebeenserved : charles is rather charming and also has a hot girlfriend he is willing to share…what do you have Norris?

lando : i have oscar

uhavebeenserved : as adorable as you both are…no🤗

alexandrasaintmleux: omg I miss you both smmmm

uhavebeenserved : come home rn pretty we miss you too (very very much)

charles_leclerc : best night with you mon amor

uhavebeenserved : love you cha

—

f1gossipgirls

2,364,145 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Charles Leclerc was spotted out in Monaco with Lawyer YN LN — sources say the two had a dinner together and then left in the same car. YN LN was seen leaving his house the next morning and taking his car for a spin. Charles’ long term girlfriend and friend of LN’s, Alexandra, has been in Mexico with her family.

—

username5 : typical charles but I feel horrible for Alex esp after she clearly trusted yn

usernameee : OH WE’RE NOT EVEN PRETENDING ANYMORE.

username17 : me refreshing alexandra’s story every 30 seconds like she’s the press secretary

username20 : and y’all were clowning when she had alex’s sunglasses and a paddock pass in her court bag… WHO’S LAUGHING NOW?

alexandrasaintmleux : cute dress yn !!

liked by author and uhavebeenserved

uhavebeenserved : thanks love! stole it from your closet 🤐

liked by author and alexandrasaintmleux

username14 : okay what the fuck

username22 : I’ve never been more confused in my life

username15 : is this petty or sarcasm or what

—

uhavebeenserved

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 & 4,375,279 others.

uhavebeenserved : yall really know how to fuck up a soft launch but anyways alex and charles r the love(s) of my life and that is all goodbye🥰💕♥️❤️🥰😍

—

alexandrasaintmleux: i love you so so so so much beautiful,, so happy to be able to show you off now;)

liked by author

username00 : imagine dating your client AND your client’s girlfriend. that’s not a conflict of interest, that’s a power move.

oscarpiastri : so do i have another mom now?

liked by author

uhavebeenserved : yes

oscarpiastri : free legal representation?

uhavebeenserved : yes

lando : WHY DOES HE GET IT BUT NOT ME

uhavebeenserved : oscar stays rather quiet…I don’t see him becoming too much of an issue…unlike you

liked by maxverstappen1 and oscarpiastri

charles_leclerc : my girls ❤️ love you both so much

liked by alexandrasaintmleux and author

danielricciardo : ive been nosey and read a lot of fanfiction in my day but this beats them all

liked by author, alexandrasaintmleux and charles_leclerc

lilymhe : love love love

liked by author and alexandrasaintmleux

carlossainz55 : oh thank god I couldn’t be quiet much longer

liked by author and charles_leclerc

uhavebeenserved : we know

carlossainz55 : sorry for wanting to defend you and Charles from the internet MY BAD FOR BEING A GOOD FRIEND

liked by author and charles_leclerc

yourbff : cuties

liked by author, alexandrasaintmleux and charles_leclerc

—

charles_leclerc

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, uhavebeenserved, arthur_leclerc & 1,358,268.

charles_leclerc : my legal counsel has approved of a hard launch;)

love you both forever and always — the girls ive always dreamed of 🤍

—

username00 : i’m shaking. shaking. SHAKING. he posted this like it’s normal

alexandrasaintmleux : so blessed to have found both of my soulmates — my whole heart

liked by author and uhavebeenserved

uhavebeenserved : my favorite people on the planet,, you both are so incredibly special to me — love you my babies

liked by author and alexandrasaintmleux

username15 : what if Charles was cheating and this is the cover up

uhavebeenserved : oh yes when I make love to both of them it is def a cover up

liked by author and alexandrasaintmleux

scuderiaferrari: for being a lawyer, you are not very pr friendly

liked by uhavebeenserved

alexandrasaintmleux: it’s part of her charm

liked by author and uhavebeenserved

arthur_leclerc : bro I just woke up

arthur_leclerc : and I see you hard launching with my lawyer

liked by author, alexandrasaintmleux and uhavebeenserved

charles_leclerc : she is my lawyer too

uhavebeenserved: i will still be ur lawyer arthur and ill even give you a family discount

arthur_leclerc : oh slay love u for that

pierregasly : triple date soon?

liked by author, uhavebeenserved and alexandrasaintmleux

—

🌸💐🌺🌻🌼

[kxsagi]

hiiiiii, can you make reader giving the bllk boys a puppy or a kitten please? 🫶

(rin, bachira, reo, nagi, sae (+) maybe it’s their dream dog or cat :3

“𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐢𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞”

a/n: hiii ofc this is so cute ❤️

i, too, would name my pet yuzu

ft. itoshi rin, bachira meguru, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi

itoshi rin

rin does not ask for a kitten. rin does not want a kitten. rin receives a kitten anyway. 

“what the hell is this.” 

says that with a cat in his hoodie, purring on his chest, and his entire aura softened like a warm baguette fresh from the oven. 

it’s a tiny grey one you found abandoned near your apartment, and when you bring it to him, you expect him to say no. instead, he stares at the mewling fluff ball for 0.2 seconds before going: “it’s cold. give me your blanket.” 

cue you watching him spend 20 minutes constructing a blanket fort around it like a cat IKEA architect. 

names it something really blunt like kuro. or neko. 

says “don’t touch her too much. she’s scared.” like you’re the guest. 

she ends up sleeping on his face. you take a picture. he threatens to burn your phone. doesn’t follow through. 

bachira meguru

he almost cries when you show up at his door with a golden retriever puppy in your arms. 

“NO. WAY. is that my son? IS THAT MY FUR SON???” 

immediately drops to the floor and starts barking back. puppy’s barking. he’s barking. you’re filming. it’s a family moment. 

names him “chompy.” refuses to explain. 

goes on walks with him wearing matching jackets. even buys him goggles. 

they’re inseparable. the dog howls when he leaves for practice. bachira howls back through the window. 

teaches him stupid tricks like spinning in circles, headbutting people, and booping noses on command. 

one day you come home to find him and the dog in a pile of treats on the floor. “he deserved a little snack party!” sure. and now your kitchen’s a crime scene. 

mikage reo

reo stares at the calico kitten you brought like you stole her from a museum. 

“she’s... beautiful. what if i’m not good enough for her?” 

spoils her immediately. you are no longer his favorite girl. 

gets her a princess-themed litter box. orders organic, salmon-glazed kibble with prebiotics. hires a cat nutritionist. 

takes her to the vet in a designer carrier. wears sunglasses like he’s in a movie. 

starts saying things like “i think she has an eye for luxury.” no, reo, she’s literally biting a sock. 

names her something extra like lady caviar mikage III. 

every time she lays on his chest he looks like he just got knighted. 

she bit his finger once and he told you it was “because he deserved it.” 

nagi seishiro

stares at the puppy you give him for a solid minute like it’s a math equation. 

“... is it maintenance?” 

you promise to do most of the work. nagi: “okay. sick.” two days later, he’s carrying it in his hoodie like it’s his new spawn. 

puppy’s just as lazy as him. sleeps 22 hours a day. they nap together like matching plush toys. 

names it something weird like tofu. 

“don’t touch tofu, he’s resting.” he says, with tofu upside-down on his lap, tongue out like a slug. 

tries to train him by just looking at him. no commands. just vibes. 

when it works once (she sits), nagi gets so smug. “we understand each other. no need to talk.” 

takes him to convenience stores in a sling like a baby. asks if he can get a dog discount. you leave him outside on purpose. 

itoshi sae

gives you a blank stare when you drop the orange tabby into his arms. 

“... what’s this?” 

“love.” 

raises a brow. but the cat headbutts his chin and immediately starts purring like a chainsaw and you see the pixelation of his soul. 

acts cool and unaffected at first. until you catch him letting her sleep in his suitcase. and using a fake voice to talk to her. 

“what do you want, you little gremlin. yeah? food? yeah? you wanna destroy my couch again?” 

names her yuzu. pretends it’s random. actually named her after your favorite drink. 

goes full tsundere. “she’s not mine, she just follows me around.” she literally sleeps on his laptop keyboard while he works. 

lowkey checks his camera roll every night to make sure she’s in at least five new pictures. 

“if anything happens to her, i’m suing god.” 

isagi yoichi

when you surprise him with a shiba inu puppy, he screams. 

“IS THIS REAL?? ARE YOU REAL?? ARE WE MARRIED???” 

immediately puts him on his Instagram story with “me & my son 🥹” 

names him something super normal like mochi. acts like it’s the most creative name on earth. 

treats the puppy like a teammate. “good job, bud! way to poop outside!!” 

you walk in on him training drills with the dog. like. actual cone drills. baby shiba zooming through like a pro athlete. 

"he's got stamina. he could play for bastard in five years." 

buys a matching hoodie for all three of you. “family fit check!!” 

cries a little when the puppy licks his face for the first time. “he loves me.” 

sometimes falls asleep with him on the couch and mumbles in his sleep: “pass it here, mochi…” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[thechthonicherbalist]

Sometimes you lost important things out in the rainstorm and you only go in to dry and warm up a little or until the worst is over before you go back to safe them. Sometimes you have to face the storm many times until everything important is also in a safe and dry place. Sometimes you don't have the privilege to warm and dry up in between getting all these things in or else they take irreversible damage.

Sometimes they already have, because they were never meant to get wet or built to deal with heavy wind and storm. Sometimes you can only get in what was damaged and fix things or recreate them or grieve them and accept that you have to make do without them once the storm is over even if it was important, irreplaceable things and life will be harder without them.

And sometimes while you're in the dry place with everything important and start to settle down and feel safe, the storm gets so bad it causes a flooding and you need to escape again.

This is not about storms and rain, drying and damage and floods. This is about saving yourself and having to go back to uncomfortable memories, conversations and circumstances to safe parts of yourself that got caught up and maybe took damage or were destroyed during traumatic circumstances in your life and fix them, replace them or at the very least grieve them and let go of them. War. Severe illness. Betrayal. Death. Abuse. Disasters. All kinds of catastrophic events can cause this.

You have to do this so you don't get stuck in a place of trauma or else your life won't go on or you'll start to use and hurt others because you try to work on the artwork of life with missing or damaged tools.

If you're stuck, sometimes you will meet people who call you out or make you aware of the things you're missing or that got damaged and were never repaired, went missing and were never replaced or the ones that are irreplaceable, unfixable but were never properly grieved.

Often it's people that recovered and fixed their own stuff after a similar event and urge you to go out into the rain and do the same or they see those dusty old boxes of broken things on your shelf and they will urge you to go and get what you left behind in the storm or they will urge you to unpack the broken things and fix them, sometimes they offer help.

This can hurt and make you angry or upset, because you are scared of the storm, of the damage, the cold and wet and pain or you're overwhelmed and have no idea how to fix things or how to replace these very important things that hurt so bad to lose. And it seems so easy for those who already did that, often it will seem like a person with fixed things and circumstances got those things done with next to no effort, like everything just came their way naturally while you have to work hard and have to suffer to get there...

