#he wanted to know what the people on my phone thought of it

[pineconepie]

More Vincent!! >:)

TW: Kidnapping, injured reader, parental yandere, infantilization, murder (not major characters), developing Stockholm syndrome(?)

...

Its been a few weeks ever since Vincent kidnapped you (or "adopted you" as he likes to put it). For the first few days, it was hell trying to get comfortable around your new "dad". It took even longer to feel safe at the Cryo estate, and get adjusted to the people there.

Most of them were surprisingly not that scary once you got to know them.

For the first time in a while, you felt happy, once you adjusted. Sure, being forced to act like a baby against your will was humiliating and embarrassing. But, at least Vincent could be a lot worse.

"Comfy, pumpkin?" he chuckles, ruffling your hair.

You're nestled against him, watching some kid's movie on TV while nestled up against his side.

He seems so much happier now, too. Well, at least now that you've finally come to terms with your fate and given in to him. There weren't a lot of options in this scenario. If you tried to run away or tell anyone outside the Cryo organization, Vincent would have probably killed them.

That thought scares you as well as makes you sick to your stomach, but there isn't much you can do.

"Yeah," you mutter, eyes slipping shut. "'m tired."

Vincent shifts slightly. You feel a light kiss being pressed into the top of your head. "Then I guess it's nap-time, huh? I..." He's interrupted by his phone ringing. His expression quickly turns into a scowl as he checks the caller ID, and answers it after sending you an apologetic look. "Phoenix, this better be urgent."

"Heeey, Boss, Scarlet Syndicate is kinda screwing us over right now." There's sounds of yelling in the background. "They wanna speak to you."

Your eyes widen. Scarlet Syndicate, the same group that forced you into working for them.

Vincent rubs the bridge of his nose. "Then they're idiots. Fine. Tell them they're gonna get what they wished for. Send me the location and I'll be there soon." He hangs up before Phoenix has a chance to reply back. Sighing, he turns to you with a sad smile. "Looks like we'll have to cut cuddle time short. Dad's so sorry."

"They're the ones who held debt over my head. What if they want me back?" you question, dread making your chest tighten. "What if they want me dead? They're probably so angry at me.." Your lip trembles, remembering how cruel they were to you.

He pulls you into a firm hug, rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Oh, kiddo... don't worry about that, alright? If those bastards so much as come near you, they will meet a very bloody fate," he growls, squeezing you even tighter. He buries his face in your hair. "Dad's gotcha. As long as you stay under my protection, they won't lay a finger on you. Hell will freeze over before I let anyone take you away from me."

You nod anxiously. "I trust you."

He kisses your forehead again before slowly pulling away and standing up from the couch. "I'm gonna put you in the safe room while I'm gone, alright?" He doesn't wait for your response, dragging you to the safe room.

Despite trying to seem calm, you can tell he's angry. Extremely angry. Vincent is gripping you tightly, but not hard enough to cause pain.

Once you're in the safe room, he makes sure it's fully locked up.

"I should be home before dinner," he assures you.

"Wait," you rasp. "What if something happens to you?"

Vincent places his hand on the side of your head, stroking his thumb over your cheek. His smile seems a lot warmer when you're the one receiving it.

"You really think I would leave you alone after all the trouble I've went through to have you with me?" he teases, letting out a quiet chuckle. "No worries, sweetie. I'm always gonna find a way to make it home. Even if I have to dig myself out of a shallow grave."

With one last kiss pressed into your forehead, Vincent turns around and walks away, leaving you locked inside the safe room.

...

Vincent arrives at the warehouse where the meeting is taking place, being escorted inside by Phoenix. Inside the main room, he sees the Scarlet Syndicate goons waiting for him and Vincent wastes no time getting to the point.

"What the fuck do you bastards want?" he spits.

Flint, the boss of Scarlet Syndicate, puffs his cigar. "You know exactly what I'm here to ask," he sneers. "Did you not bring the kid with you?"

"Kid? I don't know what you're talking about," Vincent replies nonchalantly, smiling menacingly. "But if I did, what is it to you?"

"Their debt is far from paid off, Bauer," Flint grumbles. "As long as they breathe, we own them. So I was thinking, either you give them to us, or you can pay off the debt yourself." He blows out some smoke. "For a millionaire such as yourself, it doesn't seem like it'd be an issue for you, especially seeing as you've gone soft over them. I've heard the rumors."

Vincent glares darkly at him. "First of all, you're gonna need more than your cronies to keep you protected when I lose my patience." He smiles threateningly. "And second of all, I think I've got a counter-proposal. How about I just shoot you in your face instead?"

In a flash, everyone pulls their weapons on each other.

"Enough!" Flint huffs. "I gave you an option to do it willingly. Now we have no choice but to use brute force."

Vincent is prepared to have bullets flying his way, but instead a smoke bomb is dropped at his feet.

As soon as Vincent realizes this, he covers his mouth and nose, eyes searching wildly to see the culprit, but to no avail. Then he notices Flint is gone along with his cronies.

Once the room clears, the Cryo members notice their boss is seething.

"Go find them!" he barks, scowling furiously. "I want every single one of those bastards dead by sunset." He notices Quinn on her phone. "Quinn! What the hell are you doing?!"

"Your place was broken into," she hisses back.

That gets Vincent's attention. The blood drains from his face as realization dawns on him. They just wanted to draw him out so they could get their hands on his baby.

Never in the past couple of years has he ever been so frantic, scrambling to his car and flooring it back home.

...

As soon as he makes it back to his penthouse, his worst fears are confirmed. There's signs of struggle in the hallway, as well as bloodstains on the carpet.

The safe room door has been busted open somehow. Vincent's stomach churns and he feels rage beginning to bubble up. Not only had someone dared to trespass on his property, they also had the audacity to steal you.

His kid. His everything.

He screams your name while searching for you, even though he already knows it's useless.

After tearing apart the penthouse and finding no trace of you, that's when his panic begins to set in.

"No, no, no..." he rasps, fingers tangling in his hair. He punches the wall and kicks down the nearby table in rage. Vincent stands there staring down at the mess he made.

He feels his chest constricting and tears beginning to flow. He grabs one of the fallen chairs and smashes it against the wall.

Then his phone rings.

Fumbling to grab it out of his pocket, he answers it, wiping his tears away in anger.

"What?!" he barks, voice cracking.

Instead of Phoenix, Quinn, or Trenton, he hears...

"Hello again, Vincent."

It's Flint.

Vincent feels like he's about to snap right then and there. He grips the phone so tight he almost breaks it. "What did you do?" he asks with grit teeth, fighting back the urge to sob. He hasn't felt this way in a long time, and he despises that.

But it hurts. You're gone again... It makes his heart ache knowing you're back in that organization's grasp, likely terrified.

Flint cackles. "I'm sure your kid wants to know the same thing. I told them how your greed was too strong to save them. So! I have a new set of options. Either you can come here and give me the money, or... well, I think you can imagine what'll happen next."

Vincent squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling. "Just tell me where you want me to bring the cash," he whispers, rubbing his hand over his face.

...

You try to ignore the cuts and bruises marring your skin. It's hard to, given your only distraction is the brick wall in front of you. You would cry, but after crying the whole ride here, you feel numb.

There's only fear and dread in you.

You're tied to a chair, arms bound behind your back and legs attached to the front legs of the chair, ankles secured to them.

They've taken you away from Vincent and brought you back here.

Back to the Scarlet Syndicate headquarters, which is really just some rundown warehouse.

Just when you're beginning to wonder if you had been abandoned to starve and die down in this dingy basement, the door opens.

To your surprise and relief, Vincent descends down the stairs with two suitcases.

"Dad!" you exclaim, hope blossoming.

He ignores your cry, approaching the table Flint sits at. With an angry scowl on his face, he sets both suitcases down, opening them up so the man can see.

You peer over as well, shocked to see that there's millions worth of dollars in each suitcase. Probably even more than the debt.

"There, I've met your demands," Vincent hisses. "Now let them go."

Flint cackles, standing up. "My, my. I'm surprised you actually showed up. Thought for sure I would be seeing them dead. Seeing as you don't hold much care for anyone besides yourself."

"Save the monologue," Vincent snaps. "And give them back before I put a bullet through your brain."

Flint nods, untying you from the chair.

Once you're untied, you rub your wrists, wincing at the soreness. Immediately, you rush over to Vincent, wrapping your arms around his midsection and hiding your face against his coat.

He holds you tight. "It's alright. Dad's here."

Flint pouts, taking another drag of his cigar. "So let's let bygones be bygones?"

Vincent forces a smile. "Sure thing." He rushes you out of the warehouse, keeping you cradled in his arms until you reach the car, which is farther away than you had anticipated. You're just grateful he has so much upper body strength. After buckling you in the backseat, he checks your pulse and presses kisses all over your face. "My poor baby," he whispers tearfully. "Did they hurt you bad?"

"My head hurts. And my entire body feels like its on fire."

Vincent pulls you into another firm hug before letting go. He wipes his eyes furiously. "Oh. That reminds me." He pulls out a walkie-talkie and holds it to his face. "Trent. Now."

You hear a loud explosion coming from somewhere nearby, looking out the window to see the warehouse in flames.

You jump a little.

Vincent chuckles weakly, placing his hand on your head. He reaches into the glove compartment and produces a juice box. You hadn't even noticed he carried them around in his vehicles.

He pushes the straw through the tiny hole and hands it to you.

"I think some ice cream is in order once we get back home," he whispers, leaning forward and pressing another kiss onto your forehead.

"But didn't you give them money?" you question, furrowing your brows in confusion as you take small sips of the juice. "You just blew up a bunch of it..."

He laughs. "Don't you worry about that. It wasn't real money," he snickers, patting your head one last time. "But you don't need to think about any of that adult stuff anymore." His smile falters for a split second, examining your injuries once again. "I'll also need to call a doctor once we're home. And then maybe put you in a tower like Rapunzel."

You manage a small laugh. "You're silly."

His smile returns as he shuts the door and settles himself into the driver's seat. "Don't tell anyone else, you're the only one who knows that." He grins at you through the rearview mirror.

Never did you think you'd be okay driving away with your captor from a burning building with possible casualties inside, but... after what you've been through, it's kind of difficult to care anymore.

[urcoolgf]

tattooed heart

pairing : bf!rafe x reader

content : fluff , makeout , suggestive content towards the end

summary : rafe gets a new tattoo, and surprises you (peep the ariana inspired title)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

"appointment, or walk-in?," the man behind the counter asked. he had tattoos all over– full sleeves on both arms, ink up to his neck, and a few facial piercings.

"appointment for rafe... rafe cameron," he replied, his nervousness peaking through his 'tough guy' front just a little.

"sure, man. right this way," the worker led rafe back into the room. a few people were currently getting tattooed, a few pierced. there was art all over the dark walls– different tattoo styles, and other artistc pieces. he guided rafe to a black, leather chair before sitting himself in the artist's stool adjacent to it.

"i'm zach, by the way. i'll obviously be your artist today. so, what are we thinkin' of doin' rafe?," his vibe was calm, which put rafe a little more at ease– though he would never admit he was anything but completely chill about this.

"yeah, i got a pic. i want you to put this... right here," rafe replied, pointing from the picture on his phone to the spot just over his heart.

"nice. sounds good, man. let me draw up a sketch, then we'll place it, yeah?," zach replied, immediately reaching for his ipad to begin a sketch.

once he had finished it, he turned his ipad around to face rafe, but leaned over it, so he could look at it while explaining the different aspects of it to rafe– what colors would go where, and how he was going to shadow it.

"that looks perfect, man," the blonde said only semi-excitedly– he was still rafe cameron after all– he had a reputation around here.

"alright! i'm gonna have you take off your shirt. i'll place it, and then you can go look in that mirror right over there," he pointed to the wall diagonal from the chair, "and let me know what you think," he continued, "any changes, and i mean any, you let me know, okay?,"

"got it," rafe said, stripping himself of his t-shirt, and laying back in the chair. zach placed the stencil over rafe's heart, leaving a blue ink on the right side of his chest. he stood up, walking over to the mirror as instructed, analyzing the position and style of the temporary ink on his chest before it was permanent. he walked back over to the chair, and sat himself back in it.

"it's awesome," rafe nodded his head as a smirk spread onto his face.

"cool, man. alright, go ahead and lay back. we're gonna get started," zach said, turning around in his chair to grab some new gloves and other materials that he placed on his tray.

the soft buzz from the tattoo gun rang through rafe's ears as he felt the first few strokes.

not as bad as he thought.

—

"zach, man, you did an awesome job. this looks amazing. thanks a bunch," rafe said, admiring the now permanent ink in the same mirror he looked into a couple hours prior.

"happy to hear it. my buddy ryan's gonna get you checked out up front," zach replied with a smile, beginning to clean his station.

"thanks, man. have a good one," the blonde said before heading to the front counter to pay, and obviously leave a generous tip. rafe would never show it, but he was so excited to go home and show his girlfriend.

—

"baby! i'm home," rafe shouted, loud enough for it to travel throughout tannyhill. he was already excited, but his smile grew when he saw you hurry down the stairs, ready to throw yourself into his arms before he stopped you.

"wait! wait," he laughed, holding you in place by the sides of your arms.

"what?," you had a kind of sad look on your face, thinking you did something since he didn't want you touching him, "something wrong?"

"no, baby. nothin's wrong. wanna show you somethin'," he said, reaching for the hem of his t-shirt. you stood in front of him with absolutely no idea of what was going on. once he pulled the shirt over his head your eyes shot open, and your jaw dropped. it was covered by clear plastic wrap, but it was plain as day what it was…

your eye. tattooed. over his heart.

the artwork was absolutely stunning, it looked so real. you reached out to graze your fingers over the plastic wrap– carefully. as if you could mess it up. as if it wasn't permanent.

"is that… that's my eye, rafe," you said without taking your eyes off the dark ink, shock still evident on your face.

"yeah, that's kinda the point, sweetheart," he laughed, bringing his hand up to cover yours, and press it into his heart.

"i– i don't even know what to say, rafe… you got a tattoo?!," that wasn't the prominent question, but you really didn't know what else to say. this was the sweetest, most unexpected thing he could have done.

"said my heart was yours forever, didn't i?," he asked with a smile, although the question was hypothetical because, of course he had said that, “now everyone knows.”

and he meant it.

“this is so sweet, rafe…,” you began, lowering your hand from his.

“but…?,” his brows furrowed, he felt the follow-up coming from a mile away.

“but… it’s also sexy as hell,” you said, eyes narrowing as you pulled him towards you. he wrapped his arms tightly around the small of your back as your lips collided. you could feel rafe holding back a smile against your lips, and it drove you mad. he moved his hands further down, playing with the plush of your ass a bit, before moving even lower. he bent down slightly to place his hands on the backside of your thighs– which was code for 'jump'.

with no hesitation, you jumped into his arms without breaking away from his lips, running your hands through his buzzed hair. rafe began up the stairs, still kissing you until you pulled away for a moment.