And you're right... you will have to work hard and it will be scary and painful to get all this done. But the people urging you on know that, it was not easy for them to do this either, it only looks easy because now that the work is done, they're in a much better place and they want you to be in that better place too.

It can get you angry, scared, defensive, sometimes you will try and get hurt and scared and rained on again and you end up blaming them for all the past pain and loss the storm blows in.

But I hope you heal regardless and that when the storms of life are over and the sun is out, you don't hide in self-imposed exile and isolation for the rest of your life, with your broken tools and canvases hidden away in boxes you're scared to touch.

Because this is not where you were meant to be.

I hope you reach for these boxes on your shelf, where you keep all the broken things and memories. And I hope that you open them and I hope you cry over them and feel everything they contain until you feel the calm and relief of having processed all the pain, the anger, the hurt, the betrayal, the loss, all of it. And then I hope you reach into them and fix what you can and throw out what you can't and wander out into the world to get new, fresh things that are unbroken and have better quality and last. And I hope that you live. I hope that some day you will be brave enough to run wild and free into this world and be happy.

I hope that someday your eyes will get used to the brightness of the sun again and that you will see what lies outside of the dark and dusty shelter you sought in a time of emergency.

And I hope the flowers and the birds and the wind and the trees will find you and embrace you and you will fall in love with life again and not only with ideas of beauty and immortality.

I hope you will be ready to embrace and love the world one day.

You don't have to force yourself to bounce back so quickly. I read something recently that said "when you come in from a rainstorm, you don't expect yourself to be dry and warm right away", and it really resonated with me. It's okay to take time to dry off and warm up. Take the time you need to process what happened to you.

[gojosatoruhumper]

I’m worried | Yeon Si-eun x reader

Summary: Si-eun always was and will be afraid of something happening to Y/n.

Warnings: swearing, fighting, angst, fluff, comfort, parental conflict.

Wc:2.8k

Based on this request

Notes: Let’s pretend Si-eun didn’t get hit by the truck🥰🥰

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

It all started when you were little. Your and Si-eun’s mom were good friends, so of course they would bring you to their house when they met up.

At first Si-eun didn’t exactly like you, he felt like he was forced to hang out with you. Your character was too much for him, always talking, always asking questions.

It always amazed you how Si-eun was so smart, way above his age kids in studies. As long as you have known him, he always had his head in his books.

And gradually, he started to engage with you more, answering your asked questions in detail, helping you understand questions you couldn’t get the hang of.

You started nagging your mom, ‘When can we go see Si-eun?’ ‘Can we go out with them today?’. As you both grew, you grew closer. He started opening up to you, little by little. At that moment you felt so close to him, how such a boy, who buried his emotions so deep in himself, could unbury them with you.

He sometimes talked to you about his parents, how they were always arguing and yelling at each other. In a way, he felt like it was his fault. Even if he didn’t show it, he was very sensitive and took everything to heart.

And with every deep talk with him, you would stay by his side, listening to him. He was always an observer, listener and not a talker so you would make him feel free to talk with you whenever about whatever.

And when his parents split up, your moms weren’t as close, not meeting up for their weekly coffee, only catching up once in a while. But you and Si-eun stayed close, the closest you have been.

He always cared for you, just as much as you did for him. You showed it more, but you could see right through him. When you were having a bad day, stressing over school he would always try to cheer you up somehow, or at least be by your side.

Even through texts he could sense something is wrong. You didn’t want to interfere with his studies because you knew how important it was for him. But at moments he didn’t even care. He even skipped cram school sometimes for you, which surprised even you.

You unraveled feelings from so deep in him that without you, he knew he wouldn’t have even know to feel them. You were the first one to confess, even though you were scared. Maybe you caught the signs wrong, maybe he felt like you were just a shoulder to lean on, and a person to laugh with, nothing more.

But you were so wrong. That day he asked you to be his girlfriend.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You couldn’t be happier, you didn’t know what would you do without him. Your parents were also happy, mostly because he helped you with school work, but also because they saw how much you cared for each other.

When you met his friends for the first time, they almost thought Si-eun was joking about having a girlfriend, it didn’t seem like him at all.

But with his new friends, he started getting into fights. You were worried for him. When he didn’t want to go home, dark and almost unwelcoming, he came to your house. Bruises were on his face, cuts on his lips.

You would take care of him. “Si-eun what happened now? Are you okay” you said, stepping aside to let him in. “I got into a fight again” he quietly said, looking down. “Come here” you hugged him hard.

You never scolded him for getting into fights, people were cruel and were asking for it these days. You understood where he was coming from.

You were now both on your bed, changed as he laid on it, head on your lap. You carefully cleaned his wounds, putting a bandaid on. “You know, I think I should study to become a nurse at this point” you said, laughing.

He also cracked a smile, he knew a medical degree would suit you, you cared for people a lot. You stood up, trash from the bandaids in your hand. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to take a shower” you announced, turning away.

He laid in your quiet room, his outside clothes neatly folded on your desk, your almost finished homework spread out beside it. He sat on your table, look down at it. He couldn’t help but smile, your homework was done perfectly, just how he explained it to you a couple days ago.

He felt your phone ring, who could be calling you at this hour? He took it in his hand as an unsaved number was on the screen. His guts told him to answer it, so he did.

“Y/n?” He stayed silent. “It’s Young-bin, tell your little boyfriend to not throw a fit like that again, you should teach him better, huh? You don’t want him hurt, do you?” The boy on the other line continued, Si-eun’s hand gripping the phone from anger. “Teach him better, you’re going to pay for what he and his friends did”

He listened, anger filling him. “Leave her alone” he said, hanging up. He blocked the number, deleting the call from the call history and putting the phone where it was.

At this point Yeong-bin knew Si-eun’s weak spots. Si-eun couldn’t shake off the fact that you were the next target.

You opened the door, him looking up at you. “You tired?” you asked him as he nodded, hands on his lap. You sat on your bed, pulling the blanket over you, of course making space for him.

He got in next to you, hugging you close. You smiled to yourself, whispering “goodnight” closing your eyes. He didn’t say anything back, just hugging you tighter. He was sleepy at all now, all he could think was punching Young-bin so hard he wouldn’t even think of you again.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The next day came, you were both in bed. The birds were starting to chirp, sun rays heating up your faces. Since it was sunday, you convinced him to spend the day with you.

You both talked, he helped you finish the homework that you didn’t get to yesterday. He felt joyful when he was with you, not showing it that much but you noticed.

He heard his phone buzz and he got nervous, what if it was Yeong-bin again? He looked at the message, relieved seeing Su-ho’s name come up. “Do you want to go get lunch with Su-ho and Beom-seok?” he asked, looking up at you as you were playing on your phone.

“Yeah, sure we can go. But I have to get ready first” you said, getting up. You picked an outfit, getting an opinion from him. He kept some clothes at your house for days like these, your scent on them.

At the diner, Si-eun still couldn’t stop thinking about that phone call. He held you close, from time to time looking around as paranoia filled him.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Monday came, he got up early. He put on his school uniform, leaving his house quickly. He knew the only way to get Yeong-bin alone was when he got out his house in the morning, since he transferred schools.

His feet brought him to Yeong-bins neighbourhood, he knew where he lived since he over heard him one time with his friends.

Si-eun stood behind a corner, waiting. When the guy came into view, rage filled him again. Si-eun took him by the collar, clutching it. Yeong-bin was a coward, eyes filling with fear.

“Leave her alone” he repeated his sentence from two days ago. Yeong-bin pushed him, trying to act all tuff. “Yeah? Or what?” he provoked.

He didn’t answer, just grabbed his now wrinkled collar again, smashing his face into the brick wall. “Or this” he said through gritted teeth as the guy tried to fight back but was unsuccessful. Si-eun kept hitting his face into the wall, blood splattering onto Yeong-bins uniform.

He finally let go, the guy dropping to his knees. Si-eun looked down, staring. He turned around as he heard him yell. “You asshole, you will regret this.”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Beom-seok turned his back to Si-eun and Su-ho. Si-eun was transferring schools and moving in with his mom. Su-ho was in a coma.

Your heart broke at the sight of Si-eun, he didn’t want to leave Su-ho’s hospital room. He cried next to you, clutching your shirt.

But apart of Si-un was relieved that you didn’t get involved into this. Beom-seok left you alone. “Y/n, this is my fault.” he said, sitting up right, the room quiet. “If I got there in time, he would’ve been fine” he looked down.

“If what I should’ve been the one in a coma” his hands balled in fists. You put your hand on his shoulder as he looked into your eyes.

“Si-eun none of this was your fault, you should know it” “Neither of you deserved what happened” you glanced at Su-ho, feeling bad for both of them. “He will be okay” you reassured him, hand rubbing circles on his back.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You and Si-eun spent the summer together, every day. He wasn’t the same as he used to be. At first he didn’t even go out of his room, but you always stayed. You talked to him, brought him something to eat.

You both visited Su-ho every other day later on. Si-eun changed, but he tried to not push you away, he knew it would only make him feel worse.

Slowly he got a little better, but not quite. After all of this, he realised he should value you even more. He was moving to his mom’s house, and you helped him pack.

You and your mom had helped him move, Si-eun carrying the last box. “Hi Y/m/n!” “How have you been? It’s been ages” Si-eun’s mom hugged your mom as you and Si-eun went into his new room.

You helped him unpack everything, making it feel like home. Or at least you tried to. You sat on the bed, exhausted. Si-un sat next to you, looking around.

“Hey, it’s not so bad is it?” you look over to him. “I guess so..” he quietly said as he felt a kiss on his cheek. “And we won’t be that far away” you scanned his face, dark circles under his eyes.

You closed your eyes, resting your head on his shoulder. “Let’s take a nap” you murmured, yawning. You laid on the small bed, barely fitting both of you. He let himself close his eyes, feeling comforted and secure with you hugging him, he really needed this.

With closed eyes Si-eun softly spoke “I’m worried”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The school year started, and you still saw Si-eun every weekend, whether it was him coming over to you or you to him. The dark circles got worse, your heart ached. He did tell you he slept better when you were with him, so you always tried to be there as much as you could.

He still talked about Su-ho and you couldn’t lie to yourself, you missed him too. His jokes were funny and he always made you blush with his comments about you and Si-eun, he was a good friend to both you and him.

He got into a little trouble here and there but most importantly - he found friends. Little by little you could see the tiniest spark come back in him. You felt happy for him.

Until Na Beak-jin and his union started bothering him and his friends, Hu-min, Hyun-tak and Jun-tae. His fear grew. The fear of them coming to get you.

Every buzz of your phone caught his attention, what if the union texted you? When you were together outside paranoia was swirling in his head, looking around more than he should. He kept his phone close at all times, waiting for a message from you, what if you needed his help?

Unknowingly to him, one day his nightmare came true. It was tuesday, the sun was shining and it was beautiful day out. You said goodbye to your friends and headed home. You were walking on the asphalt as a guy with glasses stopped you.

“Hey beautiful” he said, hands in his pockets as he blocked your way. You stood there confused, looking up. “Can.. Can i help you..?” you asked unsurely. He came up close to your face, inspecting every detail. A sick smile spread onto his face. “Ah I can see why Si-eun took a liking to you”

You stood frozen, even more confused. His smile didn’t look welcoming at all. “Move, you’re in my way” you said, clutching your backpack straps. “No need to be so rude, Y/n” he calmly said, watching your reaction. You didn’t tell him your name.

“I’m Seong-je” he continued, putting a cigarette in his mouth. “I came here all this way to meet you, and this how you treat me?” he grabbed your hair roughly, bring your face up to his.

He took his phone out as he opened the camera app, putting his hand up, facing the camera so both of you were in frame. “Smile, for that boyfriend of yours” he said, snapping the picture. His hand was in your face, confusion, fury and fear printed on your face.

“There” he said, his hand leaving your presence as he took the cigarette. “As I said I only came here to say hello” “We will see each other soon” he smiled with that sick grin, turning around and walking away, who was he?

Si-eun’s heart sank at the photo he received. His eyes focused on you. He could see you were in your school uniform, picture taken not far from your house. Seong-je came to you.

He felt at fault, you were unsafe because of him. Na beak-jin sent him, Si-eun knew. If he didn’t take further action, he knew something worse could happen to you, his friends.

Si-eun quickly pulled his phone, calling you. “Y/n are you okay?” he asked once you picked up the phone. Your voice was shaky, quiet. “Yes, but what about you?? Is everything okay over there” you asked.

“Yes, do you want me to come over?” he raised his voice, he felt so guilty. “If you can, yeah” you smiled to yourself.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The day came. The big fight to finally end the conflicts, to put the union to an end. With Su-hos intelligence he came up with a plan, calculated the probabilities of them winning.

Si-eun came to the fight just on his planned time, when Hu-him was already on the ground, barely breathing. Anger filled him, those deep eyes now dark, face emotionless. He took the brass knuckles out of his pocket, putting it on.

“Yeon Si-eun” Beak-jin said, face bruised up. Si-eun’s fear of you getting hurt, turned into anger. “I’m here to fight, not talk” he contained himself, calm. Beak-jin was the first one to throw a punch, he dodged it.

Si-eun kicked him, grabbing his blazer with a strong grip. The taller one threw punches until one finally hit Si-eun. Face burning, he went to his leg, smashing it with the metal.

“Yeon Si-eun!” Beak-jin screamed, kicking him. Na Beak-jin deserved to suffer. Si-eun stood up, hair messy and uniform now muddy. He punched Beak-jin, him holding up his nose.

He took Si-eun by his tie, showing no mercy. He punched and kicked him, screaming with anger. Si-eun was knocked to the ground, eyes blurry and moves sluggish.

No. He couldn’t give up now, he had to stand up, for you. He got onto his feet, unsteady. His wet uniform stuck to his skin. He grabbed the other’s hand, twisting it. His face scrunched in pain as he felt a punch knock him onto the ground.

Si-eun strangled his body with his legs, repeatedly punching his open wounds. Beak-jin couldn’t even fight back anymore, eyes closed and barely any oxygen coming into his lungs.

Hu-min stood behind them, he didn’t even need to intervene as they planned, this was it. They won.

Unknowingly, you had came to see him, he wasn’t answering his phone and you had a gut wrenching feeling something was wrong. At first you texted Hyun-tak but when you were unsuccessful you tried contacting Jun-tae who luckily answered, texting you an address to go to.

Guys started cheering, though the union stayed silent. After a while they started leaving, Si-eun stopped. He stood alone, looking back.

Until he heard your voice. His head immediately turned to you, he felt relieved. You ran to him, as he opened his arms out for you. He has never hugged you so tight before, a smile spreading across his beaten up face, stinging.

He didn’t need to worry anymore, at least for a while.

[dismalflo]

I hate you. I'm sure.

sirius black x fem!reader ✩ 3.6k words

summary: For years, you’ve hated Sirius. But when Regulus and James make an announcement, tempers flare until you reach your breaking point.

for this request here.

cw: angst, unrequited love, sirius was a dick to reader in the past, regulus and reader are best friends,

an: i believe this will have one or two more parts because i can't deny myself a happy ending.

Coming home from work should be the most relaxing part of your day. But it’s hard to unwind when you walk in and find Regulus perched stiffly on the sofa, wringing his hands in his lap instead of retreating to his room like he usually does.

It’s immediately clear something’s wrong. He doesn’t even flinch at the clatter of your keys hitting the dish by the door or the way you kick off your shoes with a muttered curse.

“You alright, Reg?” you ask, stepping into the room. He doesn’t jump – just slowly turns his head to look at you, his expression distant.

“I need you to do me a favour,” he says, voice flat and final.

You nod before you’ve even thought about it. “Of course. Anything. What is it?”

You sit on the edge of the couch. Over the years, you’ve learned there’s very little you wouldn’t do for Regulus, and little he wouldn’t do for you. But now he’s looking at you like a cat who's finally caught the mouse. It makes you wary.

“Well, James and I thought it might be nice to have all our friends together and–”

“No,” you say, cutting him off.

“You just said anything,” he retorts, folding his arms.

“I rescind my offer.”

“Don’t be a child, Y/N.”

“I’m not being a child,” you protest, flopping back into the cushions with a groan. “You know I don’t like Potter’s friends.” You squint, as if scrolling through a mental list. “Well, the tall, bookish one isn’t awful–”

“You know Remus’ name.”

“—James is fine, I guess. He makes you happy, and that counts for something,” you admit. “But the other two are dreadful.”

Regulus hunches forward at this, hand raising to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. Frustration he had been expecting, but that doesn't make it any easier.

“The other two being Pettigrew and my brother?”

“Exactly,” you say, cheered by his understanding.

To your dismay, Regulus looks up at you with a slow, knowing smile. That trap you suspected? It just snapped shut.

“You’re in luck,” he says, sitting up straighter. “They’re not friends with Pettigrew anymore.”

“So?”

“So you only have to deal with one of them,” he replies, and lifts a finger before you can argue. “Sirius is a prat, yes and I know you hate him. But he’s my brother. And he’s just as important to me as you are.”

Maybe it’s the way he says it. With pleading eyes and a soft tone but you feel your resolve crumbling quickly.

“I want to do this because I love James and we have something to tell everyone,” he continues, “and it would mean a lot to me if you were there. Just one night.”

Hearing Regulus speak so candidly about his feelings when he’s usually so reserved, is what finally breaks down the walls. James is – to your dismay – a good guy, the best for Reg, and what kind of friend would you be if you denied him this.

-

The flat is too warm, too loud, and smells faintly of something burnt – James’ attempt at canapés, probably. You’ve taken two steps inside and already regret agreeing to this. The space is brimming with laughter and the kind of casual affection only people who’ve known each other forever can manage.

You smooth your hands down the front of your clothes, casting a glance around the room for someone tolerable. Remus catches your eye from the drinks table and offers a polite nod, one you return with a quiet sigh of relief. At least you’re not entirely alone in your discontent.

Then, of course, there’s a shoulder brushing your own.

"Evening, poppet."

"You’re like a rash," you say, brushing him away as you move toward the drinks.

Sirius slides in next to you, unbothered. "You know, I've been working on being more tolerable. For you."

You arch a brow. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

He grins, wolfish and unapologetic. “I’d show you, if you let me.”

You don’t answer, just pour yourself a drink. Fingers tightening around the glass when he doesn’t leave.

You’ve tried hating him quietly these last few years. But some things don’t soften with time. Some people don’t change, not really.

Sirius Black was hell to you in school. All biting remarks and cruel nicknames, too intelligent to be harmless and too arrogant to be ignored. To everyone else, he was a harmless kind of chaos – fun, charming, reckless. But not to you.

To you, he was the boy who’d mocked everything about your name, your family, your house. Who had made being a Slytherin something to be ashamed of – especially when you dared to stand beside his younger brother.

Then, just like that, he vanished.

He ran away after fifth year, leaving Regulus to shoulder the fury of their family alone. Left him to rot under pressure Sirius didn’t have the courage to face. Regulus never said it aloud, but you remember the way he didn’t eat. The letters from their parents, full of venom. The nights he stayed silent, staring at the wall like it might give him answers.

You were the one who sat beside him through all of it.

So when Sirius came crawling back – not even to Regulus, but to you, asking how his brother was – you had no sympathy to offer. Not a word. Just a cold shoulder and a closed door.

He kept trying. The questions turned to small talk, which turned into jokes, which eventually turned into flirting.

Like that was the way back in.

Like trying to charm you out of hating him would make it all go away. And he’s kept it up since. Even now, when he and Regulus have never been closer and there's no need to get on your good side.

"Don’t be like that," Sirius says, bumping your shoulder. "It’s a party. I’m trying to be civil."

"This is you being civil?"

He lifts his hands in mock surrender. "You’re impossible."

"And you’re deluded."

But even as you speak, your voice is tired. It’s always like this. You push, he deflects. You ice over, he melts right through. It’s exhausting, pretending the flirting doesn’t get under your skin just a little. Not because you want it, but because it means he’s here again. Still orbiting. Still trying.

The laughter in the room quiets like a slow, receding wave.

James stands on the low step by the fireplace, holding a wine glass that's been empty for the better part of an hour. Regulus is beside him, standing straight and hands clasped behind his back like he’s about to deliver a press statement, not a toast.

You know it’s coming before James even opens his mouth.

“Oi!” he calls out, cheeks flushed and eyes too bright. “Can I have everyone’s attention for just a second?”

Around the room, the conversation hushes. Remus turns down the music. Lily tucks a bottle under her arm like a baby. Sirius appears at your elbow again like a summoned curse, wine glass swinging dangerously from two fingers.

“We have some news.”

You already know. It's written all over Regulus' face – calm, but barely. His lips twitch at the corners like he’s fighting back something softer.

James, predictably, does not fight anything at all.

“I asked Reg to marry me.” His voice lifts, bright with joy. “And he said yes.”

The cheer is immediate and loud, swallowing the room in a blanket of sound. Someone whistles. Glasses clink. Lily lets out a happy, high-pitched squeal that’s completely uncharacteristic, even for her.

Sirius is already moving, bounding forward with a wide, blinding grin. “You’re joking–Reg, you–Merlin–” He grabs them both in a hug that’s too tight and entirely sincere, and for a moment, just a moment, you see it:

He’s just a brother again. Just a boy who’s happy his family is still here, still fighting for each other, despite everything.

And you?

You feel your chest tighten, not from sentiment, but from grim resignation.

Because of course this means you’ll be stuck with them now. The whole bloody Gryffindor brigade. Their parties, their dinners, their group trips. This is it. Your fate is sealed.

You sip your drink and quietly mourn the quiet life you might’ve had if Regulus had fallen for someone less… social.

Eventually, the chaos settles. People return to their drinks. Laughter bubbles in renewed waves. Sirius glances back at you once, as if checking to see if you’re still watching. You are. You don’t smile.