"you have no idea what that tattoo does to me… you're getting it tonight, rafe cameron," you whispered into his ear, your hot breath making his eyes roll back. you pulled back to look at his face.

"oh am i now?, he said quietly, eyebrows raising as if he didn't believe you.

he believed you. and boy was he looking forward to it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

[daisymbin]

prenups no escape plans! - choi seungcheol

pairings: fiancé!seungcheol x reader

warnings: mentions of slight overthinking, finances

wc: 1.6k

a/n: forgive me 😭😭 ive been mia for so long because I just got back a week ago as i travelled to singapore & bangkok for the svt concert & bc of that, I bought a new phone so I could have better camera quality but I ended up not being able to login into my tumblr acc 🫠🫠🫠🫠 reqs are closed for now until I get thru all of them!! so sorry guys 😭😭

check out my masterlist! // cheol's m.list

two weeks.

fourteen days.

three hundred and thirty-six hours.

every second that passed brought you closer to the moment you had dreamed of your whole life—walking down the aisle, hand in hand with seungcheol, vowing forever with him. but as the excitement grew, so did the nerves. an entirely new phase of life, a lifetime commitment, a future with no escape plan.

you weren’t scared of marrying seungcheol. no, never. you loved him more than anything. you were just… overthinking. what if things changed? what if marriage wasn’t the fairytale you imagined? what if—

you groaned, flopping back against the couch, phone in hand, the glow of the screen illuminating your furrowed brows. maybe if you read up on it, you’d feel better.

you started with the basics. "how to make marriage work," "best marriage advice," "what to expect after getting married." some articles reassured you, others made you even more anxious. and then, as you scrolled further, your eyes landed on a title that made your stomach drop.

"why every couple should consider a prenuptial agreement"

your fingers hovered over the screen before tapping on it hesitantly.

> a prenuptial agreement, commonly known as a prenup, is a legal contract between two people before they get married. it outlines how assets, finances, and property will be divided in case of a divorce. while many see it as ‘planning for failure,’ a prenup actually provides clarity, protection, and security for both partners, ensuring that each party’s hard-earned money and possessions remain fairly distributed should the marriage end. in cases where one partner has significantly more wealth, a prenup is especially important to prevent financial disputes.

you bit your lip.

you and seungcheol never talked about this. should you have?

he was the one with all the money. you weren’t struggling, but he had worked hard for years, built his career from the ground up, secured a future for himself. you, on the other hand, were just… you. it would definitely be more of a disadvantage for him if things didn’t work out.

your stomach twisted at the thought.

would he want one? had he thought about it and just didn’t know how to bring it up? maybe he was waiting for you to mention it first. would it be selfish of you not to? what if he wanted to protect himself but was too kind to say it?

too lost in your thoughts, you dont hear as seungcheol unlocks the front door.

seungcheol stepped inside, dropping his gym bag onto the table as he toed off his shoes. his black tshirt clung to his skin, damp with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. usually, the moment he walked in, you’d run to him, throw your arms around his neck, melt into him and demand a kiss. but today, you were too distracted to notice.

he blinked, watching you, a small but loving smile tugging at his lips. you looked cute like that, completely immersed in whatever was on your phone, lips slightly pursed, fingers fidgeting against the edge of your sweater sleeve.

but then, he saw it. the crease between your brows, the way your shoulders were slightly hunched, the way your lips were pressed together just a little too tightly.

his smile faded.

he knew that look.

“what’s wrong?”

your head snapped up, eyes widening slightly as if you just realized he was there. “oh… cheol, you’re home.”

seungcheol narrowed his eyes. you sounded distracted. nervous. sad. scared. all things he saw right through immediately.

he made his way over to you, sitting beside you on the couch, his knee bumping against yours. “what’s wrong, baby?” he asked again, softer this time.

you hesitated. “nothing, i was just reading some article.”

his frown deepened. “what about?”

you looked away, fingers gripping your phone a little tighter.

that was all he needed to see to know you were spiraling.

“come on, baby, talk to me.” he nudged you gently, voice laced with concern.

you inhaled deeply, fingers still fiddling with your sleeve. ��prenups.”

he blinked with a pause, “pre-what?”

“prenups,” you repeated, a little louder this time.

seungcheol stared at you, clearly confused. “okay… but like, what about them?”

you swallowed, debating whether to brush it off, but the question had already rooted itself in your mind. you had to ask.

“do you want one?”

his brows furrowed. “what for?”

you chewed on your bottom lip. “just in case… you know.”

his frown deepened. “no, i don’t know. just in case what?”

irritation simmered in his voice, but not the kind that meant he was mad—more like the kind that meant he didn’t understand why you were even thinking about this.

you sighed, exasperation creeping into your tone. “don’t you know what prenups are? or what they’re for?”

“no, i know what they are and what they’re for,” he said, eyes locked onto yours. “i’m asking why you’re asking me if i want one.”

you hesitated.

he raised an eyebrow. “do you really need me to spell it out for you?” you huffed with a pout.

“enlighten me, babe.”

you exhaled, gripping your phone tightly. “one day when we— if we ever get a divorce, it’s not going to be good for you, no? that’s all your hard-earned money we’re talking about, and it’s a lot of it, and—”

seungcheol sighed through his nose, watching you intently as you started spiraling.

“—i mean, you’ve worked so hard for everything you have, and i just don’t want you to ever feel like you lost something because of me. and what if things change? what if we change? people don’t get married expecting to get divorced, but it happens all the time, and i just— i dont want you to hate me for it in the future if you lose a lot of money, i just, i don’t want to be the reason you regret anything, i don't want you to regret marrying me & i don’t want you to feel like you have to choose between protecting yourself and—”

“baby.”

you stopped rambling.

he reached out, cupping your cheek in his large, warm palm, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. his voice was firm but soft, steady in a way that made your racing thoughts slow and quietly drown out in the background.

“what the hell are you talking about?” he murmured. “if we get divorced? when we get a divorce? yeah, that shit is not happening, babe. i’m taking care of you for the rest of our lives.”

your lips parted, but no words came out.

his eyes softened as he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. “do you hear yourself? you’re planning for something that’s never going to happen.”

“but cheol—”

“no.” he shook his head, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “im marrying you because i want to spend every single day of my life with you. not until things get hard, not until we fight, not until we hit a rough patch. & i mean it. for the rest of our lives.”

you swallowed, feeling your chest tighten with emotion.

he pulled back just enough to look at you properly, tilting his head. “do you want a prenup?”

you blinked, “what? no. i have like maybe 2 cents in my bank account and 0 assets whatsoever, what do i have to lose?”

the way you said it oh so seriously made seungcheol bite back his laugh.

“then why the hell would i want one if you don't?”

"because we're not the same!"

only then, does seungcheol pull you onto his lap, his hands rests firmly on your waist, drawing calming circles against the fabric of your shirt.

his arms stayed locked around you, warm and strong, like he was trying to shield you from your own thoughts. he slowly tugs you closer to him as he pressed a kiss to your temple, then one to your forehead, then your cheek, and then, finally, his lips found yours in a kiss so soft, so unhurried, that it made your heart swell.

“you’re really that worried about this, huh?” he murmured against your lips, voice barely above a whisper.

you sighed, fingers curling into his tshirt. “i don’t know. i just— i don’t ever want to be the reason you regret anything.”

seungcheol exhaled sharply, almost like he was in disbelief as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck, lips brushing against your skin as he spoke.

“baby,” he started, voice muffled against your shoulder, “if i ever regret anything, it’ll be not kissing you enough, not holding you enough, not making sure you know how much i love you every single day.”

your breath hitched. his words, his warmth, the way his hands roamed your back as if to remind himself you were real.

he pulled back just enough to cup your face, thumbs tracing gentle circles against your cheeks. his dark eyes searched yours, serious yet so incredibly tender.

“i don’t care about the money. or the prenup, i don’t care about any of that. i care about you. i care about us. i don’t need a contract to tell me how to protect what’s mine.” he tilted his head, lips ghosting over yours. “so stop worrying about things that will never happen and just let me love you, okay?”

you nodded slowly, heart thudding. “okay.”

seungcheol grinned, a teasing glint in his eyes. “say it properly, baby.”

you let out a small laugh. “okay, cheol.”

satisfied, he kissed you again, deeper this time, holding you like he had no plans of letting go anytime soon.

“good,” he murmured, squeezing your waist before nuzzling his nose against yours. “because you’re stuck with me. forever.”

and with every kiss he left on your skin, every whispered ‘i love you,’ and every way he held you close like you were the most precious thing in the world; he made sure you believed it.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

(This ask took me forever because my phone was being a bum, then I lost said ask so whoever this was from, thank you, and heres what you asked for)

They would obviously go insane, being kidnapped by some low-life thug in Gotham and held against their will for millions of dollars, but in your eyes, you thought you weren't even worth a penny. You didn't even fight back; no way your shit-faced family would come running to save you. At least Bruce was on the way to save Jason from dying, but there was no way he would do the same for you. You saw the look in his eyes when you attended galas; it wasn't out of love, it was out of shame, pure shame. So you sat there in the cold, dark, and wet room, seeing rats chew on electric cables; even if it shocked them, they'd keep on chewing, keep on finding something to eat, even if there was pain or it would kill them in the long run. What had you thought of yourself so much, proving yourself to people who would never see you as their equal? You were allowed one call, and only one. Your kidnappers thought you would call your dear old dad, but no, you called your mom. You were begging and crying, using "mommy"—you hadn't used that word since you were 13—but right now, you wanted your mom more than anything. Fuck Batman and his stupid kids; you wanted your momma.

She took the message to Bruce; she was going through all four stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, and depression, but acceptance wasn't one of them. She wouldn't accept the fact that you might be dead; she wouldn't accept the fact that she'd never find you; she wouldn't accept it at all, and she tore them a new one, cursing each and every family member out while Alfred held her back, making sure she didn't do anything rash, which she would, and the Batfam felt absolutely trembled. Go searching for you? Half of Gotham would have burned down if it wasn't for Tim and Babs talking the rest of them out of it, but let's be honest, those computer twins were up for nights searching security cameras for you. Bruce was the craziest out of all of them; it was like losing Jason again, except it was his own flesh and blood, and when he heard that you called your mom for help—not him—he lost it. She didn't even have enough money for the ransom; she couldn't pay it off, but you called her instead of your billionaire father, who was BATMAN! For Christ's sake, did you really not trust him? Did you really think you weren't worth the trouble? Did you think he didn't love you?

He was going crazy in his study just at the thought that Dick, Jason, and Cass were going full rage mode. They'd been beating thugs into unconsciousness; some of their faces were unrecognizable if they didn't have an ID on them. Damian was very confused; he didn't know what to feel. At first, he acted aloof. Why did they want you of all people? You were useless, a disgrace to the Wayne family name, weak and replaceable, and when he shared those feelings with Alfred, the old butler who always seemed to understand him, walked away without a single word. It just didn't make sense to him. Why did the old man care, and why did everyone care now, and why did he care? This wasn't like him. Not at all.

Steph felt like she failed as a sister, as a hero. How could anyone hurt you? You're so sweet, so silly, so kind, yet she did the same. She was no better than the thugs. Duke was completely out of it. You'd catch him muttering to himself, going on all-night patrols, hitting the streets, finding all the info he could, and coming back to your big brother when he finally found you half alive, your locs matted and fizzy. Your glasses were broken, and dirt caked your brown skin. You pushed away from them the second they tried to touch you. You screamed for your mom, crying for her like a baby. Still, she finally showed up, pushing the brick of a man that is Bruce Wayne out of the way, grabbing you like you were a baby that was first put into her arms the second she gave birth to you. The Batfam was heartbroken, especially Bruce. He had made his suit less scary for the last child who cried when they saw him, but even when he took off his cowl and got closer, you still cried and pulled away from him, afraid he might attack you. But he wouldn’t—you’re his baby, after all.

[scoupsakakitty]

Hi, I'm crazy about your work. I was wondering what about the idea of a seventeen 14-member reader, where she is very popular among other male (and not only) idols?

Secret Love | Seventeen x 14thMember | fluff

The moment Y/N stepped into the venue for the award show, she immediately felt the eyes on her. It wasn’t anything new. As the 14th member of Seventeen, she was already a well-known figure in the industry, but somehow, the attention she received went beyond just being an idol.

Seated at their table, Seventeen was casually chatting when Joshua scrolled through his phone and let out a small laugh.

“Another compilation video,” he said, turning the phone toward Y/N. The screen showed a montage of various male idols staring at her during award shows, variety shows, and even candid backstage moments. Dramatic music played over slowed-down clips of Taehyun from TXT smiling at her, Hyunjin from Stray Kids gazing at her dreamily, and even Jungkook from BTS subtly watching her during a live broadcast.

Y/N groaned. “You guys act like it’s not completely exaggerated.”

“No, but some of these clips are real,” Seungkwan pointed out, raising an eyebrow. “Like this one—look at this! Sunghoon from ENHYPEN literally admitted he’s a fan of yours.”

Mingyu smirked. “Can’t blame them.”

“That's not the point,” Jeonghan cut in, crossing his arms. “The point is, people keep thinking they have a chance with Y/N.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair. “And whose fault is that? Maybe if you guys weren’t so overprotective, I’d actually get to talk to people.”

Hoshi scoffed. “Please. Like we’d let you fall into the hands of some lovestruck rookie who doesn’t know how to act normal around you.”

Y/N chuckled lightly, but deep down, she appreciated their protectiveness. They were like brothers to her, always watching her back and making sure she didn’t fall into any unnecessary drama. She knew they meant well, even if it sometimes felt a little over the top.

Just then, a staff member approached their table. “Hey, Y/N, someone from another group was asking about you.”

DK leaned forward immediately. “Who?”

The staff hesitated. “Um, someone from ATEEZ? I think it was Yunho? He wanted to know if he could get your number.”

Vernon and Woozi exchanged glances before answering at the same time. “No.”

Y/N facepalmed as the rest of Seventeen burst into laughter.

“I swear,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I can’t even breathe without people asking for my number.”

She appreciated the way they looked out for her, but sometimes it felt like she couldn’t do anything without someone keeping an eye on her.

As they continued to chat, Y/N’s thoughts drifted back to a time before all the chaos. A time when she’d found a little bit of normalcy in the middle of it all.

“Actually,” she began, her voice suddenly quieter, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you guys.”

Everyone stopped talking and turned to her, sensing the shift in her tone.

“I’ve... been seeing someone,” she confessed, feeling the weight of the words on her tongue.

Seungkwan raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

Y/N hesitated for a moment before answering. “Jungkook. From BTS.”

The table went silent. Seungcheol was the first to break the silence, his eyes wide. “Wait, Jungkook from BTS? Are you serious?”

Y/N nodded slowly. “Yeah. We went on a few dates before he enlisted. It was… nice. Real, even. But now, with him gone, things are different.”

Mingyu’s eyes widened in disbelief, and he leaned forward with a playful grin. “Wait, wait, wait… Jungkook? My Jungkook?” He shook his head, acting dramatically hurt. “Not even he told me about this? I’m hurt, Y/N. We’ve been through so much together, and you—you kept it from me?”

Y/N chuckled nervously, a little guilty. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, Mingyu. I was trying to keep it lowkey.”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Yeah, but we’re talking about Jungkook here. You didn’t even tell me?” He crossed his arms, feigning offense. “Are you sure you’re not hiding something more, like, secret dates or romantic gestures?” He wiggled his eyebrows teasingly.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, though her face flushed slightly. “Well, kind of, yeah,” she admitted, feeling the warmth in her cheeks. “We did go on a few dates before he left for the military. It was... nice. Real, even.”

The members were in awe, some laughing while others were still processing. Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, his expression a mixture of disbelief and amusement. “Oh my god, Y/N, so those rumors about you two were actually true?”

Y/N sighed, nodding. “Yeah. It wasn’t anything huge, but... I guess it’s a little hard to keep things like that a secret, especially with all the attention we get. But it was just us, you know? No cameras, no fans. Just normal.”

“Wow,” Hoshi said, still processing the new information. “You went on dates with Jungkook? And no one knew?”

Y/N shrugged lightly. “Yeah. I didn’t want to make it into a big deal.”

Mingyu smiled, clearly teasing her. “Well, now that it’s out in the open, I guess I’ll just have to tell everyone. ‘Hey, my friend’s been dating Jungkook from BTS.’” He grinned at her. “I’m kidding. But seriously, that’s amazing.”

Y/N smiled warmly, appreciating their reactions, but there was a sense of relief that washed over her. For the first time in a while, she wasn’t hiding anything. They were her family, and she knew they’d understand, no matter how surprising it was.

“And,” she added, “we’re still in touch. He’s going to be on a short break soon, and he said he wants to meet up. So, yeah, we’re not completely out of touch.”

Mingyu’s eyes widened even more. “Wait, he wants to see you? Man, Y/N, that’s... I guess that’s the real deal then!”

Y/N chuckled. “It’s not like that. It’s just… we both want to see how things go once he’s back.”

Just then, Woozi, who had been quiet up until now, raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his face. “So, that’s why all the armys are losing their minds over Golden,” he said, a teasing tone in his voice. “I mean, all they’ve been asking is about who he sang that album for. Guess we finally know, huh?”

The table went silent for a moment, before everyone burst into laughter. Y/N felt her face heat up again, but she couldn’t help but laugh along.

“Seriously?” she asked, shaking her head in mock disbelief. “I swear, I’m just friends with him.”

Joshua chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, we’ve heard that one before.”

“I mean, at least now you know who that song’s really about,” Seungkwan added with a wink, clearly enjoying the moment.

Y/N rolled her eyes but was secretly relieved that, despite the teasing, she could finally be open with her friends. “I can’t believe you guys are still talking about this.”

“We can’t help it,” Mingyu said with a grin. “It’s Jungkook, Y/N. Who wouldn’t be curious?”

Y/N smiled, feeling a little overwhelmed but grateful. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

The members nodded, a mix of surprise and admiration in their expressions.

“We’ll always have your back, Y/N,” Joshua said with a reassuring smile. “But if anyone else tries to get your number, I’m personally taking care of it.”

Y/N smiled, grateful for them. “I know. And I appreciate it, I really do.”

But at least now, she could finally share a piece of her personal life with them.

[multicohn]

summary: the rookies notice that their partner is missing from an important race and immediately thinks the worst

warnings: this took me DAYS to do 💀 some might be longer than others but keep in mind that i do like all the rookies and some were just easier to write for — ooc? since i don't know them that well, some might have similar situations but i tried to not have them as the same scenario — missing or misspelled words maybe? i might have missed it cause this is quite long — drivers wanting to die / thinking their s/o died ( jokingly ) — death jokes in general — just the rookies being dramatic and thinking the worse

pairing(s): gn! reader x jack doohan, gn! reader x isack hadjar, gn! reader x ollie bearman, gn! reader x kimi antonelli, gn! reader x gabriel bortoleto ( all written separately )

genre: fluff, dramtic drivers, established relationships

author note: lawson and alonso are not included

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jack doohan - australian grand prix

the first race of the season would be in jack’s home country. he felt excited, but also very nervous. jack wanted to prove that he deserves to be a main driver and that he can pull in results. sure, it’s only the first race, but if he doesn’t prove that he deserved that seat, he’ll be dropped quick.

jack bit his nails as he stood in the garage. he made it into the second round of qualifying, but was easily knocked down the longer it went.

was he upset? yes, but y/n made him see that it wasn't his fault.

now, however, jack hasn't seen y/n since that morning.

he's aware that they're most likely with pierre's girlfriend, kika, but they haven't answered any of his texts either. pierre wasn't worried, use to kika not coming until a few minutes before he had get in the car or she just came and go.

jack wasn't use to it though. y/n normally popped in to see him or at least texted him back.

did their phone die? break? is franco trying to steal them before stealing his seat? ARE THEY BEING THREATENED BY ESHAY'S?

"jack"

nevermind.

“y/n!” jack shouted in relief as they walked towards him

“sorry” they quickly kissed his cheek as kika walked away to do the same with pierre

“kika’s heel broke so we had to go get her a new pair of shoes and my phone went flat”

jack breathed out a sigh of relief before engulfing their partner in a hug.

"i thought i was going to die" y/n rolled their eyes

"i've always made it on time”

“yeah, well, i thought franco was trying something or that you were being threatened by an eshay” y/n nodded while trying not to laugh at the thought of jack thinking an eshay was trying to have a go at them

“i’ll make sure to remember to bring my portable” jack pouted at their words

“no. you’re not allowed to leave me at all on race days”

“what if i need to go toilet?"

"i'll stand outside"

"you can not be serious..."

jack placed his hands on their shoulders and stared right into their eyes.

"dead serious" y/n scoffed and started swatting him away.

"get in the car!"

"you haven't given me a good luck kiss yet!"

"you aren't getting one!"

"oh so you want me to crash?"

"jack!"

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isack hadjar - japanese grand prix

the sound of someone texting him made isack momentarily snap out of his trance and look down. a smile creeped onto his face as the familiar contact name of his partner sat at the top, but it slowly washed off his face as he read through their messages.

loml <3: baby im here!

loml <3: there’s lots of people

loml <3: they have ( favourite food )!

loml <3: hey so…

loml <3: i think im lost.

they hadn't been at the previous races due to conflicts with their own personal schedule, but had reassured him that they would be able to make it for this race and would be by his side for bahrain as well. isack had cheered when they revealed the news after friday's practice sessions ended.

y/n had landed a few hours ago, but isack was already making his way to the track when they did ( he had been dragged and strapped into the car by his manager because isack tried to run off to the airport ).

“isack?” his trainer knocked on the door and called out to him before opening it

“you good, mate?” isack only stared at his phone, his race suit still hanging around his waist

isack took a deep breath in and spun around.

his trainer blinked as he brushed past him, determination obvious. however, isack was walking away from the garage.

"wha — isack?! that's the wrong way!"

"no it isn't!"

the trainer quickly caught up to him and grabbed hold of isack's shoulder. the driver turned around, his determination had slipped and fear seemed to have consumed isack.

“what’s wrong?”

“my partner got lost"

"oh, well..." his trainer had no clue on how to comfort the driver who was trying to pull himself away

"at least they're here?" isack whipped around so fast that it startled his trainer

"that doesn't matter! they aren't with me! i can't race knowing they're not here waiting for me! what if they fell into a ditch and died or something!?"

he watched as his trainer opened his mouth to reply, but it fell on deaf ears as isack caught sight of y/n. he sprinted towards the garage, leaving his baffled trainer.

"y/n!" they didn't even have a chance to turn around before they felt isack crashing into their back, his arms tightly secured around them.

"i thought you fell into a ditch and died or something" y/n turned their head to stare at isack with an offended expression

"why was that your first thought?" isack didn't answer and continued to squeeze them tightly

( his trainer literally had to pull and carry him away from y/n so that he would get in the car )

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ollie bearman - british grand prix

despite their relationship still being relatively new, ollie found himself having "withdrawals" as kimi called it. he felt weird and itchy when y/n wasn’t by his side, but when they were ollie would just aimlessly follow them around. fans thought it was cute and started comparing him to a dog more than a bear.

however, ollie received devasting news on the day of the british grand prix.

they would be late.

ollie thought then and there that he should just die.

the young driver arrived at the paddock with sadness beneath his fake smile. he raced towards the garage, only gave short answers to those who questioned him about something or rushing through with signing something, barely having time for pictures. ollie didn't meant to come off as rude, but he really just wanted to curl up in his drivers room and wait for them, but he couldn't.

esteban who was hit with a sense of boredom wondered why he couldn't hear his teammate's usual chatter and when he peeked around the corner, all he saw is a pouting ollie.

"ollie? what's wrong?"

he mumbled an answer, but due to all the noise, esteban didn't hear a thing.

"what?" ollie huffed as he leaned closer to hear

"my partner isn't here"

he crossed his arms with an irritated expression while esteban glanced over at ollie's team who were all collectively ignoring the upset driver.

"they told me they were going to be late, but i didn't think it would be this late! what if they got into a car accident?!" he only had a few more minutes to spare before they would start forcing him into the car

esteban only nodded along as ollie continued to think the worse — he's certain he heard something about an alien abduction. the younger driver didn't even notice that his teammate had left halfway through until he spun around to see a tired looking y/n just walking in.

if ollie was a dog, his ears would’ve perked up and tail would be wagging.

“y/n!” he cheered before jumping them

thankfully, ollie had enough strength as to not let them fall over.

“ollie, you’re heavy, i can't breathe”

"you wouldn't be talking if you couldn't breathe" they groaned lightly as he pressed their bodies together

“why are you so late?”

“traffic”

“you should’ve ran” y/n scoffed

“yeah, don’t think so” ollie lifted his head from their ( neck / shoulder / chest — depends on height )

“do you… not love me enough?” his eyes widened at the thought while y/n stared silently at him, but that just made ollie grow even more nervous

“why aren’t you saying anything? do not love me anymore?!”

“ollie. get in the damn car”

“and now you’re trying to get rid of me?! y/n, i will cry”

“i don’t think your team will let me near you if you do”

“i’ll kill myself”

“ollie!”

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kimi antonelli - italian grand prix

kimi dislikes the word “possessive”. he isn’t possessive, he just doesn’t trust anyone around partner so they should stay by his side until he’s in the car and then stay beside someone he trusts while he races. that person was george’s girlfriend — carmen, but kimi’s hasn’t been liking her recently since she always stole them away.

y/n is HIS partner. how dare she keep them away from him.

carmen would pop up out of nowhere and take y/n away while george held him back from chasing them down. his partner would be returned before he had to get in the car, but that didn't matter to kimi, y/n should be with him the entire time unless they aren't allowed ( like meetings, but he was able to convince toto to let them in ).

kimi impatiently tapped his foot while george hummed to himself. he didn't speak, but kimi knew the older man was amused by the situation. would it be bad if he took george out right now? toto does favour him and valtteri is here, so it should be fine, right?

an evil glint sparkled in kimi's eyes that george was unaware of since his back was now turned.

"it's his fault for letting his girlfriend take away my partner" kimi nodded to himself as he glared at the taller man

however, he never got to initiate his plan.

"kimi"

"my purpose in life has been restored"

he sprinted towards his partner and snatched them away from carmen ( yes, kimi did glare at her, but she only laughed before going to george ).

“i hate when she does that” he scoffed before wrapping them in a tight squeeze

y/n wondered if their boyfriend was a snake in his past life by the way he hugged them.

“we just lost track of time” they managed to say, but kimi wasn’t having any of it

“you were almost late. i’m going to tie us together whenever she comes”

“you still have ten minutes”

“it would’ve been a hour, but noooo” y/n laughed and kimi finally loosened his hold on them

“sorry, sorry, i know important this race is to you” they threaded their fingers through his hair before pressing a quick kiss to kimi’s cheek

“is that all?”

“you got to put the rest of your stuff on”

“i’ll put it on when you kiss me properly”

“everyone’s looking…”

“y/n. i will not get into that car unless you kiss me”

they felt toto turn towards them and they cursed kimi quietly before pressing their lips to his.

kimi smiled happily and skipped off to put on the rest of his race gear.

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gabriel bortoleto - brazilian grand prix

this particular race weekend had been a huge deal for gabi and y/n is well aware of it. the driver felt bad about not being able to spend much time with their partner, but y/n understood and was able to keep themselves entertained without gabi.

“where are they?” he tapped his foot impatiently while staring at the empty hallway

practice and qualifying has gone well, the crowd went absolutely wild when he managed to push the car to p6, but then a few other drivers managed to get better times and that knocked him down to p10. gabi wasn’t upset about that though, what he is upset about is how his partner has seemingly disappeared the moment they arrived at the track.

sure, gabi does blame himself since he was instantly swept up with journalists and fans that seemed to increase every time someone left. y/n had given him a quick kiss before making their way to the sauber hospitality. gabi didn’t get to check in on them, at least physically, since he had a meeting and other duties to attend to before changing into his race suit. gabi didn’t think anything of it; they might have gone to get food or needed the bathroom.

but, this long? something must have happened.

he didn’t want to think the worst, but he couldn’t help it.

“how likely do you think someone here would be a kidnapper?” nico slowly turned towards gabi who stared at the wall, no thoughts seemingly behind the younger driver’s eyes

“what?” gabi blinked

“nothing” he tried to brush it off, but nico wasn’t having it

gabi sighed and started explain.

“maybe they ate something bad? or lost track of time?”

yeah, that seemed more reasonable than them being lured away and stuffed into a random van.

gabi thanked nico before wondering off back to his side of the garage.

"it's fine. maybe they did eat something bad or didn't realise how close the start time is — it's happened before..." he sighed and crossed his arms before closing his eyes

gabi drowned out the noise and envisioned himself on the track. it calmed his mind, but only slightly.

he didn't know much time had passed since he entered his own head, but gabi instantly recongised y/n the moment they were close enough. they always wear a certain ( perfume / cologne / spray, etc ) that gabi is all too familiar with, it helped that y/n is the only person he knows to wear it.

their arms wrapped around his ( waist / mid-section / shoulders ) and gabi opened his eyes and turned around.