But after a while, when it’s safe and no one’s looking too closely, you make your way over to Regulus.

He looks pleased but a little wary as you approach, a mirror of how you must look to him.

You hug him wordlessly. He stiffens slightly at first, then relaxes, arms coming up around you like it’s instinct.

“Congratulations,” you murmur into his shoulder. “I'm happy for you.”

When you pull back, James is right there, practically buzzing with anticipation. His hands flap at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

You glance at him.

“Potter.”

He straightens like a soldier being addressed.

You offer a hand, then pull him in for a quick hug; brief, efficient. Then you step back and give him the barest of nods, voice even.

“Well done. And… Thank you. Really.”

You don’t elaborate, because you don’t need to. He knows what you’re thanking him for. For giving Regulus something he could never find in that house. Something impossible to him when he was young.

James beams so hard it’s almost blinding as you walk away. “Thank you–thank you. That means–bloody hell, Reg, did you hear that? She said thank you! Do you think she likes me now?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “That’s as close as you’re ever going to get.”

Slipping away from the noise and the commotion of the room, you make your way to the far corner. You’re genuinely happy for Regulus and James – how could you not be? They’re in love, and after everything, they deserve this happiness.

The laughter from the party fades, but it’s soon replaced with a presence at your side. You don’t need to look up to know who it is.

Sirius’ voice is too smooth, too practiced. “Guess we’re stuck with each other now.”

“You know,” he continues, “Regulus is going to be busy now with all this wedding planning, and James will no doubt drag him off on some romantic getaway, If you want some company….” His voice drops to that teasing note, the one he’s been using for years. The one you think you hate.

You freeze, the words stinging in your chest more than you’d like to admit. You push him away, and he flirts. You try to ignore him, and he stays right there, playing that same game he’s played since school.

But not tonight. Tonight, you don’t have the patience.

“Don’t,” you snap, your voice sharp as you turn on him, eyes narrowing. “I’m not in the mood for your nonsense, Sirius. So go back to celebrating, and leave me out of it.”

Without another word, you storm out the balcony door into the cold night air, taking in a sharp breath. The crisp air bites at your skin, and for the first time since walking into the flat, you feel like you can breathe again.

Regulus watches you from the doorway, brows furrowed as he sees you storm off, leaving Sirius standing behind with his usual smirk wiped clean. Regulus watches for a few moments, unsure what just happened.

Then, with a quiet sigh, he steps away from the group and crosses the room quickly. “Sirius,” he calls out, voice low but firm.

Sirius, now with his hands shoved in his pockets, looks over at his younger brother, eyes wide as if he hadn’t expected Regulus to approach him. “What’s up?”

“What did you do?” Regulus asks, with a look of frustration crossing his face.

Sirius shrugs, unconcerned. “I don’t know, I just did what I usually do.  A Bit of fun, bit of flirting. You know how it is.” He offers a half-hearted grin, though it’s clear the spark of confidence has dimmed a little.

Regulus stares at him, his expression growing more grim with each passing second. 

“It’s obviously not just ‘a bit of fun’ to her, Sirius. Do you even realise what you’re doing? She’s not some game for you to play. If you’ve got feelings for her, stop pretending.”

Sirius falters. The grin fades from his face, leaving nothing but the barest hint of confusion and something else; something less confident, maybe even a little ashamed.

“I... didn’t mean to…” he trails off, his voice quiet now, not the usual sarcasm or arrogance that’s so typical of him.

“You never mean to, Sirius.” Regulus sighs, rubbing his temples. “So go apologise. I’m serious. And I mean really apologise. Not some half-arsed joke or charming line. Do it properly. Don’t make this worse.”

-

You're gripping the railing too tight, jaw clenched as the laughter from inside becomes muffled through the glass. It’s not just tonight, not just this moment. It’s years of build-up –years of Sirius acting like it’s all a game, while you’ve had to shoulder the consequences of things he walked away from.

You hear the door open behind you. Footsteps. Hesitant, for once.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, as if waiting for you to acknowledge him.

You don’t.

Finally, softly, he says, “Hey.”

You laugh – low, bitter. “No charming quip this time? No pet name?”

“I’m trying to apologise,” he says, voice stiff like it doesn’t fit right in his mouth.

You turn to face him slowly, arching a brow. “Apologise? That’s new.”

“What is your problem?” he snaps suddenly, stepping forward. “Why do you hate me so much? I’ve tried. I’ve tried being nice, I’ve tried–flirting, joking, hell, I even asked Remus how not to be a prick, which he found hilarious, by the way. And it doesn’t matter what I do. You still look at me like I’m nothing.”

You stare at him, disbelief curling in your chest.

“My problem?” Your voice shakes with restrained anger. “You’re a coward, Sirius. Regulus might have forgiven you for what you did to him, but I can’t. I won’t. Because I remember. I remember how he didn’t sleep for weeks. How he flinched when someone said your name. How he nearly destroyed himself trying to be the son your parents wanted because you left him to deal with it alone.”

His eyes flicker, but you don’t stop.

“And you know what else? I remember how you treated me. Like shit. Like I was just another name to spit at because you thought I was everything you hated. Then you left and suddenly decided I was worth something? No. You didn’t want me, you wanted what I could give you – information. Access. Regulus.”

“That’s not true—”

“You used me, Sirius.” Your voice cuts clean. “And now you stand here wondering why I hate you?”

His face twists in frustration. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it?”

“I was a child!” he shouts, finally breaking. “I was a stupid, angry, scared kid who didn’t know how to love people properly, alright? I was sixteen and I thought running away would fix everything. And maybe it was selfish and maybe I was a bastard, but I didn’t know how to stay either!”

You stare at him, breathing hard. There’s a flash of something wounded in his voice – too raw, too real. But it doesn’t soften you. Not completely.

“I know that, Sirius,” you say, quieter now. “I know you were a child. But you’re not one anymore, even if you still act like you are. You flirt like it’s a joke. Pretend you’re interested like it doesn’t cost you anything. But it does, Sirius. It costs me. It’s pathetic.”

He looks like you slapped him.

The silence stretches between you, tense and ugly. The wind picks up, tugging at your clothes, biting your skin.

Sirius swallows hard. When he speaks again, his voice is different. Small. “I’m not pretending.”

You blink.

He looks away, jaw tight. “I’m not pretending with you. I never was. I know I started this whole thing trying to get to Reg, but that changed a long time ago. I don’t flirt with you because it’s funny. I flirt because I’m in love with you, and I know you’ll never love me back, and I don’t know how else to be close to you.”

The world goes still.

He breathes out, almost a laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “You hate me. I get it. You always will. But I’m not lying.”

You stare at him.

The words hang between you, heavy and terrible.

You should feel triumphant. He deserves this pain; you’ve wanted to see him brought low, haven’t you? Wanted him to feel some fraction of what you felt. Wanted him to understand that not everything can be laughed away, that some things don’t get fixed so easily.

But standing there now, in the sharp silence that follows his confession, you just feel…

Exhausted.

Like your bones have turned to glass under the weight of the years between you. All the resentment. All the words unsaid. All the what ifs.

You take a breath, then another, but it doesn’t help. Nothing helps, because suddenly all the anger is just a hollow thing with nothing left to burn.

“I didn’t ask you to love me,” you say, and it comes out sharper than you mean it to.

Sirius flinches like it’s a slap.

Hating the way your voice trembles, you add, “You don’t get to dump that on me like it’s my problem.”

“I’m not—” he starts, but you hold up a hand, cutting him off.

“No. Just stop.” You exhale, gripping the railing again just to keep your hands from shaking. “You say you’re not pretending, but it’s always been pretend, Sirius. Everything you do is a performance.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but this time you push forward.

“I’m not some fucking penance for you to serve,” you snap. “I’m not your apology to Regulus, or your punishment, or your proof that you’ve changed. I’m not here to make you feel better about the person you used to be.”

He takes a slow step toward you, eyes wide, something frantic blooming behind them. “I don’t think that. I don’t–fuck, I know I’ve messed this up. I know I don’t deserve you, but I do care. I care about you.”

You laugh, bitter and sharp. “And that’s supposed to fix everything? That you care?”

Sirius is silent. He looks like he’s about to say something, but you don’t give him the chance.

“Here’s the truth,” you say, voice low, cruel, because if you don’t kill this now, it might kill you instead. “If you really cared about me, you’d leave me alone.”

And that–that–finally silences him.

His expression shatters, something raw and devastated surfacing in his eyes. He sways where he stands, like you’ve taken the wind out of him.

“Right,” he says quietly, nodding once. “Right.”

And then, without another word, he turns and walks back inside.

You don’t follow him.

You stay on the balcony long after the door clicks shut, letting the cold bleed through your clothes until it numbs more than just your skin. You stand there and try to breathe, but everything tastes like regret.

Inside, the laughter picks back up, distant and warm and untouched by what just happened.

Your hands are trembling now, not from the cold.

He’s gone. You asked him to go. You meant it—didn’t you?

You cross your arms over your chest, curling in on yourself as the guilt begins to settle like dust.

You wanted to hurt him. You did hurt him. And now, standing in the aftermath, all you feel is;

Empty.

Because the truth you didn’t say—the one you couldn’t admit, even as he stood there practically begging for a scrap of hope—is that you don’t hate him. Not anymore. Haven’t in a long time.

You told yourself the resentment was righteous, that holding onto it was protection. But maybe it’s just been fear. Fear that if you let it go, you’d have to confront something worse: the fact that you wanted him to be sincere. That some part of you hoped he wasn’t pretending.

And tonight? He wasn’t.

You exhale shakily, bending forward and pressing your forehead against the railing.

Maybe you were right. Maybe none of this can be fixed with a confession. Maybe his love doesn’t change the past. Maybe he doesn’t deserve forgiveness.

But maybe neither do you. At least not after that.

Because if you're honest, truly honest, in that quiet, brutal way people only are with themselves when no one else is listening, you already know:

You’ll regret what you said tonight.

Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next week.

But one day, you’ll think about the way he looked at you before he left and you’ll wish you had said something else.

Done something else.

Been someone else.

But by then?

He might finally be gone for good.

masterlist <3

[chrissssssmut]

can i request a fic where, after the reader's girlfriend breaks up with him, his elder sister jiwoo (tripleS) comforts him and they end up fucking 🙏🏻🙏🏻

STILL THINKING ABOUT HER?

TripleS Jiwoo x Male Reader

AN: Surprise! Finished this super fast! Hope you guys could still wait for the others!

It started with the sound of your bedroom door creaking open—slow, careful, like whoever was on the other side wasn’t sure if they should be walking in at all.

You didn’t move.

The room was dark, but the faint hallway light outlined her silhouette perfectly: soft curves in an oversized hoodie, one hand clutching the doorframe, the other holding what looked like a can of Coke.

“Hey,” Jiwoo’s voice was low, casual, but laced with concern. “You good?”

You scoffed quietly, buried in your pillow. “What do you think?”

She stepped in anyway. No knock, no permission. Just Jiwoo being Jiwoo—your dad’s new wife’s daughter. Technically your step-sister, but you barely saw each other as family. You hadn’t grown up together. She moved in only a year ago.

And now she was in your room, sitting on your bed like it was hers.

“I heard about Seoyun,” she said after a pause. “She really broke up with you by text?”

You rolled onto your back, arm flung across your forehead. “Yeah. Just… three sentences. ‘It��s not working. I’m sorry. Don’t text me again.’”

Jiwoo made a sound—half laugh, half snort. “Wow. Cold bitch move.”

“She’s not a bitch,” you muttered defensively.

Jiwoo raised an eyebrow. “You’re defending her after that? Wow. You really were in deep.”

You didn’t reply. You hated how easily she got under your skin, but… you hated even more how right she usually was.

She kicked off her slippers and folded her legs, sitting cross-legged next to you. You could smell her perfume—light, citrusy, familiar from passing her in the hallway or brushing past her in the kitchen. She reached out and ran her fingers through your hair like she’d done it a thousand times.

You froze.

“You know,” she murmured, “not to make it about me, but… I always thought Seoyun was kind of boring. Pretty, sure. But zero personality. Like… if tofu were a person.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for the comfort.”

“I am comforting you,” Jiwoo said innocently. “Just… in my own way.”

Her hand didn’t stop moving—fingertips tracing your scalp, a gentle scratch at the nape of your neck. You hated how good it felt.

“Why do you care, anyway?” you asked, not looking at her.

She clicked her tongue. “Because you’re moping. And I live here. And it’s annoying.”

You huffed.

“And maybe,” she added with a smirk, “I like you better when you’re not acting like a kicked puppy.”

You finally glanced at her—and she was already staring. Her eyes locked with yours, and for the first time, you realized how close she was sitting. Her thigh was brushing yours, the hoodie slipping off one shoulder, exposing soft skin and the strap of her tank top underneath.

“What’re you looking at?” she teased, tilting her head.

You looked away quickly. “Nothing.”

“Ohhh, don’t lie,” she grinned. “Were you staring at my shoulder? That’s so scandalous.”

“Jiwoo…”

“Or was it the bra strap?” she whispered, leaning closer, lips inches from your ear. “You do know I’m not wearing pants, right?”

You swallowed hard. She wasn’t. Just a long hoodie. Maybe underwear under there, maybe not.

“I thought you came to comfort me,” you said stiffly, trying to control your breathing.

“I am comforting you,” she purred. “Don’t you feel better already?”

Your heart was racing. You sat up a little, leaning on your elbows, but Jiwoo didn’t move. If anything, she leaned in more—nose brushing your cheek.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said softly. “You’re just teasing, right?”

Jiwoo smiled. A slow, knowing, wicked smile. “Maybe I started teasing. But maybe…” Her hand slid down your chest, over your shirt, then lower, trailing along your stomach. “Maybe I got curious.”

You caught her wrist. “Jiwoo.”

She paused, but didn’t pull away. “Just say the word,” she whispered. “And I’ll stop.”

You hesitated.

Then let go of her wrist.

“…Don’t stop.”

She was on top of you in seconds.

Lips crashing into yours, warm and soft, her hands sliding under your shirt like she’d been dying to touch you for years. You kissed her back—hard. Months of frustration, heartbreak, loneliness—all pouring into the heat between your mouths.

Jiwoo moaned into the kiss, grinding against you. “Mmm. There he is. That’s the real you.”

Your hands found her thighs, bare and warm under the hoodie, and pulled her closer. She gasped when you pushed up against her.

“You’re already hard?” she grinned. “God, your ex was such a waste. Bet she didn’t even suck you properly.”

You groaned. “Why are you so dirty?”

She bit your neck playfully. “Because I know you like it.”

Then her hand was slipping under your waistband—fingers wrapping around you. You gasped, hips bucking into her palm.

“Fuck, Jiwoo—”

She licked her lips. “Shh. Let your big sister take care of you.”

That shouldn’t have turned you on more. But it did.

She slid down your body, tugging your pants down with one hand, her eyes never leaving yours. “Let me see how heartbroken you really are, baby.”

She went down on you slowly, deliberately—tongue teasing, lips curling into a smirk every time you gasped or cursed her name. She loved the control. Loved the way your hands tangled in her hair, the way your thighs tensed with every motion.

When you finally couldn’t take it anymore and pulled her up, kissing her hard, she only laughed breathlessly against your lips.

“You gonna fuck your big sister now, huh?” she teased. “Gonna cry on my shoulder and cum in me all in the same night?”

“You’re insane,” you muttered.

Jiwoo winked. “You love it.”

You did. God help you, you did.

Your hands gripped her hips like a lifeline as she slid down on you, inch by inch. Jiwoo gasped when you bottomed out inside her, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as her body trembled slightly from the stretch.

“F-fuck—Jiwoo—” you groaned, barely able to breathe. She was tight, hot, soaking wet. Every part of her clenched around you like she was made for this—for you.

Jiwoo opened her eyes again slowly, lips curled into that same smug, wicked smile. “Yeah?” she breathed, grinding her hips in a slow, devastating circle. “That good already?”

Your head tipped back into the pillow as a guttural moan left your throat. “You feel… so fucking good.”

Her nails scratched lightly down your chest. “You think your little high school girlfriend could take you this deep?” She sank down again deliberately, drawing another strangled moan from you. “Huh, baby?”

“Don’t talk about her—”

“Why not?” she whispered, leaning forward, her hands on your chest for balance. “You’re inside me now. Not her. She didn’t deserve this cock—I do.”

She started moving faster, hips lifting and dropping in a rhythm that sent lightning through your spine. The slapping sound of skin meeting skin filled the room—wet, filthy, intimate.

Your fingers dug into the soft flesh of her ass, guiding her movements now. She let you take over for a moment, panting, flushed, letting you thrust up into her. Her hoodie slid up, exposing her stomach, then her bare chest. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

You reached up to cup her breasts, fingers brushing her nipples, and she gasped—then laughed breathlessly.

“God, you’re desperate,” she teased, biting her lip as she rode you harder. “You gonna cry again? Or are you just gonna fill me up like a good little brother?”

You pulled her down into a kiss—sloppy, deep, tongues clashing. She moaned into your mouth as you rolled your hips up, fucking her deeper, harder.

Her rhythm started to break. Her body trembled again, this time not from teasing, but from the steady build toward release.

“Ah—fuck—you’re hitting so deep—” Jiwoo choked out, head falling to your shoulder. “Shit, baby, you’re gonna make me—”

You flipped her before she could finish the sentence—rolling her onto her back, still buried inside her. Jiwoo let out a surprised laugh, then moaned when you slammed back in.

“Whoa—someone’s getting bold,” she breathed, wrapping her legs around your waist. “So rough all of a sudden… is this how you fuck your ex in your head?”

You stared down at her, breath ragged. “No. This is all for you.”

That shut her up—for a second.

Her voice was breathless, high-pitched, whiny now. “Then don’t stop. Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

You didn’t.

You kept thrusting, harder now, the bed creaking beneath you, her nails clawing into your back as she got louder, more desperate.

“Jiwoo—fuck—I’m close—”

“Inside,” she gasped. “Don’t pull out—I want it. I want all of it.”

You slammed into her faster, your rhythm turning frantic as your climax approached.

“Jiwoo—!”

“Cum for me, baby—fill your big sister up, fuck—”

You exploded inside her with a growl, hips jerking as your release overtook you. Jiwoo cried out beneath you, arching her back, body shuddering as she came too—legs locked around you, holding you in as deep as possible.

You collapsed onto her, both of you soaked in sweat and panting, your heart pounding in your ears.

She ran a hand through your hair, laughing softly.

“Well,” she whispered, kissing your cheek, “I think I win Best Comforter of the Year.”

You kissed her again, dazed.

“…You’re insane.”

Jiwoo grinned.

“But I made you forget her, didn’t I?”

The smell of eggs woke you before the sun did.

You blinked, barely registering the mess of clothes scattered across your floor. Jiwoo’s hoodie was hanging off the corner of your bed, your boxers were inside out on the floor, and the faint soreness in your thighs reminded you that last night hadn’t been a dream.

Holy shit.

You really fucked your step-sister.

And she really enjoyed it.

You dragged yourself out of bed, tossing on sweats and a shirt, and padded barefoot to the kitchen.

Jiwoo was already at the stove. She was wearing your hoodie now — sleeves too long, hem barely covering the curve of her ass, and absolutely nothing else. She flipped eggs with one hand and sipped orange juice with the other.

She glanced at you with a lazy smile. “Morning, loverboy.”

You froze. “Jiwoo—don’t say stuff like that.”

“What? Too soon?” she smirked. “Should I have waited till after breakfast to call you that?”

You sat at the counter, rubbing your face. “This is insane. What if someone finds out?”

“Relax,” she said, sliding a plate in front of you. “Dad's on a business trip and Mom’s doing yoga in Jeju. We’ve got the house to ourselves for a whole weekend.”

“That’s not the point,” you muttered.

Jiwoo leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “You didn’t seem so worried about that when you were balls deep in me last night.”

You nearly choked on your orange juice.

“Jesus—Jiwoo.”

She giggled and pulled back. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

You glared at her. “You’re seriously not weirded out?”

She took a slow bite of egg, chewing with a thoughtful hum. “We're not blood-related. You’re hot. I’m bored. You needed to forget your ex. And I like making you squirm.” She licked her fork. “So no. I’m not weirded out.”

You said nothing. Just stared at your food.

“Still thinking about her?” Jiwoo asked softly.

You glanced up.

She wasn’t smirking anymore. Her eyes were darker now—watching you carefully.

“…Not really,” you admitted.

She smiled. “Good.”

You escaped to the bathroom after breakfast, needing to wash off the confusion—and the scent of sex still lingering on your skin.

You peeled off your clothes and turned the shower on, stepping under the spray. The hot water felt like absolution.

Until the door creaked open.

You turned fast. “Jiwoo?!”

She was leaning against the frame, arms crossed under her chest, wearing the same damn hoodie.

“What the hell—can’t I get ten minutes alone?”

Jiwoo walked in slowly, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click.

“You sure you wanna be alone?” she asked, voice low. “You looked like you were about to cry again.”

You stepped back as she approached the fogged-up glass.

“Jiwoo. I’m literally naked.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So? You think I didn’t see all of you last night?” Her fingers hooked under the hoodie and peeled it off slowly, dropping it to the tile.

She wasn’t wearing anything.

You swallowed hard. “Jiwoo—what are you doing?”

She stepped into the shower with you, not even blinking as the water soaked her hair and skin. She was glistening now—wet and beautiful and way too close.

“I’m helping you forget,” she whispered. “Clearly, one round wasn’t enough.”

You backed up until your back hit the tile. Jiwoo didn’t stop.

Her hand wrapped around your shaft before you even realized you were getting hard again.

“You say her name once,” Jiwoo murmured, “and I stop.”

You looked at her—completely soaked, lips parted, eyes burning into yours—and said nothing.