"where were you?"

"i think i ate something weird"

a sigh slipped past his lips while his shoulders sunk in relief.

"at least weren't lured to a van and almost kidnapped"

"what?" gabi shook his head

"don't worry about it"

he pressed a soft kiss to their ( neck / cheek / forehead ) before walking away to grab his helmet. y/n stared at their boyfriend's back, confusion washing over them as they replied his words in their head.

"by the way..." with his helmet now in his hands, gabi walked back over to stand in front of them

"i'm going to handcuff us together if you leave like that again"

"gabi —" he cut them off with a kiss on the lips before quickly making his way to his car while putting on his helmet

y/n only sighed and rubbed their forehead.

[arcanefox207]

The Wolf You Feed (6)

Joel Miller x Female Reader Part 6 (Ongoing) | Rated Explicit | 6.5k WC | Series Masterlist | Read it on AO3

Summary: Set in a fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter.

Chapter Warnings: ANGST. Smut. POV-Switching. Rated Explicit. 18+ MDNI. (CHAPTER SPOILERS AHEAD) Some possible triggers including mentioning death of a child and contemplated suicide. Smut includes P in V, oral (female receiving). See series masterlist for general warnings.

A/N: Hang in there my loves, I'll ease your pain by the end of this chapter (with smut, of course) 🧡 Also my inbox is always open if you wanna talk about TWYF / ask questions! Or anything really. It really means the world 🧡

JOEL

“No, Tommy. I really did fuck it up.” He sighed into the phone. Defeated and sad. 

Joel had reached out to his brother when he was at his wits end. He didn’t recognize who he was becoming and needed to talk to someone before his anger just consumed him whole. 

He broke down and told Tommy everything about you. The one person he really could confide in, and once he opened his mouth he couldn’t stop. 

For the most part Tommy was trying to be understanding but also was caught off guard. Tess was practically family as far as he was concerned. He thought you might just be an indulgence for him. A shiny, new toy for him to play with. He didn’t really see you as a viable partner. Joel didn’t dare tell him how young you were, but Tommy seemed to pick that up on his own the way he talked about you.

“You can probably still work it out with Tess.” Tommy pushes.

“I aint interested in working out anything with her.” He snapped.   

“Ok. Ok, Joel.” He conceded his last attempt to bring things back to normal. He realized that Joel was a different person now. They were not close like they used to be, but he never realized just how much Joel was struggling. Lost. He needed someone on his side, not against him. 

“Look, man. Just give her space. Don’t be a hot head and scare her off.” Tommy tries to reason with him. Tommy always was the one who was more of a people person. His successful life with his wife Maria was something he embraced proudly. It changed him in a way that made him more responsible. 

As they grew older, it was strange how things were shifting. Joel was always the protective big brother, but now Tommy was  starting to fill that role with his grounded life experiences giving him more wisdom. 

“A real help you are.” Joel mutters and throws his phone onto the table and taps his fingers, agitated. Not exactly at Tommy, but he was letting his anguish escape however it needed to. He knew Tommy would understand that he was acting more like a wounded animal that was scared.  

He was finally acknowledging that after all his shitty behavior this is the hand he was dealt. He couldn't sweet talk you into forgiving him and he no longer had Tess on standby to console him. Tommy was trying to be supportive but he just didn’t know how.

When he tried to sleep all he could see was the hurt in your face. It didnt matter what he did or didn’t do because you were hurt and it was all his fault. 

He hurt you and he wouldn’t be able to change that. 

—

YOU

Days go by in silence and you’re not sure how to feel about it. Part of you wanted Joel to fight, but the other part was glad he obeyed. Respecting your demands to leave you alone. 

The nights were the worst. You almost gave in to calling him on several occasions. Even if he did wrong, something about him still called to you. A relentless need that you had no control over. 

You were nearing the two month mark living in Kineo, and Joel had been present in almost all of it. Your fresh start to independence unexpectedly had a co-pilot, and one that you weren’t ready to fly without.   

You kept it all to yourself. Marlene never brought it up and you put on a smile at work. It felt like you were just floating through the week with no real purpose or direction. You had paid little attention to anything beyond what was right in front of you. 

The snow was falling quickly, and in the last few hours of your Thursday shift nobody was out buying coffee. There was a major snowstorm that was just starting to ramp up. You had heard many customers fretting about it over the past few days, but didn’t give it much thought. Apparently it was a big deal and you should have been more prepared, but you would figure it out. 

Tess stopped by and your stomach was in knots. She looked numb and business focused, like this was also a distraction she was leaning on to get by. She scuffed the snow off her boots in the doorway and called out to you both. In too much of a hurry to go past the door. 

“Ladies, close up and go home. We’re closed tomorrow too.” She left after you both acknowledged and you were so grateful that it was a quick encounter. You weren't ready to face her just yet, and keeping a secret from her was taking its toll. It felt wrong, and it was slowly eating away at you. 

The ride home was treacherous and you could barely see out your windshield. This was the first real brutal winter storm you encountered since moving and regretted not preparing for it at all. As you got closer and closer to your house you noticed how dark it was. The ominous grey storm clouds blocking whatever little light was left for the day. The only lights you saw were the flashing orange on the upcoming plow truck. 

The house is icy and dark. You go to flick the switch just to confirm the power is out. You use the flashlight on your phone to stumble into the kitchen where you find a few candles to light. 

This was going to suck.

Headlights shine into the front window and you see a truck parked at the end of your driveway. 

Joel.

You answer the knock at the door. Your pulse beating with intrigue, as if your body finally settled on needing his presence more than not. 

You open the door halfway, wanting to be angry at him but finding yourself enamored with how the snow was sticking to his perfectly tousled hair. 

Of course he couldn’t give up the neighborly act and you wondered his true intentions. 

“Don’t mean to bother you, but the power is out and it’s gonna get real cold tonight.. over here.” He puts his hand on the door to push it open slightly wider as he steps forward. “I’d like you to stay at my place.”

His sincere eyes searched yours, looking for any sort of indication how you were feeling about his offer.  

“Won’t get in your way, I promise. Just helping out… a neighbor.” He hesitates on the last words. “And I promised your dad.” he admits sheepishly.

You roll your eyes at that. Your mom and dad were always getting into your business. You had ignored their calls all week so it wasn’t a surprise that they reached out to him.

His offer seemed genuine and you were getting concerned about how cold the house already was. Your candles and flashlights would only do so much.

“Ok.” You agree, giving little emotion. You didn’t want him to think you were conceding easily. You were just being practical. 

Truthfully, you could only suppress the way your body still ached for him for so long.

You feel that heat inside you try to ignite the smallest flame. The feeling that just wouldn’t die despite it all. A spark waiting dormant at any chance to catch. As much as you tried to ignore it, it was still there.

Joel looked relieved that you agreed to it. His protective nature was called into action and he didn’t want to have to force you to do anything. Even if you were icing him out, he still felt a duty to make sure you were safe. Of course, he hoped in time you would forgive him, but for now this was all that really mattered. 

“And I gotta bleed the pipes so they don’t freeze. Told your dad I’d take care of his place.” He pushes the door open even more as he steps forward, and you can smell the coldness radiate off his body along with the leathery scent from his jacket. The fleeting thought of wrapping your body around him and inhaling his scent was overpowering.  

His bullish advance felt intrusive but also non-negotiable as he snapped you out of your delulu. 

You step aside so he can come in. You just now notice his bag of tools and industrial flashlight. Contractors. 

It doesn't take him long and you keep your distance, sticking to your bedroom and packing a bag with the essentials. After a few minutes he knocks on the door to get your attention. You don’t open it, and let him speak to you through the door. Trying to establish that you still have boundaries and your bedroom is one of them.

“What?” you ask with a forced annoyance.

He pauses for a moment and then his husky voice seeps through the cracks.  

“I gotta plow a few houses before it gets much worse. Get your stuff together and let yourself in. The fire is stoked and the house is warm.”

You hear his footsteps as he walks away after waiting a moment. That spark inside burns hotter. A want. You missed him, and you needed him but you had to stay strong. 

Damnit, Joel Miller. He was making it so hard to stay mad at him. 

—

His home was so warm and inviting. The wood stove was so practical and cozy. You started to feel like a character in one of your books in some remote cabin in the woods. You had added a few logs to keep it burning. Joel had them neatly stacked nearby and it wasn’t too difficult to figure out. 

A few hours passed before Joel returned home. He entered the house with nothing but a polite nod to acknowledge you made it over safely and an approving glance at the freshly stoked fire. 

You had been reading in front of the wood stove, wrapped in a blanket. He kept his word and left you alone for the most part. He spent most of his time up in his loft after telling you he fixed up the bedroom for you to sleep in and implied that he would resign to the couch when he was ready to sleep. 

The comforting smell of the burning wood and the crackle the fire made was peaceful. There were a few lit candles giving the cabin an authentically rustic feel. Even if they were there to be practical, it felt romantic. 

For reasons you couldn’t explain, you felt a pang of disappointment in how much of a gentleman he was being to you. It made you feel guilty for being so cold towards him, and annoyed at how respectful he was being to your boundaries. He was doing exactly what you asked him to, and yet you were realizing it wasn’t what you expected. Pushing him away didn’t make you stop wanting him. It was just the safest way to protect your feelings. It was lonely.

The longer you sat in solitude, the more you reflected on what you really wanted. Still, you felt paralyzed to take that next step, riddled with guilt for Tess and a wavering disdain for Joel. You wanted your Joel back. The one that was rough around the edges. The one that made you come alive in ways you didn’t know were possible when he had you under his weight. The one that took what he wanted and left you fucked out and wanting more and more. Ruining future men forever.  

You could have him back, if you just forgave him, but that would also mean coming to terms with the aftermath of what happened. Talking about it. Making it real. 

—

JOEL

He kept to himself quietly in the upstairs loft, trying to keep himself calm. You were right there, content and safe, still not speaking to him beyond what was necessary. Having you so close and still so out of reach was eating him alive, but at least you were there. 

Not having electricity for a hot shower didn’t help his mood. He was able to freshen up with a washcloth, deodorant and change into a clean shirt. The heat rising from the wood stove made the loft extra toasty. The worn loveseat where he often strummed his guitar was welcoming to his tired body. It sucked in his weight and creaked in protest as he shifted to prop his legs up over the arm and lounge back. 

The day took a toll on him. An early start doing 10 hours worth of contractor work and then spending many more plowing and shoveling snow. He was tired and his muscles ached, but it was nothing in comparison to how heavy his heart felt. 

He swiped through the final photos you sent to him, as he did every night, admiring everything about them. Beyond the obvious, it was the look in your eyes. The happiness and longing for him that you once had. 

He felt his jeans tighten as he focused on your perfect breasts and your swollen clit, begging for his touch. Remembering how your body felt as if it was made to take him. He needed to be inside you again and then hold you forever and never let you go.  

You were too good for him. You deserved more than a washed up old man who couldn’t even be honest with you. 

And still, he needed you. Craved your body and your warmth that your smile radiated. Craved that innocence you had that he loved to corrupt. The way that you made him feel when you needed him. You were so smart and capable, but he saw how your eyes lit up when he did things for you. He made sure to be there for you before you ever asked. He wanted to take care of all your problems. Protect you and make sure you never wanted for anything. The way your body called to him. How right you made his world feel. Now that you were part of it, how could it be any other way?     

Honesty. It was all he had left to give if you would let him. 

Joel looked at a worn photo that he kept in his wallet. He had to make things right. He had to try.  

—

YOU

Joel had used the gas stovetop to heat up some canned soup and it was the first time he interrupted you, offering a bowl. 

After awkwardly navigating around each other in the kitchen, you thank him and resign to his bedroom, alone. You leave the door slightly open so the heat from the wood stove would warm the room. A double wick candle he thoughtfully left for you on the nightstand flickers the room in soft glow. 

Despite the warm balsam scent from the burning wax, the room smells overwhelmingly of Joel. Clean. Masculine. His woodsy cologne that never overpowered but always made itself known. The same blue comforter that you laid under before but a fresh pair of gray colored sheets. They were perfectly smooth. Unwrinkled and untouched since he placed them on the bed for you. It filled you with a sadness as you balled your hand into the sheets, mourning the beautiful memories.

God damnit, Joel. 

You were getting settled in, wrapped up in another blanket and reading your book by candle light when you heard a knock on the door frame.

You lock eyes with him. There is a heavy sadness in them. 

“Can we talk for a second?” 

It was his house after all. You felt you owed him at least a conversation. Even if it was that conversation. 

You close your book as you hesitantly swing your legs over the side of the bed. The door creaks open wider and he stands in the doorway with a hand on the knob, looking for permission to come in. The way his t-shirt was straining against the flex his biceps made you flutter. It wasn’t fair how attractive he was without even trying.

“I guess.” You concede and quickly bring your gaze to the floor. Afraid your body would betray you as your heartbeat quickened.  

Joel enters slowly and walks over to the edge of the bed, sitting a respectable distance away from you. Close enough to touch you, but not invading your space.  

“I uh, don’t know how to say it exactly.” he nervously starts. He was acting differently. Lacking that confidence he so expertly wielded. Vulnerable.     

He pulls out a worn and folded paper and opens it gently to reveal a little girl. She looked young. 11, maybe 12. 

He slides the photo into your hands as you study it, unsure what he was getting at.

“That's my baby girl, Sarah.” His voice is low but heavy with emotion. His hands clasped between his legs and thumbs fidgeting. 

“You have a daughter?” you ask, completely caught off guard. Nothing in Joel’s world left any clues to him having children or a family. You approach this new knowledge with trepidation, noting how old the photo was and wondering where she is now. “Shes beautiful.” 

You can see some similar features when you look closely, except that she was smiling big. Something Joel rarely did. 

He isn’t crying but you can see that glossy look over his eyes. This was a memory that hurt. Your chest tightens, picking up on his pained hesitancy to speak his next words. 

“She was twelve when… when she died.” he says as he takes the photo back into his hands with an unsteady grasp.

Oh my God. His revelation hurts to hear. He looks down to the floor, hunched over slightly with his hands gripping the edge of the bed on each side of him. 

You rest your hand on top of his and feel his skin go taunt over his knuckles as he balls his hand into a fist. Trying to keep his composure. 

“Tommy and I were there by her side. She was sick and the doctors didn’t know how to make her better.” He paused. “I… couldn’t save her.” His voice just above a whisper and you wonder if he meant to say it out loud, as if he had been harboring that guilt for years. 

“Joel I… I’m so sorry.” You wipe the tear that falls down your cheek. “I had no idea.” 

You sit in silence with him, letting the news wash over you both. Unsure what to do other than be at his side while he was lost in his painful memories. 

“S’been almost 20 years, but a day don’t go by I don’t think about her.” He folds the photo and puts it back into his pocket. His voice steadies and he takes a breath as if a huge weight was lifted off of him. 

You felt privileged that he was sharing this piece of his life with you. It was clearly not something he went around telling everyone. It put things into perspective, too. 

He was a dad. 

“Before you start wonderin’ it.” He looks at you knowing full well you are going to be thinking about his history sooner or later. “Raised her myself since her mother left us when she was barely a year old.” He hesitates to say more, like that part didn’t matter. “Sarah was my entire world.”

You feel at a loss with what to say. The more he opened up the more silent you were. He had experienced so much that you never knew about. A single dad. Losing a child. You settle with just closing your hand on his and moving closer to him. What could you possibly say? No, you needed to just listen. He was opening up in a way he never had before, and you suspected rarely would again. 

“M’ telling you this because there's more.” He pauses. “I tried to move on, but I couldn’t stay in Texas. Wasn’t home anymore without her there. Tommy and I went to Boston to start over. He had nothing tyin’ him to Texas either and we can be contractors anyplace. Thought it would help.” He skoffs at that, mimicking how naive he was. “It didn’t.”

You could feel the shift in the room. The feeling that he was about to share something else vulnerable. 

“I… I didn’t see the point in livin’ anymore.” he says with a blank stare, lost as if he was reliving that moment of hopelessness. Ashamed of his weakness. 

“You don’t have to-” you try to interrupt, not wanting him to feel he owes sharing this story with you when you can see how much it hurts him. Part of you is uncomfortable with the rawness of his past he was exposing. Not because it is hard to think about, but because it hurts to imagine him being so desperate and lost that it was his only option.    

He held his hand out towards you, fingers fanned wide, urging you to let him finish before he drops it back slowly to his side.

“Then I met Tess. The night I was going to... be done with it all.” He stumbles over his words, battling with the crudeness that he couldn’t stop from pouring out of his mouth. 

“Joel..” you plea. Not sure if you were strong enough, worthy enough, to hear all this. Until you realized he had to get this story out. Who knows how long he had kept it bottled up to himself.  

“She gave me a reason to keep going. Became my rock. The only person that understood that pain… because she lost her son too. Two people at the end of their rope.”

You never knew Tess had a son. It was so easy to see how two headstrong people could connect and bond over the shared traumatic experience of losing a child.  

“We helped each other… survive.” he sounds unsure about the word choice. “We moved here intending to live separate lives but we clung on to each other. It worked for a while, but we lost sight of where we started… and where we were going.”

He didn’t need to say any more. You knew exactly what he meant. Their entire relationship was built on empathy and survival. They became codependent on each other. 

“I’ll always be grateful for what she did for me. I owe her my life.” He nods, agreeing with his words that he was perhaps speaking out loud for the first time. 

“It doesn’t make anything that I did right. M’not telling you this for pity. Tess will always be someone I love, but we are not the same people we were back then. We were holding onto each other because we were too scared to be alone. Took me a long time to figure that out. Too damn long.”

You detect that annoyance returning to his voice. A resentment.  

“And Tess… she aint got there yet. Don’t think she ever will. And I can’t keep livin’ like that.”

It didn’t make his actions hurt you any less, but it gave you a new perspective. You didn’t know how deep their relationship went and you didn’t realize he felt an obligation to her that he was just starting to understand. 

“And I’ve been feeling this for a long time now, well before I met you. Just go’in along each day with no direction. Not givin’ a shit.”

He stops and looks you in the eyes, intense and deadly serious.

“Was you that made me realize I had been searching for this.” He flips his hand over and his fingers weave with yours. You can feel the desperation and the want in his touch as his thumb grazes over yours. His brow softens.

“Knew it when I first met you and I couldn’t stop thinkin’ bout you night after night. That I had to take back my life. That existing aint the same as living.” 

You wrap your arms around his waist and pull yourself into his chest, breathe in his warm scent and want nothing more than to be in his arms again. Right or wrong you don’t care anymore. This is what you want. You want Joel.   

He wraps his arms around you and envelops you in his heat. You can feel his heartbeat singing into your ear with a heavy thud. Strong and resilient. His safe embrace silently apologizing for hurting you along the way. Promising you he wouldn’t ever hurt you again. 

His honesty made him less of a mystery now. His hardened exterior was built up over the years of living with this horrible hand he was dealt. Now that you knew the truth, you could finally start to make sense of everything.

Forgive him, even. At least try to. 

“I’m sorry.” he presses a kiss onto the top of your head and holds you. “I’m so sorry.” 

—

After holding you for a few moments Joel untangled from you and left you to your privacy, continuing his respectful act. Giving you time to process everything he said. Your mind was racing, analyzing everything. Calculating what happens next.

You knew if you crossed that line you would need to forgive him for what he did, and come to terms with sneaking around and indulging in a forbidden romance. At least, if you wanted to keep your job and the only other friendship you had going. Your parents could never find out either. They would never approve of you being with someone almost as old as them, let alone enable it any longer by allowing you to live in their home. You would have to cross that bridge later. This wasn’t about anyone else though. This was about you and Joel and what you wanted. 

Your next steps were heavy weighing your options, but also so very clear. No longer could you deny the way he made you feel and the way he made you ache for him when apart. He was remorseful for what he put you through. You could see it in his eyes. Hear it in his voice. Feel it in his touch.

Forgiving Joel would also solidify your relationship. It would be you and only you going forward. No more questionable lines of what you were and what you weren’t. 

You made your way out to the living room and saw Joel sitting near the wood stove, wearing reading glasses and a worn book opened in his lap. You didn’t take him for a man that would read for pleasure, but then again you can only do so much without electricity. He looked so peaceful with the glow of the fire illuminating him. A peace that only came with being so open. Everything between you felt lighter, like this was what needed to happen to get to this point.   

He looks up at you as you make your way over to stand in front of him. 

“Promise me.” you beg. “Promise me that you won’t hurt me...” You pause. “Ever again.” It was an absurd demand, but it was what you needed to hear from him. 

He takes off his glasses and closes his book, standing up to join you. His wide and towering body over yours made you feel so small in his shadow. Helpless against him but always safe with him. 

His greys caught the light of the fire, reminding you how much older he was and how much it turned you on. His well kept form only made him more and more attractive to you. Everything about him made you want him. An insatiable desire that you couldn’t deny any longer.  

“I promise, sweetheart,” he says as he sweeps your hair behind your ear and tenderly holds his palm against you. It makes you feel weak. 

“And… Tess?”

“Only you.” He says gently as he takes your hands in front of him. He repeats softer and pushes his forehead into yours as he leans over you, whispering “Only you.”

His hand comes up to cup your cheek and cranes your jawline upward to match your gaze. “I’m yours, if you’ll let me.”

Now you were a goner. 

His lips press into you and you melt into him. His tongue wastes no time to push inside and ravage your mouth. You give in to him, letting him consume you and relishing in his neediness to have you. 

His hands roam under your shirt, pulling it off hastily over your head. Your lips part only briefly. His roughness on your skin is welcomed as he thumbs at your waist band and urges you to step out of your lounge pants. 

You return the urgency, tugging at his shirt to make it disappear. His broad chest was a sight you would never tire of. Wide shoulders that could wrap you up effortlessly. 

Joel tore from your lips and trailed his mouth along your jawline. Nipping at the supple skin and gently biting at your neck as he removed your bra. He slid out of his jeans and boxers while he distracted you with his mouth.

You tip your head back as he goes lower, scruff scraping against your collarbone. Trailing lower and lower, dragging along your breasts. He took you into his mouth, letting his tongue dance lightly over your hardening nipples. Sucking with increasing ferocity until he released you with a wet pop and repeated the same on the other side.

He dropped to his knees with his hands firmly grappling your hips he pulled you in close to him. His hot breath tickled as he thumbed your panties down to expose your cunt.

“This is mine” he declared with a wicked grin as he slid your panties down your legs. His possessiveness couldn’t help but show itself and it was something that drove you wild. A pillar in your relationship that he was establishing and leaving no room to question. You were his.  

He wasted no time, nudging his nose into your clit as his tongue made quick work of your needy mess. Muffling his face into your heat with a hunger.

Your legs were unsteady but he had such a grip on you, holding you firmly against his face while he devoured you. His scruff getting damp while you started to drip for him. His rough patches sent shivers through your body as they grazed your softest skin while his lips and tongue pleasured you. He rubbed himself against you like a feral cat. Letting your wetness mark him. 

He couldn’t get enough of you. His muffled moans vibrated against you exquisitely as he tasted you and moaned in delight.  

Your hands found a home in his grey locks of hair, grabbing tightly with each flick of his tongue making you come more and more undone. He knew exactly how to touch you, drawing moans and gasps from your lips while he buried himself deeper. Pausing on the spots where you reacted the most with expert precision.

He started to take his time, relishing in your sweetness and giving you more and more with each tug against him. He was mindful of making it last as long as possible for you, practicing some restraint that he often ignored. This was about you. Apologizing with his tongue in a way that his words could never.

You tried to hold on as long as you could as your muscles weakened and your breathing shallowed. You cried out his name as your orgasm washed over you. He lapped up your sweetness as you rode the wave. 

He gently guided you down to join him on the floor, leaving sloppy, open mouthed kisses against your belly.   

You were gasping for breath as your heartbeat slowed. He leaned forward, pressing his lips into yours and plunging his tongue inside. You could taste yourself on him. He pulled away and gave a pleased smirk as his eyes narrowed over his nose. 

You sat back on your haunches  with your legs spread open. He eyed you up and down like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“I don’t deserve you.” he says almost in disbelief. 

“I know.” you tease.

His cock looked painfully hard. You reach a hand towards him and wrap your fingers around his girth. He was so impossibly thick. His veiny shaft called to you like a siren song that twitched under your touch. 

He wrapped his fingers around yours, engulfing them as you pumped his cock together. Slow and intimate. The increasing tightness of his skin made you feel guilty for having come already when he was so on edge. You could feel how ready he was and how disciplined he was behaving. You were anxious to have him inside you again as you brushed your thumb over his slit and felt his wetness beading.  

“Turn over, sweetheart.” he reluctantly pulls your hand away from his throbbing heat. Your finger drags along the tip as he pulls it off and is wet with his precome. You bring your shiny fingertip to your mouth and lick it clean as you stare at him. The filthy display makes him groan through gritted teeth.

You then obeyed, maneuvering yourself so you were on all fours with your backside to the fire. Grateful for the fur throw rug that was soft on your hands and knees.  

He stifled a groan as he shuffled up behind you, sitting up on his knees. He reached around to your front and pressed his fingers to your opening, pleased to find you still wet and begging to be filled. He dipped just his finger tip inside to tease you, reminding you how thick his fingers were, and how much they paled in comparison to his cock. You pressed back against him and let out a needy moan as he plunged his middle finger in deeper. Your desire to have any part of him inside you was overwhelming.

He pulled all the way out and circled your clit with his wet fingertips, making you whimper. You were still sensitive and swollen from moments before.

“Gonna fill you up, sweetheart. Promise.” his Texan accent came out thick.

He pressed his hips into you as he looked down your back, settling himself between your legs. His hands grabbed your hips and he lined up with your entrance, taking his time. Relishing in your shared bodies once again. His fingers kneaded you gently, holding tightly. Afraid if he let go he would lose you again. 

He slid a hand up your spine, pushing you down the closer he got to your shoulders, urging you to relax while he held you up at your hips. Your fingers curled into the fur carpet as his cock nudged you. 

Oh, how you missed it.

The wait was agonizing. Facing the window, the world looked so peaceful. A black mirror reflecting only the shimmer of the falling snow catching the light from the fire. It was quiet, calming and isolated. For this moment, all that mattered was you and him.

He split you open on his cock as he thrust in, slowly. You could feel his broad head catching on you as he pushed in and out. Working himself a little deeper with each push forward. It was agonizingly slow and you could only imagine how difficult it was for him to be patient. His raspy moans caught in throat with every thrust as your tight walls choked him. 

He was fully sheathed inside you, his hips flush with your body as he held you there for a moment. You were filled to the brim with him and it felt intoxicating to have him inside you. His entire length being strangled by your cunt. You could feel his neediness growing, and his desire to lose himself in you. His throbbing cock begging to come. 

He wanted more.  

He pulled your hips back as he pushed into you, stuffing as much of him inside as he could and being present with how tight you were. 

He was relishing in having you again. His right hand left marks as it clawed into you and you could feel his desperation build while left hand slapped onto your ass and firmly gripped you. He pulled you into him and held you still and he could feel your pussy clenching him, begging for friction. Swallowing him as deep as he could go.

“Joel… please.” you beg him to move with your delirious whines. 

Then he fucked you. Slow. Hard. Desperate to make it last. Controlling his urge to lose himself until you were moaning and begging for him. Every thrust into you an apology and a promise.

It didn’t take long. 

When he came you could feel his heat spilling inside you. Pumping you full of his devotion. You cried out as you rode the wave with him, taking in every drop of his spend as you writhed on his cock. 

You fell forward as he pulled out of you, gasping for air. He leaned over your body, his softening cock dragging against you as he leaned down to kiss your neck. Then he collapsed to the side of you.

He reached to the couch to grab a pillow and the blanket that was hung over the side. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but there was no place you wanted to be other than in his arms, engulfed by his heat and filled so much that cum was leaking out of you. Surrounded by the warmth of the fire and smelling sweat and pine. 

He pulled you tight against his body with his bicep curled under you to support your head. The length of his body pressed into your backside as he held you close, never wanting to let go. Never wanting to lose you again.

He kissed the top of your head again gently and used his free arm to rub your side soothingly as you both caught your breath. 

Joel caressed your sides up to your shoulder until you were fast asleep, stealing secret moments to press a kiss to your body or breathe you in. Holding you so tightly to his body that nobody would dare try to take you away from him. Possessive and determined to prove to you everyday how sorry he was and how important you were to him.

Tonight was something different. It was an intimate side of Joel you had not seen on this level before. You had no doubt that his rough dominance would return with a welcome vengeance, but tonight he was showing you a different part of him. Coming to terms that he was being vulnerable with you because he trusted you.

You faded in and out of sleep, each time comforted when you felt his heat against your body and his heartbeat thumping against your back. 

Despite what happened in the past, this moment felt right. Joel Miller had you hook, line and sinker.  

To be continued...