“…That’s what I thought.”

Jiwoo sank to her knees in the shower, water streaming down her face and breasts. Her lips wrapped around the tip of your cock and you nearly lost balance. The heat of her mouth, the suction, the way her tongue curled under you—

“F-fuck—Jiwoo—”

She moaned around you, fingers curling around the base as she took you deeper, slower, more purposeful this time. Her eyes never left yours. She was proving something—and you were losing the argument.

Your hands braced against the wall as your hips twitched. “I’m gonna—Jiwoo, I’m gonna—”

She pulled off with a wet pop and looked up at you, face soaked in water and spit. “Not yet.”

She stood and turned around, pressing her palms against the glass wall of the shower, her ass arching toward you.

“You’re not done making me forget, are you?” she asked sweetly.

You didn’t answer.

You grabbed her hips and slid inside in one thrust. Jiwoo let out a long, desperate moan.

“Oh fuck, that’s it—yes—just like that—”

You pounded into her, harder now, water splashing with every thrust, steam rising between your bodies. Her ass bounced against your hips with every movement, and the way she clenched around you made your head spin.

“You’re gonna wreck me,” she whimpered, voice trembling. “God, you’re gonna fucking ruin me.”

You leaned in close, grabbing her hair, whispering against her ear. “Good. Maybe then you’ll stop acting like this doesn’t mean anything.”

That silenced her.

For one second.

Then she looked over her shoulder with a wild grin. “Baby,” she gasped, “I want it to mean something.”

That was it. You grabbed her tighter, fucked her deeper, until the shower walls shook and Jiwoo was moaning your name like a prayer.

When you came inside her again—loud, breathless, bodies slick and shaking—she collapsed into your arms, dragging both of you to the floor of the shower.

You sat there, holding her, heartbeat against heartbeat, both of you panting under the rain of water.

After a long pause, she finally whispered:

“…Still thinking about her?”

You shook your head slowly.

“Good,” she smiled, nuzzling your chest.

“Because if you ever do, I’ll just have to fuck the memory out of you all over again.”

[hatchan]

You're right and you should say it!

I recently learned a phrase called "dishonest harmony" and I brought this in to show my therapist because I was like "This. This is what I'm really good at. I've been training in this my whole life. But I don't think that's a good thing??"

People pleasing behavior leads to dishonest harmony. We can get really really really good at maintaining harmonious social relationships that are based fundamentally on pretending we don't hate everything about it.

This is from an email I got as being part of Captain Awkward's Patreon:

Dishonest harmony describes the illusion of social peace & cohesion manufactured by the deliberate suppression of conflict, i.e. “We can all get along and have a good time as long as nobody brings up The Incident.” Dishonest harmony (sometimes called dishonest peace) can absolutely be a strategic choice, as patron Rachel S. eloquently describes:

"I am using it to describe a choice I am making in a relationship to not address an intractable issue in favor of maintaining the relationship. Before I was introduced to "Dishonest peace" I was calling it "superficially pleasant". Another way to think about it is maximizing the things I like about a relationship and refusing to engage around the issue that I don't. So I am choosing dishonest peace instead of honest conflict."

In Captain Awkward lingo, it's the assumption that if you are a reasonable person who is capable of remaining calm in the face of other people's shitty behavior, it's somehow easier to pressure you to keep putting up with shitty behavior forever than it is to impose consequences for shitty behavior on unreasonable people. Again, in working on the book, I have been trying to pinpoint the source of the enduring fear that runs underneath some of the common questions I get. Especially questions where there's a solution that should be straightforward, easy, obvious, etc. on the surface ("Just RSVP 'no thanks' and don't go", "Just be honest about how you feel," "Just tell them to knock it off already," etc.) and yet? The questioner is experiencing a seemingly disproportionate amount of worry and self-doubt. "Is this normal?" "Am I making it awkward because I'm just an awkward person?" "Since I'm the only one who seems bothered by this, maybe everyone is right that I'm overreacting and I should just let it go?" "Am I even allowed to feel upset about this?" "If I speak up about this am I gonna lose [my job][my relationship][all my friends][my whole family]?" These questions also tend to include a request for scripts that will stop other people's stressful behavior without ever making anyone feel bad, which feels to me like a recognition that maintaining dishonest harmony is a baseline expectation of the antagonist in the problem. If someone who mistreats you also has the power to put your housing, livelihood, and safety at risk if they don't get their way, "Can I afford to piss this person off right now?" can be quite a literal question.

Just, if there's a solution to be had, it can't be about individually improving ourselves to become more callous and cool about uncool, shitty behavior. "Politely" going with the flow might be the least worst among bad options, for a lot of reasons: You may not feel safe speaking up, especially knowing that other people are unlikely to have your back. If you depend on an unrepentant asshole for safe housing or continued employment, the costs of speaking up might literally outweigh the costs of staying silent, at least in the near term. But also, any time we calculate the costs of dishonest harmony vs. honest conflict, the cost-benefit analysis has to include both the cost to ourselves and the opportunity costs of doing nothing. If all of my reactions are "overreactions," what is the cost of not reacting? If leaving a party where people say racist stuff is "ruining" the party, what's the cost of showing up to or remaining at shitty racist parties? You may decide that preserving a given relationship is worth making a conscious effort to focus on the positives in the present and ignore the other person's bad behavior in the past, but that doesn't mean it doesn't cost anything, it means you've chosen to bear the costs (the pain of cognitive dissonance, the effort of suppressing what you know to be true, the pain of going against what you know to be right, or what Dan Savage has called "the price of admission") because the alternatives are worse or because the potential rewards are worth it to you. Your generosity, your patience, your hope that someday things might be different if you can extend a little grace? Those are gifts you can choose to give, not something you owe.

^^^^ these are just some highlights that I thought added to this post, but I'll copy the full text below the cut for anyone who wants to read the post in full:

"Dishonest Harmony: Explained" by Captain Awkward

I promised you a post about this after the poll from the other day, and here it is!

I stumbled across this term recently on TikTok where I follow a lot of ADHD and AuDHD creators, and it made a whole bunch of things about awkwardness fall into place. I want to do some more research about the origin of the term so I can give proper credit and citation, but here is my understanding so far.

Dishonest harmony describes the illusion of social peace & cohesion manufactured by the deliberate suppression of conflict, i.e. “We can all get along and have a good time as long as nobody brings up The Incident.”

Dishonest harmony (sometimes called dishonest peace) can absolutely be a strategic choice, as patron Rachel S. eloquently describes:

"I am using it to describe a choice I am making in a relationship to not address an intractable issue in favor of maintaining the relationship. Before I was introduced to "Dishonest peace" I was calling it "superficially pleasant". Another way to think about it is maximizing the things I like about a relationship and refusing to engage around the issue that I don't. So I am choosing dishonest peace instead of honest conflict."

We'll come back to this, but first I want to talk about a) dishonest harmony as a tool that power uses to maintain itself and enforce its authority, b) a consistent source of awkwardness, and c) the price it exacts.

Think about every period drama about elaborate systems of manners and dress where the question of "Will Mr. Ten Thousand A Year make a good husband for our plucky heroine?" is completely divorced from "Does he own his fellow human beings (& does he torture them himself or does he outsource all that to the overseers and just bank the profits)?" What's "ruder" in a ballroom setting, being somewhat disinclined to dance, wearing the wrong outfit, or asking that question about your prospective partners?

Think about every "Has the #MeToo Movement Gone Too Far?" article that tried to make the case that loudly objecting to being assaulted at work en masse is somehow worse than assaulting people at work en masse and how rude and annoying and shrill it is for rape victims to "ruin" everyone else's enjoyment of art by rapists. Think about The Case(s) of The Creepy Dude, where having every single woman bounce out of the friend group when she gets tired of being groped is somehow "easier" for the men than the potential friction of kicking out the groper.

Think about every letter to Captain Awkward Dot Com where the gist is "Not only are my loved ones totally fine with hanging out with my abuser, they also berate and punish me for not wanting to hang out with my abuser." Less dramatic perhaps, but no less painful is the cognitive dissonance of interacting with family members who cannot ever confront or admit the pain they cause. Turns out you can go home again, as long as you pretend that your childhood never happened and find a way to remain placid around people who think that your memories of what they did to you are something between malicious lies and personal attacks.

Workplaces run on dishonest harmony. If you asked 1000 strangers to define "professionalism" you'd get a lot of information about punctuality, how to dress, behave, and communicate, as well as a multitude of field-specific expectations for necessary qualifications and professional standards. But would anybody tell you about the part where you are supposed to remain calm, cheerful, and productive no matter how people treat you or what kind of abuses you witness? Sure, your boss pulled a machete out in a meeting, and your coworker screams at you to the point that it's damaging your health, but that's no excuse to slack off!

As I've been revising the book, there's been this thing in my chest that I haven't known how to say about how the very worst moments of my life were not the times that someone did awful things to me, they were about what happened afterward when the people who were supposed to be on my side did nothing to stand up for me and everything to judge and punish me about my reaction to the awful things. I could never win. If I froze, fled, or fawned instead of fighting, then the problem was that I needed to get better at standing up for myself. If I fought back, I was a troublemaker out to ruin everyone's fun. "Just ignore it!" "They only do that because they know it will get a reaction!" "Two wrongs don't make a right!" (I swear, if my atoms physically expanded every time someone told me to be the bigger person when someone harassed or bullied me, by now my mass would block out the fucking sun.) And if I spoke honestly about it, by pointing out bad behavior and double standards, or even just being honest about my own pain, then I was "overreacting," "causing drama," being "too sensitive," "making a big deal out of nothing," etc.

With serial "missing stairs," they would justify their own inaction with stuff like "Well, that's just how they are, it won't make any difference anyway" because in their minds nothing works to stand up to abusers except working patiently behind the scenes to gently change the hearts and minds of abusers by radiating eternal empathy and acceptance at them while pretending that it's not happening, or something. Believe me, I get the impulse to protect one's peace and conserve energy, and they were probably right about the feasibility of changing certain hearts and minds, but you know what? Even if they didn't know how to stop the abuse, it would have made a difference to me to hear,"You're not alone" or "That was incredibly messed up, I'm sorry, I have no idea what to do either." "You're right, but I can't afford to lose this job, that's why I didn't say anything." "Do you want to get out of here for a while?" "Can I bring you some water?" "Do you need a hug?" It would have made a difference to me to have someone be slightly more interested in my safety than their own comfort or how it might affect group cohesion if I remained visibly uncomfortable.

There's this old business parable/anecdote I heard one time, about the "last monkey." If the actual study existed and you know what it was, I'd love to know, but this is the version from my memory of being told about it:

Supposedly scientists did a study where they put bananas on top of a ladder in an enclosure full of monkeys, and when any monkey climbed the ladder to get the bananas, they whole group got punished. by being drenched with icy water. Once the monkeys knew to avoid the ladder, they stopped the punishments. Instead, they gradually introduced new monkeys to the group, and when those monkeys tried to climb the ladder, the experienced monkeys would stop them, no ice water required. Over time, they swapped experienced monkeys out and new monkeys in until none of the original monkeys who had direct experience getting drenched remained. Adding new monkeys to this group produced the same results--New arrivals would be like "hey, banana!" and all the rest of the monkeys would be like "FORBIDDEN LADDER, NO!" and physically prevent them from climbing, even though they didn't know why, until finally everyone stopped trying.