A O 3 | M A S T E R L I S T | N O T I F I C A T I O N S

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[gravitasfalls]

#with tbob being out I was expecting a lot more sympathy for ford from this fandom #…but uh apparently not (via @spirit-dumps)

#SAME! #what the hell guys i thought we were getting over this bullshit #ugh this fandom is a literal nightmare right now (via @jacky-rubou)

#i dont get it #never hated ford #but also never understood the hate for him either #was he supposed to just lie down and be bills toy #its baffling how anyone can hate him #does no one recognize trauma #or ptsd #or the fact he was vulnerable already being considered a freak #even if he is a genius #sigh #i shake my head (via @gravity-falls-fanatic89)

#literally #i've moved past gf at this point but the fandom's ford takes are so fucking bad #bad enough that i still feel the need to post about them (via @ferretwhomst)

#ever since that ford has npd post hit tiktok it was like the world's worst ableists came out to pinpoint every and any of fords flaws #came from npd and his 'narcissism'. narc abuse isn't real STOP IT #then we have the deniers who say he was never abused... hello? (via @firesofdainix)

#<- YEA EXACTLY?? #tbob obviously paints Ford as a victim of manipulation abuse etc.. #but it appears like people have no media literacy anymore.. #either that or they only know the Gravity Falls they've made in their head or something #gf fandom when an abuse victim reacts in a realistic complex way and is traumatized:😡😡😡 #(they only want “perfect victims” and it shows) (via @yourlowkeyidiot3)

#literally I've blocked one billion people and yet there's still more. me when I'm in a victim blaming contest and my opponent is a gravity #falls fan. #clears my throat. anyway. (via @ponyrepress)

#you don’t have to like him but i feel like some of you guys are just grasping at straws atp (via @wesandersonhater)

#i hate tiktok and this tiktok gravity falls Renaissance so fucking bad bc these #dumb stupid braindead takes are EV E R YWHERE ON THERE RN #people aggressively hating ford and calling him irredeemable and the worst person alive as if his literal entire story isnt about redemption #and learning to be a better person and consider those around you more #and that people can change and new generations can break their family cycles #and idk if its starting to leak over to tumblr or if its just naturally coming from both places #but ive also seen some of it on tumblr snd it makes me wanna die #like you do not have to like any character. but saying stuff like that about him is just like...seeing what you want to see in his story #instead of what it actually is (via @putermajigs)

#it's especially bad on tiktok oh ny gosh #don't get me started #like is ford flawed? yes #but maybe can we not say that an abuse victim deserved 'what was coming to him' #like #please #maybe calm down and think rationally for a second (via @scooterscooter)

#hes a flawed man but HE LEARNS AND GROWS FROM THOSE MISTAKES #please im old now #we did this in 2015-6 (via @kastiakbc)

#REAL VRO #he mightve made mistakes byt hes HUMAN yall 😭🙏🏼 #hes flawed and thats what makes his character good and fleshed out imo #he doesn't deserve this SLANDER (via @phone-kisser)

#Genuinely feels like im going insane trying to reason with some of these people #he is flawed!! he is fucked up!! #he is not a horrible person he is not an abuser and he did NOT deserve what happened to him #some of yall also love to paint stan as this little uwu babyboy can do no wrong character while making ford out to be this horrific villain #who ruined his life and i just #i cant with yall #if ur offended by this its about you (via @thendlessfrozenpines)

#who are these people so that i can block them #i swear im going to start throwing hands #can't stand this new wave of ford hate (via @dime-stacker)

…hey guys, can we like…stop hating on ford?? and acting like he’s the worst human being on this planet??? And also stop saying he “got what was coming for him”???? Can we stop that???

Some of this fandom’s takes make me feel like the above (not my drawing)

[oopsiedaisydeer]

ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɪ ʟᴏꜱᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍɪɴᴅ?

…𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘣𝘰𝘺!𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘭𝘰

phone call, angst, mental health struggles, alcohol, fluff if u squint, unrequited love?, longing, vulnerability, intimacy, anonymous relationship, crush, love square?

word count - 1k

The call is winding down, the warmth of Daisy’s voice lingering even through the receiver. Chris exhales, shifting on his bed as he listens to her laugh at something he’s just said. The sound is soft, familiar by now, like the sound of rain against his window.

“So, what’s on your agenda for tonight?” Daisy asks, voice light.

Chris hesitates for a second before running a hand through his hair. “Uh, there’s a party. Some guy on the team is throwing it.”

“Oh?” There's a teasing lilt in her voice. “Are you excited?”

He scoffs. “Not really my thing, but I figured I’d show up for a bit.”

“Mingling, drinking, dancing…” Daisy lists, amused. “Maybe you’ll even make a new friend.”

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. “Doubt it. But hey, I should probably start getting ready.”

“Alright, alright,” Daisy concedes. “Try not to get into too much trouble, Sun.”

He smirks at the nickname, the familiarity of it settling something in his chest. “No promises.”

The party is too much before he even steps inside. Music pounds through the walls, a deep bass that rattles his chest, seeps into his bones. The air is thick, humid with sweat and alcohol. Voices clash over each other, laughter too loud, conversations blurring together.

Chris moves through the space, head slightly bowed, hands stuffed into his pockets. He recognises a few people, nods when necessary, but doesn’t stop. Someone presses a drink into his hand, and he takes a sip without thinking. The bitter burn coats his tongue, and he grimaces, but drinks again anyway.

Time passes in fragments. He’s on the couch, then by the kitchen, then standing against a wall while someone talks at him.

“Dude, did you hear about…?”

“No way, that’s fucking bullshit.”

“Come on, one more shot…”

Chris barely listens. The world is spinning just a little. At this point, he's probably crossfaded. His limbs feel heavy, thoughts slowed to a lazy drift.

Then there’s a girl.

He doesn’t remember how she got there, doesn’t remember what she said first. She’s just there, close. Too close. She smells like vanilla and something sharper, like the bite of citrus. Her fingers graze his wrist, then his shoulder, then his jaw. He lets her.

“You’re kinda quiet, huh?” she muses, tilting her head.

Chris swallows, shrugs. “Guess so.”

She grins, pressing closer. “I like that.”

Her lips press against his, and it’s—fine. Just fine.

But something is wrong.

Her lips are soft, but they’re too much, too eager, like they’re pushing into him. Her breath is warm against his skin, and her hands… her hands are everywhere, tracing the lines of his chest, his jaw, as if she knows him. He wants to pull away, but his body isn’t quite listening, not yet. His heart is pounding, racing to catch up with his thoughts, but all he can focus on is the sharpness of the moment, the sharpness of her scent, and the way it clings to him.

Her lips press harder, her body moving closer, and that’s when it hits him… the overwhelming sense of wrongness. It’s like a tide crashing over him, washing away any last bit of control. Her touch feels too invasive, too unfamiliar. Every brush of her fingers, every movement of her body feels forced against the space that should be his alone. Her hands slip underneath his shirt, and it’s like a switch flips in his mind, a jolt of panic, cold and sudden.

He pulls back, a sharp gasp tearing through him. The air feels too thick, too full of the music, the laughter, the heat, the smell of alcohol, of her. His chest rises and falls rapidly, each breath feeling like it’s not enough, like the air has become foreign.

The girl blinks at him, lips slightly parted in confusion. She says something, something he can’t quite catch, but he’s already stepping back, moving away from her, toward the edge of the room. His legs feel weak beneath him, and he doesn’t trust himself to stay still, doesn’t trust his body to do anything right.

“Sorry,” he mutters, his voice a little too hoarse, a little too panicked.

The door is in sight, the light from the outside looking like a distant promise. He doesn’t stop to look back, doesn’t stop to hear her voice calling after him. He’s already stepping through the door, the cool night air hitting him like a slap to the face. It feels like a reprieve, like he can breathe again, but it doesn’t last.

His hands are shaking as he pulls out his phone, the screen bright in the dark. His thumb hovers over the number he’s dialed a million times before, the hotline number, the only thing that’s ever been constant in the chaos. He presses call without thinking, his heart still racing, still reeling from the suffocating feeling of the party.

The phone rings, and it feels like a lifetime. It rings once, twice, then a third time before it’s picked up.

“…Hello, this is Cherry.”

The blood drains from his face, his stomach flipping with dread. He blinks at the phone, the voice too unfamiliar, too wrong in this moment.

His finger finds the end call button before he’s even fully aware of what’s happening.

His chest tightens, breath caught in his throat. He stumbles forward, heart still racing. His legs buckle as he makes his way to the bushes, the overwhelming surge of emotions crashing over him. His mind spins, and his body betrays him as it convulses, shaking with the force of it. He doubles over, everything from the night forcing its way out, his stomach twisting and emptying. It’s a release, but it’s not enough. He wipes his mouth, but he still feels nauseous.

He leans into the cold grass, his fingers digging into the damp earth as he tries to ground himself, but nothing feels solid anymore.

And Daisy’s not there.

Has he lost his mind?

thank u rose for the dividers !! @bernardsbendystraws

a/n: possible smut from daisy's pov tomorrow if u guys ask nicely:>

taglist: @applecidersturniolo @throatgoat4u @sturnslutz @desreads @courta13 @kier-with-a-k @bluestriips @sturns-mermaid @sweetshuga @snoopychris @st7rnioioss @herewegoagain-b

till next time !!

[genderqueerpositivity]

I tried to write a post to celebrate being four years on testosterone yesterday. That post turned into a rambling mess of my fears for the future and fears about losing my access to gender affirming care. Which honestly makes a lot of sense given the state of things politically.

The anxiety is also due to the fact that my hysterectomy is in limbo now; my procedure should have been May 1st, but now my doctor is leaving the practice at the end of April. So now I don't know what's going to happen there, which is a little devastating after going through the whole referral and waiting and intake processes. I'm supposed to be referred to another doctor in the same practice, but it's been a month of radio silence now. Hell, I don't even know who to contact; last time I had to it ended up being a multi-day game of phone tag.

I don't know what to say other than I'm grateful and surprised to have made it so far in my hormone therapy journey. I'm incredibly lucky to have the support of beloved chosen family the entire way. And I'm so privileged to have ever accessed gender affirming care to begin with and I can't ever say enough for how much it has improved my mental health and my relationship with my own body.

I used to wonder everyday pre-T if hormone therapy was the right step for me. I thought about it all the time, constantly wondered what sort of changes I could have, and if it would help my dysphoria; I don't have to wonder anymore because I know that this is right for me.

At first I wanted to do topical HRT because I wanted that control of getting to choose this everyday; I imagined that I would reach a point where I might decide that I've transitioned "enough" and choose to stop. These days, I am happy with weekly injections. Getting to just do my shot once a week and then just live without worrying about it is amazing.

I am open to the possibility that I may still reach a point where I decide to reduce my T dose or stop entirely, but at the moment it feels very unlikely. Gender is personal and unique like that. I really hope to be able to continue and see what happens next.

It is difficult to express how transitioning to a more physically male appearance has given me greater freedom to express my gender in less binary ways, but it is true. I experience my gender as more queer and more fluid than ever.

I can't fully explain or express the pain of gender dysphoria and the joy of gender euphoria. How could I possibly get most average people without dysphoria to understand that I used to legitimately hate the sound of my own voice? That I couldn't stand having my voice recorded, because I sometimes even struggled to accept that the person I was speaking speak was actually me?

Now? I just sound like myself. I am more confident making phone calls and calling over the radios at work, I sing aloud in the car now, and occasionally I will speak to someone and get the surprise joy of being addressed as he or sir in return.

And that is just one example of many I could give.

Transitioning is as much a gift of big milestones as it is a gift of so many small and everyday moments.

On Saturday I will do my first shot since my 4 year T birthday, and I will be grateful and have no regrets.

[quins-heart16]

LEWIS HAMILTONX FEM READER

RACING AGAINST TIME

It had been a year. A long, agonizing year since Lewis walked out of my life, leaving nothing behind except the deafening silence of a love lost to my own mistakes.

I should have known better. Should have listened to my heart instead of the wrong voices whispering in my ear. My so-called friends—people who claimed they had my best interests at heart—convinced me that Lewis wasn’t as invested as I was. That his lifestyle, the flashing lights, the constant travel, meant I was only an accessory in his world. And I believed them.

One night, I let it all explode.

“You never have time for me, Lewis,” I snapped, arms crossed, my voice laced with bitterness. “You’re always on the road, always with your team, always with—” I hesitated, swallowing the jealousy that burned inside me.

His brows furrowed. “With who, exactly?” he asked, his voice calm but dangerously low.

I scoffed, shaking my head. “I don’t know, Lewis. The media sure has a lot to say. And my friends think—”

“Your friends?” His expression hardened. “Since when do your friends know anything about our relationship?”

I faltered, but my pride wouldn’t let me back down. “They see what I see. You’re never here.”

His jaw clenched, frustration flashing in his eyes. “I work, Y/N. I race. This isn’t just my career—it’s my life. But that doesn’t mean you’re not a part of it.” He ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “I love you. Or at least, I thought you knew that.”

I did. I knew it deep down. But my insecurities, fueled by the wrong people, made me push him further away.

“If you really loved me, you’d make more time,” I shot back.

His eyes darkened with something I had never seen before—disappointment. “I have given you everything I could,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “But if that’s not enough for you…”

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. I wanted to take the words back, to tell him I was scared, but my pride kept me frozen.

Lewis exhaled, his decision made. “I can’t keep proving myself to someone who refuses to believe in me.”

Then he walked out the door.

Blocked. From his life. From his world. From him.

The first few weeks were unbearable. I told myself he needed space. That maybe he’d come back once he cooled down. But weeks turned into months, and soon, an entire year had passed. And yet, I still found myself scrolling through old photos of us, still replaying our late-night conversations in my mind. Still breaking down in tears when I saw his name on a podium, realizing that I was no longer the person he called after a victory.

Then one night, sitting alone in my apartment, I whispered into the darkness, “I miss you, Lewis.”

My phone, silent as ever, mocked me.

But I couldn’t give up.

Because I knew now—more than ever—that I had lost the best thing that had ever happened to me. And maybe, just maybe, if I found the right words, if I showed him how much I had grown, he’d give me one more chance.

I took a deep breath and typed out the message I had been too afraid to send for an entire year.

Me: I know I don’t deserve it, but if there’s even the smallest chance, can we talk?

I stared at the screen, my heart pounding. Three dots appeared. Then disappeared.

I waited.

Because love like ours didn’t just disappear.

And if there was even the smallest chance, I was ready to fight for us.

[yvesssssssss]

hui could u write something with shin natsuki heisuke and nagumo having a sweet and kind gf, like maybe so kind that ppl tend to take advantage of it

Too Kind for Your Own Good

(Shin, Natsuki, Heisuke, and Nagumo x Sweet! Kind! Reader)

Shin Asakura

Shin loved your kindness—how you always smiled, always forgave, always tried to see the best in people. But sometimes, it made his blood boil.

Like today.