I think the story was told to me in the context of entering a deeply dysfunctional workplace, and it was supposed to be a parable about, idk, the dangers of unquestioning obedience and how fresh eyes on problems from outside are good, actually, but also if you're the new guy and you point out a problem be prepared for coworkers entrenched in systems of punishment to react badly to change and take it out on you even if they can't articulate why. Also (again from memory), monkeys can't make words, so the warnings were less "Welcome, to LabCorp, Bradison! Please don't climb that ladder, you wont like it up there" and more along the lines of a group rugby tackle. FYI, there's an iconic Reddit post called "Don't Rock The Boat" that covers similar ground. In Captain Awkward lingo, it's the assumption that if you are a reasonable person who is capable of remaining calm in the face of other people's shitty behavior, it's somehow easier to pressure you to keep putting up with shitty behavior forever than it is to impose consequences for shitty behavior on unreasonable people.

Again, in working on the book, I have been trying to pinpoint the source of the enduring fear that runs underneath some of the common questions I get. Especially questions where there's a solution that should be straightforward, easy, obvious, etc. on the surface ("Just RSVP 'no thanks' and don't go", "Just be honest about how you feel," "Just tell them to knock it off already," etc.) and yet? The questioner is experiencing a seemingly disproportionate amount of worry and self-doubt. "Is this normal?" "Am I making it awkward because I'm just an awkward person?" "Since I'm the only one who seems bothered by this, maybe everyone is right that I'm overreacting and I should just let it go?" "Am I even allowed to feel upset about this?" "If I speak up about this am I gonna lose [my job][my relationship][all my friends][my whole family]?" These questions also tend to include a request for scripts that will stop other people's stressful behavior without ever making anyone feel bad, which feels to me like a recognition that maintaining dishonest harmony is a baseline expectation of the antagonist in the problem. If someone who mistreats you also has the power to put your housing, livelihood, and safety at risk if they don't get their way, "Can I afford to piss this person off right now?" can be quite a literal question.

Self-help as a genre tends to treat every issue like an individual skill issue. "Here are 10 easy steps for becoming less awkward and more assertive in life!" It's an appealing and timeless formula because we know that we can't fix other people, we can only control ourselves, and anything that offers more self-control and actualization feels automatically more achievable than something that relies on others to accomplish our goals. As a result, self-help as a genre tends to conveniently ignore power dynamics. Even books that are explicitly designed to address that stuff are like "Welp, you can't fix misogyny, so just lean in harder, girlboss the shit out of life, and you too can become so excellent (and rich) that maybe sexism stops affecting you on a personal level!"

It's hard to fix stuff if you can't be honest about where it's broken and the honest truth is that sometimes when we speak up on our own behalf, we lose. Not because we didn't use the right words, or because our timing was bad, or because we were "unprofessional" or "rude" or terminally awkward, but because the people we spoke up to decided that they would rather have dishonest comfort than honest conflict or honest solidarity with us. There are certainly ways to practice being more strategic with language choices and more confident with delivery over time, but there is no perfect, smooth, foolproof way to deliver news that the other person doesn't want to hear that guarantees that they will react a certain way. And to use a trope as old as time, some people would rather shoot the messenger than be forced to deal with the message.

So, what do we do about it? That's a long and complicated answer about something I just learned the word for, but I have a few initial suggestions which are less about finding the perfect way to exist at all times and more about switching your defaults and rebalancing power:

1. Recognize when dishonest harmony is being prioritized, demanded, and enforced and name it for what it is, even if you're only talking to yourself.

2. Recognize that there is always a cost to dishonest harmony, even when it's a choice. Time to recalculate those costs as if you are (at least) an equal participant in your relationships.

3. Going with the flow, smoothing things over, choosing to stay silent for the sake of a relationship or the "greater" good or longer-term goals, etc. are strategic choices, not absolute rules and certainly not moral requirements.

4. There is power in solidarity. You can't stop other people from behaving like assholes, but maybe you can learn to be the person you needed.

What that could look like in practice, using a common scenario:

You're at a party, and someone makes an offensive comment and tries to play it off as a joke. Some people laugh nervously, others don't react at all, and somehow you're the only person who is like "wow, what a gross thing to say." Sensing you're outnumbered, maybe you don't say anything out loud, but you do something, like grab your coat or ask for the check, because it's clearly time to call it a night. And suddenly, all the people who had nothing to say about the verbal turd that The Great Comedian just left in the punch bowl are very concerned about your reaction. "What's wrong, can't you take a joke? Why are you so sensitive? Come on, sit down, don't ruin everyone's good time! Stop overreacting so much!" 

Recognize and name that shit, even if it's just inside your head. This isn't about what an inherently awkward, dramatic, uncool person you are, this is a demand for dishonest harmony from people who prioritize the illusion that everyone is having fun over real evidence that you are not having fun anymore. If the gross thing the other person said didn't "ruin" the party, but your visible discomfort has the power to ruin "everyone's" fun, that's certainly interesting information! If the group has calculated that it costs less to police your reactions than it does to do anything about what you're reacting to, are they right about that? Maybe yes, but maybe no. Just because they bet on it doesn't make it true.

Just, if there's a solution to be had, it can't be about individually improving ourselves to become more callous and cool about uncool, shitty behavior. "Politely" going with the flow might be the least worst among bad options, for a lot of reasons: You may not feel safe speaking up, especially knowing that other people are unlikely to have your back. If you depend on an unrepentant asshole for safe housing or continued employment, the costs of speaking up might literally outweigh the costs of staying silent, at least in the near term. But also, any time we calculate the costs of dishonest harmony vs. honest conflict, the cost-benefit analysis has to include both the cost to ourselves and the opportunity costs of doing nothing. If all of my reactions are "overreactions," what is the cost of not reacting? If leaving a party where people say racist stuff is "ruining" the party, what's the cost of showing up to or remaining at shitty racist parties?

You may decide that preserving a given relationship is worth making a conscious effort to focus on the positives in the present and ignore the other person's bad behavior in the past, but that doesn't mean it doesn't cost anything, it means you've chosen to bear the costs (the pain of cognitive dissonance, the effort of suppressing what you know to be true, the pain of going against what you know to be right, or what Dan Savage has called "the price of admission") because the alternatives are worse or because the potential rewards are worth it to you. Your generosity, your patience, your hope that someday things might be different if you can extend a little grace? Those are gifts you can choose to give, not something you owe. And you don't get to choose what other people are willing to pay.

Because something we all need to reckon with is the fact that "stunned, disapproving silence when people act like bigots and assholes" looks just like "silent agreement with bigots and assholes" from the outside. If we never speak up because we assume that we're all alone or because it "won't make any difference anyway," then there's nothing to prove us wrong, but there's also nothing to light the beacons for anyone else or change the circumstances. If we internalize and enforce the expectation of polite, compliant silence at all costs on others just because we're afraid because of past bad experiences or because we don't want to bear the costs, then we risk becoming the enforcer monkeys (one might even say "flying monkeys") who would rather teach people why there is no point in fighting back than do any of the fighting ourselves. Sometimes you only find out who's on your side when you stop pretending there are no sides or that we're all on the same one. Or as Maud, a friend of Melissa McEwan (of Shakesville fame/notoriety) put it, "There are times when you must speak, not because you are going to change the other person, but because if you don't speak, they have changed you."

So greetings to my fellow boat rockers, last monkeys, "good" daughters, and anyone who has ever been screamed at to Calm Down and Stop Being So Emotional when all we did was fail to hold perfectly and let flecks of someone's rage-spittle decorate our faces until they were done talking and then pretend like it never happened. Dishonest harmony is expensive. Sometimes it's worth it, and sometimes it is extremely not worth it. When we return awkwardness to sender, think about it as sending the emotional dry-cleaning bill to assholes who won't stop pooping on the tablecloth, and then tell me who is being "rude" and "uncivil."

End of manifesto (for now).

Adult realization: you will make mistakes, you will act irrationally. You will commit some wrongs that cannot be fully righted. People will dislike you and misunderstand you for all sorts of reasons. None of these make you a bad person. All you can do is try your best to be kind and just to people, grow and learn.

[wordsinhaled]

i feel like every other day i see posts being like, “is dbda fandom dead? where did everyone go?” and… no? we’re not dead? we’re very much still here.

i still think about my wip fics all the time; they’re not abandoned. i have more fic ideas, even though the words can be unpredictable sometimes so i haven’t done much on ao3 in a while. but i still have many more plans for fic, lots of gifsets in mind, more art i want to draw, and many, many more thoughts about these characters.

the dbda big bang/minibang is literally in progress right now with tons of beautiful fic and art in the process of being created. the fandom just released a 200 page zine full of fic and art! the fandom is making gifs, edits, fics, art, moodboards, playlists. the fandom is paying for multiple billboards to stay up for months at a time, to show support and love for the show & actors, and continues sending cameos to george and jayden when their cameos are open. there’s a fan meetup planned. there are new prompt weeks/events popping up all the time.

in short… the fandom and its talented and passionate creatives haven’t gone anywhere. some authors or artists’ interests may have shifted over time, or they are in multiple fandoms at a time (myself, i’m currently watching doctor who as well). but posting about how the fandom is “dead” or “abandoned” isn’t exactly the encouragement to create more that folks seem to think it is; instead it’s just baffling and a bit discouraging to those of us who absolutely are still here, creating out of love for a show that is barely over one year old.

maybe folks are not seeing the exact type of fic/art/gifs they want and think the fandom is waning as a result. but the best way to see the exact creative work YOU want to see is ultimately by creating it yourself - however new you might be to creating, there is no barrier to entry! or at the very least, connecting with the folks who are creating things and spreading genuine love for whatever is out there is the way to keep a fandom going.

much love to everyone <3

[onlyquinns]

https://www.tumblr.com/onlyquinns/783325425093017600/pt-3-of-quinn-and-readers-wedding-maybe-the-boys

Love this!!! Maybe a part 4??? Where reader gets pregnant and has a baby?

hi lovely, after this one i’m going to finish this lil quinn series. i really love the ideas you’ve been giving me, but id like to focus on new little blurb ideas for quinny! i hope u understand!

you wipe at your brow with one hand, the other bouncing your daughter on your hip. quinn rushes through the kitchen behind you, prepping dinner as you quietly bake a tart for dessert. the two of you move seamlessly, years of love and friendship making it easy to work between each other.

you take a step back from the oven, hand splayed over your lower back. quinn turns to you at that exact moment and takes in your punched face, frowning just a little as he reaches for the little girl on your hip.

“let me hold her for a bit,” he says softly, and you nod.

quinn holds the baby to his chest and you force your anxiety to ease at the sight of your girl so close to the stove—you trust quinn, and he wouldn’t ever dare to hurt the little girl in his arms. at that exact moment, the doorbell rings once. you try to waddle over to the front door, pregnant belly making your movements more awkward.

without warning, the knob twists and jack and luke fall through the door. they squabble over each other, both carrying reusable shopping bags filled to the brim.

“where’s my niece!” jack exclaims, pulling you into a brief hug before going after quinn.

you bark out a laugh, closing the front door as luke finishes taking off his shoes. “good to see you too, jacky,” you call out.

when luke stands, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and he easily reciprocates, holding you carefully as to not press on your stomach.

“how’re you?” he asks, walking with you to the living room, still carrying his bag.

you let out a tired laugh and collapse on the couch, hands coming to rest on your swollen belly. “well… not too bad,” you say truthfully, “this little guy—“ you pat your fingers against your stomach, “—has been keeping me on my toes.” you glance at quinn in the kitchen, his laughter filling the house as he tries to bat jack away from holding the baby. “quinn’s been a huge help; he’s an amazing dad.”

luke smiles, eyes tender. “that’s good to hear,” he says and then lowers his voice, “if he ever fucks up, tell us. we’ll square him out for you.” you giggle and luke’s smile widens, then hands over his red target bag. “this is for you, by the way.”

your lip wobbles as you take the bag, eyes filling with fat tears. “lukey…” you whisper, digging through the bag and finding all of your favorite snacks and a set of matching pajamas for you, the baby, and the other baby in your stomach. “you’re gonna make me cry…” you whimper, and luke panics.

“don’t—don’t cry!” luke looks around, eyes wide and filled with fear. quinn and jack rush over, baby now in jack’s arms. they cuddle into you.

“luke, what’d you do!” jack groans, and quinn brushes a gentle hand across your cheekbone.

you sniffle and wipe at your tears, fanning the wetness that coats your cheeks. “he didn’t do anything, it’s just… you guys are so sweet.” your lip wobbles again and quinn tucks you into his side. “i’m so grateful for you guys…”

luke fidgets awkwardly, but reaches over and pats your knee. “it’s just us returning the favor. we’re the luckiest people to have you, y’know.” emotions fill your chest again, and before you can start crying, luke says, “please don’t cry again!” so you wipe away the snot and tears that threaten to spill.

“you guys are so awesome,” you murmur, watching as jack bounces your daughter in his arms. “our little family is so, so lucky to have you two as uncles.”

jack grins, “we’re lucky to have you as our sister.”

luke nods in agreement, cooing at the little baby in his brother’s hold. “wouldn’t have been uncles without you, sis.”

you tuck further into quinn’s side and watch as your daughter’s two uncles coddle over her, running gentle fingers over her round cheeks and through her wispy hair, and you think life couldn’t get possibly any better.

[probablynotcaptainbritain]

So, I think this is an interesting take, but one that misses a fundamental problem with AI. OP mentions this idea of desiring an artistic output without a particular amount of toil, and thats fair. Many people want to have written a novel or painted a painting without putting time or pain in.

But here's the thing. If you have an AI generate an output of work, you don't have an output of work! *The AI does.* This is, in my opinion less like using a new art software to help smooth out the edges, and more like paying an artist for a commission. It can on some level convey your ideas (more on that in a second), but ultimately it is doing this creation. Using AI for background assistance or the like *is* using an artistic tool! And these features have existed for years! But having an AI generate something whole-cloth is not making art. In fact, I'd argue that claiming you made it is tantamount to plagiarism!(Note: Before I get yelled at, this is not a condemnation of commissioned art! I love commissions a great deal! But Im also not under the illusion that I made them!)

In a similar vein to the commission idea, using AI to express your ideas is inherently going to put a filter over your ideas! You may be attempting to create something that conveys the most powerful ideas, but ultimately your interpretation is not what's being conveyed. Art is personal. Its not just about the ideas in it, but the interpretation coming through. Two people are unlikely to express an idea the same way.

But with an AI you dont know whose perspective its drawing from, or even what imagery its using! A piece intended for queer liberation may feature homophobic imagery you never intended, because you didnt make it!

Even slop made by a person has traces of the creator in it! Maybe its just a paycheck, and you can see it in ragged lines that aren't on the works that excite them. Maybe to them art is just disposable entertainment, who knows? Its still slop, but by the gods its slop that is theirs. AI Slop cannot be said to be made by anyone, as its just regurgitated ideas that dont even have cynicism or weariness.

I also think there are ideas about differences between Commercial and Private art swirling around this conversation that I dont have the energy or knowledge base to unpack, but still wanted to acknowledge are present.

To Circle Back To the idea of an Artistic Output Without Toil And People Not Deserving to Make Art: I think its absolutely possible to make meaningful art without significant amount of toil. I think a small doodle that took someone 3 minutes, or a poem on the back of a napkin can be beautiful, soulful art.

One of my favorite pieces of art is a silly Wonder Woman sketch my partner drew me. It didn't take the same level of toil that say The Wave of Kanegawa, or New Mutants 18 or Look Back took. But it was theirs, and they made it with the things that make them theirself. Im sorry to say this, but an AI couldn't do that! Couldn't make me grin like an idiot seeing it, or tear up right now thinking about it. Art is very personal whether you realize it or not! A big part of the beauty of art is the pieces of the people who make it embedded in the work.

I also think AI feeds into people's expectation that art has to look certain ways! The problem is rarely the artist, and more often the preconceived notions weighing them down. When you dont feel like you're capable of making the art you want, you're more likely to make someone or something else do it for you.

But once you push past expectations, there's a world of art you *can* make! If its a matter of technical ability, and you not being able to make exactly what you envision: Try other tools, or even another medium! If you don't know how to draw it, try making it as a collage! Making art is fun when you free yourself from the expectation of how it should look! You may even surprise yourself with how it turns out!

I believe that every single person on earth is capable of great art if they only give themselves the chance to make it. I just want to see you all flourish. :)

(Sorry if this is rambly, but the above post gave me a lot of thoughts and feelings!)

atp i hope it's clear that my stance is not that everyone needs to like and be okay with generative ai art, my stance is that i am not going to take your reasons for disliking generative ai art seriously if they are rooted in the idea that it's bad because it can't produce art with a soul. or that the very act of desiring an artistic output without putting in Enough Work To Deserve It is threatening the fabric of society.

It's an obscenely conservative way to think about art and i'm not going to give it any legitimacy at all. i don't believe in a human soul and i don't believe the value of art comes from the amount of toil it required. i think that, right now and for the rest of human existence there will be creatives who continue to use the tools at their disposal to express meaningful ideas into the world. i don't think the idea that one of those tools could theoretically be an AI image generator is that unreasonable.

most ai generated content is slop but plenty of stuff crafted by human hands is slop too. the way to separate good art from bad art is not by drawing hard lines about what is 'allowed' to count as art, or saying there is an irreplaceable quality to a work that it gets imbued with when created by an Ensouled Being. the way to separate good art from bad art is to earnestly engage with the things you see in the world around you to develop and refine your own tastes about what sort of things you find meaningful and valuable.

it's like such a bizarre simultaneous devaluing and sanctifying of art at the same time to me. like art is so important and special and species-defining and the people who make it possess some sort of unique spiritual quality that can not be artificially replicated. but also Art is somehow a fragile and narrow enough thing that it's at risk of being irreparably bastardized or eradicated because of a machine. i don't get it. i don't get it!

[evilcarmona]

Okay, just listen to me…

So this story starts with the Fentons. Their little omega son was born not so long ago (I don't believe in ABO, where people learn their gender in adolescence, it's weird). In general, he is just a kid, but they decided to go on an expedition because they had an exclusive opportunity… What could have gone wrong?

All. You see, their poor little boy was lost in the mountains. There was nothing they could do. At least their daughter was safe… But because of their carelessness, they lost a child. Because of this, they will never build a ghost portal. In fact, they'll give up ghost hunting altogether and even start visiting Vlad out of guilt (he's a little less of a jerk because they finally remembered him).

In fact, it was a little more complicated.

Let's move to the League. How lucky they were to spot a couple of scientists studying what looked like the Lazarus Pits Water. even better, these idiots were next to their child. Of course, the League took Danny away to blackmail the Fentons into working for them later. But as they delved deeper into their work, it became clear that the Fentons were simply obsessed with ghosts… They are unlikely to be useful.

So they had an omega baby in their arms. Of course, you can get rid of it… But isn't he the same age as the young master? Of course, young alphas benefit from having an omega of their own age around. Why not keep it? Ra's simply waved his hand. He's a f... old man who thinks omegas are cute furniture, if his grandson can get a nice little thing, why not?

So, they grow side by side. Danny's learning some self-defense, but he's not in the best of health, and he's just an omega, so no one thinks he's going to make it. Nor does he show any interest in it. He seems to have inherited all that mad scientist energy from his parents? In this case, he simply joins the scientists working for the League. He tolerates the Water of the Lazarus Pits surprisingly well (after all, when Maddie was pregnant, she was infected with ectoplasm).

So, when Damian got his first missions (let's do the League of Assassins missions with Mom), he started bringing Danny all sorts of things: small hairpins-stars, souvenirs and sweets. It's cute. They became very close. When they promise to marry each other in the future, it's just charming, but Talia doesn't take it seriously, and Ra's just doesn't care (he probably thinks that in 20 years his grandson will have a harem in the spirit of Luo Bingge).

Unfortunately for them, even little Damian takes his promises very seriously.

Only then does Talia pick him up from the League and bring him to his Father. She promises to look after Danny (she lies ). Events follow one another. Soon, Danny joins a project to study the Lazarus Pit water treatment device. What do you think it builds? A few years pass, and Danny becomes the one who launches the portal to the Infinite Realms. Needless to say, he didn't plan on it.

It die. He is alive. When he found out what was on the other side, he destroyed the portal. After collecting the blueprints, he runs out of the league (because now it's much easier for him to do it).

It wasn't that he didn't know where to look for his dear young master. The young master is the only one he can trust with this secret.

After all, it's something fun.

Alfred: A courier came by today. Did Young Master Damian order anything?

Damian: No, what is it?

Alfred: The big box.

Bruce: Be careful, what if it's a bomb?

Danny, jumping out of the box: Has anyone ordered an ectoscientist? A ghost? Maybe the bride?

Somewhere in Amity Park, one of Vlad's inventions starts beeping. He immediately informs the Fentons that an overly powerful ecto-energy burst has been detected… And now it's making its way to Gotham City. They didn't want anything to do with it until Vlad said it was originally near the place where they lost their son.

Could it be the ghost that killed him? Or maybe this is the ghost of their baby, who can be seen for the last time? Anyway, it's the last time the Fentons are out hunting.

(Well, they'll end up hunting really well. I'm not sure what Ra's has to do to get away from Maddie.)

By the way, do you see this ugly suspension with a ghost and a heart? Jack had made it for Maddie before they were married. He was with Danny when he went missing…