You were helping a coworker move boxes at your part-time job, even though it clearly wasn’t your responsibility. Worse, the guy had been slacking off, dumping all the work on you while he scrolled through his phone.

Shin heard your inner thoughts, how you didn’t want to trouble him by asking for help, and that was it.

He marched up, snatched the box from your hands, and shoved it at the guy. “Hey. Do your own damn work.”

Your coworker stammered, “I-I was just—”

“Slacking off,” Shin deadpanned. “She’s not your maid.” His sharp eyes flicked to you. “And you—stop letting people use you like this.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he softened, sighing. “I get it, you want to help. But it’s not fair if they just take advantage of you.” His voice was firm, but his grip on your wrist was gentle as he led you away. “C’mon, let’s go get ice cream. No more free labor today.”

Natsuki Seba

Natsuki wasn’t the type to get openly jealous or aggressive. But when he saw a group of guys from JCC practically cornering you, asking you for favors because they knew you were too nice to say no, he felt something dark simmer under his usual carefree demeanor.

“Oh wow, she’s actually helping you with your homework? Thought you guys were smart,” Natsuki drawled, casually sliding into the seat next to you.

One of the guys scoffed. “She offered, dude.”

Natsuki rested his cheek on his palm, looking unimpressed. “Did she, though? Or did you guys just keep pushing until she felt bad saying no?”

You blinked in surprise, but before you could say anything, Natsuki gently took the notebook from your hands. “She’s not your personal tutor. Figure it out yourselves.”

The guys groaned and left, and you frowned. “Natsuki, I didn’t mind—”

He flicked your forehead. “Yeah, but I mind. You’re too sweet, and people take advantage of that.” His voice softened, and he reached for your hand. “You don’t have to help everyone just because you’re kind. Let me be the bad guy when you need one, okay?”

Heisuke

Heisuke had always admired your kindness. You never hesitated to help anyone, even strangers. But when he saw you paying for a “friend” who conveniently always “forgot” their wallet, he felt a little annoyed.

“Wow, again?” Heisuke muttered under his breath as you handed over your card.

Your friend laughed sheepishly. “She’s just super generous, right?”

Heisuke’s eyes narrowed. No, you just know she won’t say no.

Before you could speak, he casually slid an arm around your shoulders and grinned. “Baby, you know you don’t have to pay for people who never pay you back, right?”

You flushed. “I mean, it’s okay—”

Heisuke leaned closer, whispering, “But is it really okay, or are you just being too nice?”

That made you pause.

Your “friend” looked uncomfortable and quickly said, “Uh, actually, I’ll pay you back next time.”

Heisuke’s grip tightened protectively. “Yeah, you do that.” Then, turning to you, he smiled warmly. “C’mon, let’s get you a treat, on me this time.”

Nagumo Yoichi

Nagumo wasn’t the jealous type. He trusted you, and honestly, he found it entertaining to watch people try (and fail) to charm you. But what did piss him off? When people mistook your kindness for weakness.

Like the guy currently trying to weasel free drinks out of you.

“C’mon, sweetheart, just one round? You’re always so nice—”

Nagumo’s arm draped over your shoulders before the guy could finish. His ever-present grin was in place, but his eyes were sharp, assessing. “Oh? So my girl’s nice, huh?”

The guy laughed nervously. “Yeah, she’s, uh, really generous—”

“Generous?” Nagumo hummed. “Or just too polite to tell you to fuck off?”

You let out a quiet sigh. “Nagumo—”

He tapped his fingers against your shoulder. “Sweetheart, love of my life, you know I adore how kind you are.” His voice was light, teasing—until his gaze flicked back to the guy. “But that kindness? It ain’t free.”

The guy swallowed. “I-I was just joking, man.”

“Yeah? So am I.” Nagumo’s grin widened as he flipped a butterfly knife between his fingers, the sharp glint of the blade catching the light. “Crazy how jokes stop being funny when you’re on the other end of them, huh?”

The guy bolted, and you groaned. “Nagumo, did you have to scare him like that?”

Nagumo shrugged, tucking his knife away as he kissed your temple. “Course I did. You’re too damn sweet for your own good.” He smirked. “And if I have to be the scary boyfriend to keep people from taking advantage of you, well—" His voice dropped to a purr. “I do look good doing it, don’t I?”

[bonnie-the-butcher]

Rip Tide | Chapter XIV

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 9.280 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

You don’t remember the bus ride.

You don’t remember getting off the bus, you don't remember stepping through the station doors, and you don't remember the cold blast of air conditioning hitting your skin.

You’re here.

You know you are.

But it barely feels like it.

The moment you step foot in the precinct, something else hits you, and you’re sure that this won’t go over well. There’s people all over the place, running like headless chickens under the violently bright lights, pushing past both officers and civilians, as if a tragedy had just occurred.

Your heart sinks, beating at a speed that only panic can bring it to, and you only narrowly avoid colliding with other people as your feet rapidly tread the familiar path to Sheriff Peterkin’s office.

It's only John. You tell yourself. He fucked up again, they called me over here for bail. Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine. 

But you don’t believe it. 

Within the fear you’re feeling, all your thoughts feel off, untrue, as if the words that echo in your mind are the jumbled leftovers of someone else’s internal monologue, all mismatched fears and incoherent paranoias.

There was an ambulance outside, you suddenly recall. Its doors open, a single paramedic sitting within, his legs dangling over the ground as he toyed at his phone, mumbling frantically into the speaker. You pass another on your way, this one much more composed, resolute, almost angry.

You don’t know what to think.

You don’t want to be relieved in fear that if something bad truly happened, then the disconnect between your past calm and the dread that might hit you will send you spiraling into something you won’t be able to pull yourself from again.

It’s like a deja vu.

Suddenly, it’s your seventeenth birthday again, and you’re coming into the station to ID a body they think it’s your dad’s— The paramedics sit outside, talking to each other like nothing’s happening. You’re wearing a shirt that belonged to him, and sandals you stole from his friends’ daughter, standing before Peterkin and the pity on face, as you hold your phone in your hand, praying that John won’t call to ask what you’re doing.

She puts her hands on your shoulder and guides you to a little room at the end of the hall.

The body on the table lays like a stone, the coroner standing guard over it like a sentinel, his eyes fixed on you with the coldness of glacier as he opens the bag.

Discolored skin, bloated flesh, a beard that’s only been barely cleaned of the blood spilling from the cut up mouth. A row of toothless gums gape at you, darkened, the blood dry but the lips still glazed over. “That’s not my father,” You say, and you don’t know if you’re crying from mourning or from relief. You hear the words bouncing against the walls of your skull, but when they pull the zipper closed on the body bag, it’s John’s face disappearing under the plastic.

You stumble, and your heart stops painfully before kicking right back to the break-neck speed of before.

Your hands are shaking as you clutch your bag tighter, vision fraying at the edges, and you hold onto the wall for a moment before walking again.

Peterkin’s door is only an arm’s length away when something else startles you, and your feet stumble again as you recoil. Someone’s voice cuts through the air, sharp, urgent. It takes you a moment to realize that this person shouted your name.

You flinch before you even see him, before you process the way he’s already half-risen from his seat, fighting against Pope’s grip on his arm.

JJ.

Your eyes scan over him quickly. He has a split brow, apart from the bruises that Barry left on him. His breath is frantic, but he doesn’t seem like he’s grieving. He’s not crying. And for a half a beat, your heart calms down.

– Just—Just listen to me, okay? Look— This was an accident. It wasn’t our fault. We didn’t do anything. – His voice is pleading, his face wrecked with something painful —guilt, regret, maybe worry— you can’t read him, your eyes focused on the blood of his split brow, still fresh over the settling watercolor of black and blue that paints his skin. His eyes try to find yours, glassy, desperate. – It wasn’t our fault. – He repeats, taking a step towards you, hands up like a beggar. – We didn’t do anything.

Pope pulls at him again, trying to get him to sit down. His jaw is set, he doesn’t seem hurt, but the twinge of disapproval he sends JJ gives you pause. Kie is there too, rigid, tense, arms crossed tightly over her chest, but she doesn’t look at you, she just sits there, staring at the floor.

JJ calls your name again, extends a hand, beckoning you to come over, like the needs you near. 

You don't move. Your feet are rooted on the ground and your heart is racing. Your mouth opens, but you don’t recognize the voice that comes out. – What did he do? What did you do? Where is he?

– We didn’t do anything. – He pleads.

– Didn’t do anything?! – Another voice. Louder. Angry. Your eyes dart towards the person, but you meet two. From further into the hall, Kelce and Topper are standing next to an officer, the blond boy facing the cop as Kelce stares right at JJ. – You didn’t do anything?! You could have fucking killed us! 

JJ’s eyes don’t stray from yours. – Just listen no me—

– You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me! – Kelce’s laughter is edged with contempt. – Listen to what? You psychopaths ram your piece of shit car into us for almost a mile and I’m supposed to buy that it was a mistake?

– A mile? What— JJ, what did you—

– Baby, I swear we didn’t do anything, they tried to run us off the road and we—

– We tried to run you off the road?! Are you fucking high?!

– You were screaming at us! – JJ growls, rage surging through him. Pope finally stands up, his own anger clear on his face as he tries to push JJ back to his seat, but the blonde boy only wrenches away again, looking at you. – They were trying to make us crash!

– What did you just fucking say?!

Your mind tunes out JJ’s response, spinning. They shout over one another, back and forth, words tangling together into an incomprehensible mess of rage and self-righteousness that you can’t even begin to process.

Your head is splitting.

Your breath is shallow.

And then—

A hand on your shoulder.

– Routledge. – Peterkin’s hand rests on you, that strange, almost artificial look on her face. She’s still as a statue, looking at you as if you’re a puzzle, something for her to solve. – Come on in.

You weren’t ready for the touch.

Your stomach drops before your brain catches up.

You turn. Slowly. Out of body.

And you see them.

Ward. John. Rafe.

Waiting.

She pulls you in until you move, closing the door behind you with an uncanny calm. All you hear are the muffled remnants of the chaos outside and the sound of your own pulse. 

John is there, your hands reach for him before you can stop yourself, on his shoulder, his arm, his face, as if confirming he's there. 

He's alive.

It's not a dream.

You pull away as if his touch had burned you. You’re close enough to the door that a single step back has you pressed against it.

Your hands are trembling.

– You could have told me what was happening.  

You only realized it was you who said it after Peterkin briefly pauses to look at you.

– Sorry, Routledge?

– You could have told me what was happening. – You're still shaking, but it's not from worry anymore. – Do you have any idea of what I was thinking? You call me in here, refuse to answer any of my questions, talking like the second tower is coming down and when I get here there’s a fucking ambulance parked outside!

– Don’t curse at me.

– I THOUGHT HE WAS DEAD, PETERKIN! I thought my brother was dead! And that’s exactly what you wanted, too! Isn’t it?!

– Look, Routledge, I understand you’re worried but let’s calm—

– DON’T!— You cut yourself off, hands on your temples. – Don’t tell me to calm down, please.

– I’m trying to help you out here, Routledge.

– You’re trying to fuck with me, is what you’re doing. You can tell me to come ID a body over the phone, you can tell me that you need me to sign the papers for my father’s death over the phone, you can tell me, as you have done many times before, that he was detained for this or that crime. What was I supposed to think, when you refused to tell me what was going on?!

John cuts in. – You’re overreacting.

– If I need an inmate's opinion on how to properly express my feelings I'll send a letter to Timothy Leary. At least he has a degree, the only thing you have to show for is an orange jumpsuit.

– What did you just—

– You wanna talk shit? Get someone else to pay for bail every time you fuck up. In the meantime, you can sit your ass down and keep your mouth shut. 

John’s face twists, fury flashing in his eyes, but before he say anything else, Peterkin’s voice cuts through the air like a whip.

– Enough. – Her voice reaps the momentum from you. – If you two want to bicker like children, do it somewhere else. You’re in a police station.

A sharp silence follows.

John is still fuming, still gripping the arms of his chair, still seething like he might say something else.

But you don’t care.

You don’t look at him. Your anger is still focused on Peterkin, that rage that feels like an edgeless life, pointed but unthreatening, until it boils over. – Well, are you gonna tell me what happened or do you have any mind games to get out of your chest beforehand?

– Don't you talk to me like that!

– How else do you expect the girl to talk to you after you made her believe her brother was dead, Sheriff? – Your eyes flick towards Ward, the last person you would expect to back you up. His eyes move slowly, between her and you. His face taken by an expression so calm it almost feels unnatural.

Peterkin’s jaw tightens.

Her eyes flick to Ward, then back to you.

– I didn’t make her believe anything. – She says it slowly, controlled, but her fingers press just a little too hard against the desk.

– No? – Ward’s brows lift slightly, his tone light, almost teasing, and it comes so clearly to you then, because its the same face Rafe makes when he’s about to do something reckless. – Then what exactly would you call it?

Peterkin exhales, pressing her lips together before turning her gaze fully on you.

– Your brother and his friend— She glances at John, then at the door, like she can still hear JJ’s shouting. —decided to use their vehicle as a weapon. I assume you already pieced that together.

Your pulse skips.

John shifts beside you. – We were defending ourselves, – He mutters, but Peterkin doesn’t even acknowledge him.

Her focus stays on you. – That means reckless endangerment, destruction of property, possible assault charges—depending on what the Camerons want to pursue.

Your stomach turns.

You’re waiting for Ward to jump in, to press the issue, to demand the worst punishment possible.

But he doesn’t.

He leans forward, forearms resting on the table.

– I’m willing to be reasonable about this.

You blink.

Peterkin does too. 

Rafe does a double take, the first sound he makes is a sound of outrage.

– You are? – Your voice coincides with Peterkin’s, both of you unable to hide your confusion.

Ward nods, shifting slightly. He looks at you when he speaks next. – What John did was reckless, yes. But he's young. He has a younger sister to look after.

– Look after? – Rafe scoffs, a bitter noise, so similar to the one his father made earlier today, like the warning sound of a rattlesnake. – This psychopath? Oh, yeah. He’s looking after her for sure. – He reaches for your arm, tugging so suddenly you nearly double over. – Look how well he’s been taking care of her these last few days.

– Let go of her, Rafe! Get your hands off of her!

– What?! You jealous I might be bruising her instead of you? You can’t handle that, can you, you sick fuck?!

John lunges.

He doesn’t think. He doesn’t stop.

His chair scrapes violently against the floor, hands already grabbing for Rafe, the heat of his rage flaring so fast, so violently, that you barely have time to process it.

But your body moves before your brain does. Your hands slam against his chest. Hard.

He stumbles back into his seat.

– Sit. Down.

His eyes widen. Not in shock. Not in fear. In something else. – He just said—

– Sit the fuck down, John B. I’m not playing with you.

The room is dead silent.

John is breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly as you step back.

Rafe is smiling. Smug. Triumphant. Like you’ve just proven his fucking point.

Your stomach twists.

Because you know exactly what he’s about to say before he even says it. – You see this shit? Can’t even talk to him wrong and he’s already jumping to fucking beat someone up!

Peterkin shoots Rafe a warning glance.

– That’s enough! – She growls. – This isn’t a boxing ring. This isn’t a school playground. You want to fight? Do it after!

But Rafe’s not done. He laughs, shaking his head, and Ward steps towards him, pulling him back onto his chair. – Would you stop acting like a child for a minute?!

His jaw tightens, his fingers drumming aggressively against his knee, eyes blazing with disbelief. – Dad, are you fucking kidding me?

– Language, Rafe! 

– No, fuck that, – Rafe snaps, his voice low, shaking with something dark. He leans forward, his knuckles pressing into the desk. – John B could’ve killed me. Killed us. Topper and Kelce too. And you’re sitting here acting like he’s some poor fucking kid just trying to take care of his baby sister when the only thing he does is fuck her up!

He laughs, sharp, bitter.

Your stomach twists violently. – Don’t do this right now, Rafe.

– Tell me I’m wrong. – He sits back, looking at you with those wide eyes, almost playing at innocence,  but the tick in his jaw is as dangerous as any car crash. 

The room stills.

You feel Ward watching you, but your eyes are locked onto Rafe.

You don’t know what to say. Because he’s right. But that doesn’t mean he should be saying it.

Ward exhales slowly, deliberate. – I get that you’re angry, son. But this isn’t about anger. It’s about fairness.

– Fairness? – Rafe’s voice practically drips with disbelief. – And what exactly is fair about him walking out of here with a slap on the wrist?

Ward tilts his head slightly, watching him, measuring him. – Be reasonable, son.

Rafe’s voice is a growl. – How the fuck am I supposed to be reasonable when this piece of shit just tried to kill me?! Look at me! – Rafe slowly, deliberately, raises his left hand. His fingers are stiff, the skin bruised and swollen, his wrist wrapped in a temporary splint. His right arm doesn’t move at all. Because it can’t. He turns to you suddenly, his eyes desperate. – Look at what he did to me! – He tilts his head slightly, watching your face, measuring your reaction. – You see this? – His voice is low, gravelly, almost affectionate. – You see what he did to me? That was supposed to be you.

The words land like a gunshot.

– You think he wouldn’t do this to you? – Rafe’s voice drops even lower, almost gentle now, almost pitying. – You think he won’t put his hands on you the second you stop being useful to him? That he’ll keep just grabbing without beating forever?

Your brother seethes. – Shut the fuck up, Rafe!

But Rafe ignores him, moving towards you. Slow. Sharp. Dangerous.

– Tell me I’m wrong. – He begs, quiet, almost frantic. – You know I'm not. You know it.

The words land like a knife between your ribs. John is breathing hard beside you, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. – I’m fucking warning you, Rafe!

But Rafe doesn’t care. He doesn’t even look at him. He’s still watching you. Still measuring you. – Baby, please. – Your stomach twists. It’s so quiet. So gentle. So sincere. But his eyes are anything but. There’s a glint to that unnatural blue, a glint that’s almost satisfied. – He’s not gonna stop. You know that. Maybe he hasn’t hit you yet, maybe he still thinks he needs you, but what happens when he doesn’t? What happens when you stop bending over backwards for him? When you stop cleaning up his messes? When you stop taking care of him?

John shoves forward again, but Ward’s hand flies out, stopping him.

– I swear to fucking God, Rafe—

– Baby, – He whispers, quiet, but the word carries an intimacy that’s almost foreign, as if he’s whispering your name, or something beyond your name, the name of an alter ego that only he sees. – He’s already using you! Why do you think he called you here?! – Rafe snaps, suddenly, the 180 degree shift from plea to violence sending you stumbling back. His injured wrist twitches. Like he’s reminding you it’s broken. Like he’s reminding you that this could be you. You feel your pulse hammering in your throat, in your ears, behind your eyes. And Rafe sees it.

He sees it, you know he does. – You’re better than this. – He’s closer now, and his voice cracks—not with anger, but with something far worse. – Better than this fucking lunatic.

John lunges.

And this time you don’t stop him.

You don’t move. You don’t flinch. You just watch.

John throws himself over Rafe, the two of them colliding violently, crashing down together.

Rafe’s back slams into the floor. His head cracks against the chair leg. A grunt—sharp, pained, breathless. John is on him in an instant. And Rafe fights back. Even with only one working hand, even with his wrist still in a splint, he still swings, claws, thrashes, snarls.

For a second you don’t think he feels the pain at all. 

You don’t think he cares.

He’s too angry. Too fucking thrilled that John finally snapped.

Peterkin stutters beside you, words caught between shock and outrage. Ward takes a step back, his fists clenching, his mouth parting—

But neither of them move.

Neither of them do anything.

Not until you do.

Not until you step forward, grab John by the hair of his nape, and yank him back.

Not until you shove him down, back into his seat, hard enough that the chair groans beneath him.

His chest is heaving, his knuckles battered, shaking, curling into fists again—

And Rafe is laughing.

He stays on the floor, head tipped back, breathing ragged, grinning through split lips and bruised skin. Like he just won.

Like this was never about the fight—

It was about getting John to throw the first punch.

You let it happen.

And you would again.

– Jesus Christ, – Peterkin breathes. She’s already moving toward them, toward you, but Ward holds a hand up.

Calm. Measured.

Like this is only a minor inconvenience.

– I believe we’ve all made our points quite clearly, Sheriff. – There’s a twinge of emotion in his voice. It slips before he can stop it. Anger. – We’re not pressing charges.

Your pulse races, you turn to him so fast you almost get whiplash, because you can hear Rafe’s rage before he even murmurs it. And his eyes are already on you. His jaw set, the amusement, the cold, the glint in his eye, all of it gone.

– You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

– Get up Rafe.

– Fuck off, dad. I’m pressing charges. I’m an adult I can—

– I’m not telling you again!

– He nearly fucking KILLED me, dad! Does that shit not matter to you?! 

Ward doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look at him. He just grabs Rafe’s arm and yanks him to his feet.

It’s rough. Too rough.

Rafe stumbles forward, nearly crashing into his father’s chest, and for a second he freezes.

His breath stutters.

His good hand fists at his side.

And you see it—

The barest flicker of something else. Something ugly. Something helpless. Something that only lasts a second before he swallows it down, before it calcifies back into anger.

– You’re unbelievable. – He breathes.

Ward lets go of him like it's nothing.

Like he’s nothing.

And Rafe shoves past him, shoves past you, shoves past Peterkin. The door slams behind him, hard enough that the fame shakes, and the four of you are left there, in the silence. The tense, cold, unbearable silence of whatever it was that just happened before your eyes.

– Mr. Cameron—

Peterkin starts, but she doesn’t finish. Ward raises one hand, sinking his face into the other, massaging his temples with a heavy breath. – Don’t. – Is all he says. For a moment you’re all waiting again, your hand resting still on your brother’s shoulder, frozen, as his heartbeat falls back into a normal pace. – Miss Routledge, I’ll see you again tomorrow. – He makes a move towards the door, but stops again. – If you could talk to Rafe, make him—

He trails off.

You’re not sure what exactly he wants you to do, calm him, plead with him, make him think this is somehow better than whatever else he planned to do. But you nod, and nonetheless, you tell him: – Yes, sir.

His eyes remain on yours for a moment, then he nods too, and the door closes behind him.

– I thought you were a chef, – John says, his tone as petulant as his expression. – Not a babysitter.

You don’t dignify his words with an answer.

Clutching your purse to your side, you turn your attention to Peterkin, who’s standing at the edge of her desk, still staring at the door. – What now, Sheriff? 

She takes a moment to look away from the door, but when she does, she’s scanning you. You feel her eyes linger on your arms, on John’s hand, still tight around your wrist, around your neck. – You can go, John B. I need to talk to your sister for a minute.

– Anything you’re telling her you can say to me.

She smiles, laughs, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. – Get out of my office before I have you removed. – She warns. – This is your third strike, by the way. Next time you’re detained, she won’t be able to bail you out.

He seems shocked for a moment, his lips part, and close again, gaze drifting towards you as if he’s expecting you to say something, to have his back.

You don’t.

– Don’t make me tell you twice.

He blinks, confused, but does as he’s told. His hand brushing your arm quietly as he stands. – We'll talk outside.

Silence engulfs you once again as the door closes behind him.

– Sit.

Peterkin doesn’t look at you when she says it.

She’s still watching the door, her fingers tapping lightly against the edge of her desk, lips pressed together like she’s thinking —really thinking— about something she’s not saying out loud.

– I'd rather not. But thank you, Sheriff.

She exhales slowly, finally shifting her gaze back to you, and for the first time today, you’re not sure what she’s about to say.

– Suit yourself. – There's an edge to her words. Something like amusement. Something you've come to know much better after meeting Ward Cameron. – That was quite the show, – She muses, almost idly, the tap of her fingers the only sound between you for a minute. – Do you always find yourself in the middle of the Camerons’ problems?

You stiffen, raising your eyes, a quiet, humorless laugh escaping you. – How many episodes of NYPD Blue did you have to watch to get the finger-tapping down?

– I asked you a question.

– An irrelevant question. I work for the Camerons, I'm sure you gathered that, so, what’s the problem here?

– I’m just trying to get to know you, Routledge. 

You laugh again. – If you want a date, you'll have to wait a while. I'm not of age just yet.

She smiles, ignoring your teasing. – Your brother is always around here, and you're cleaning up his messes, his friend's messes too, and that boy's, Barry, right? – She hums, sitting back on her chair. You don't answer, tilting your head. – But still, it's like I don't know you at all.

Her eyes flick over you —your bruises, the faint red mark on your wrist where John grabbed you, the wrinkles in your top from Rafe’s earlier grip.

– If you wanna get to know me so bad, maybe you should stop talking in circles.

Peterkin laughs, a soft rumble that echoes around you both as she leans back on her chair, the light of the morning just beginning to stream through the slits of her windows. 

You're not sure whether its genuine or if she's just a good actress, but you fake a smile nonetheless.

– It's funny, y'know. – She shakes her head, still laughing. – I keep forgetting you’re your mother's daughter. Even though the two of you are exactly the same.

The words sting you.

Peterkin knows they would. But the questions sit at the tip of your tongue, like they do every time someone mentions her. How was she? Are we that similar? Do we look alike?

You don't know why you want to ask.

You've never heard anyone say one good thing about her. To her face or to her back.

– She liked her boys a little bad, too. Just like you do. – The woman says, as if she could hear you thinking. – Only she wasn't the one cleaning up the messes, no. She was the one getting them into it.

– Like your daughter, then? – You ask. Peterkin's smile falters for a moment. – I know how to play dirty too, Sheriff. So if you're looking to get something out of me by talking about my mother, I suggest you rethink your approach.

She's quiet for a minute.

– I'm not trying to get anything from you, girl. We're just talking.

– So I can go then?

She's quiet again.

– It’s a free country, miss Routledge. – You step towards the door, reaching for the handle, but then, just as always, the moment you twist it open, she speaks again. – Does he always call you that? – Peterkin almost seems amused. – Does he make it a point to stretch it out every single time he says it, too? – You don't look at her, but you don't move either. – That’s what he used to call your mother too. Did you know that?

– Probably had something to do with the fact that that was her name, right? Or maybe I'm missing some vital clue here.

– He was real fond of her. Bailed her out a bunch of times. Every time she got in trouble, there was Ward to save her ass. – She pauses for longer then, and steps up, nearing you. – Like you and that boy, JJ. Does your brother know you two are so close?

– You monitoring my friends now?

She laughs again, the sound like a bullet. – Is that what you call it?

– It's what your daughter called it. They used to be real close. And then one day, they took a trip to Charlotte, stayed there a couple of hours, came back looking like they'd been to a funeral, and never spoke again. Funny that. 

You twist the handle again, but just as the door open, Peterkin slams it closed. – Don't you talk to me like that!

– Rules for me and not for thee? Thought you were better than this, Sheriff.

– I'm the one trying to help you here, Routledge! 

– How?! – Your patience is gone. Drained. And you feel a surge of rage that's all too familiar as you look her in the eye. – By blackmailing me with little fun facts about my mom? It might come off as a shock to you, Peterkin, but I don’t need to know anything else about her. I know what I need. She's gone. You know she's gone. And you know she was not a good mother. You were the one who broke the case, remember?! But you weren’t a Sheriff back then were you? No. You got that promotion right off of my broken bones. Never got the chance to congratulate you, did I? I was too busy bleeding out.

Peterkin’s face darkens.

The fake amusement, the carefully measured patience, the knowing jabs, gone. – Watch yourself. – She warns. Her voice is low. Calm. The kind of calm your mother showed you before she started up again.

Before she did what she did best —hurt you.

You don’t back down, because it's the only thing you could ever do with your mother. You meet her stare, shoulders squared, mouth set, pulse hammering, and swallow your tears.

She shakes her head, exhales sharply through her nose.

– I’ve seen girls like you before, – She says, the anger in her voice almost pitying. Almost. – Too sharp for their own good. Too mouthy. Think they’re playing the game when they don’t even know what the game is. – Her head tilts, slow, deliberate. – You think Ward Cameron is your friend? That Rafe is? You think you’re gonna play the same games you play with that poor little idiot JJ, and your friend, the drug dealer? You think he’s gonna protect you? That any of them are?

You don’t answer.

Peterkin steps closer.

– Let me tell you something, miss Routledge. – Her voice drops lower. – You know a lot of men, don't you? You've gotten around. – You laugh, bitter, but she doesn’t stop there. – You ever seen a man let go of something he thinks belongs to him?

The room is dead silent.

You swallow.

Your throat is dry.

– You think you’re free? – Peterkin whispers, almost taunting. – You ain’t even close.

She leans back, watching you.

She lets the words hang between you, stretching the silence out until it feels like a weight.

– You can go.

And this time, she doesn’t stop you.

You don’t even register the sound of the door closing behind you.

Not at first.

The moment you step outside, something cracks.

It's small. Invisible to everyone but you.

But you feel it.

You feel it in the way your breath catches, in the way your shoulders shake, in the way your hands clench and unclench uselessly at your sides, like they don’t know what to do with themselves.

It was just words.

Just words.

But they sit in your chest like a stone.

You exhale sharply, trying to steady yourself, trying to ground yourself, but the ground feels off. Like it’s shifting beneath you, tilting under the weight of everything you’ve been pretending isn’t there.

And then—

A voice.

A presence.

A reminder that you’re not alone.

You don’t know who sees you first.

You don’t care.

Because they’re all there.

Ward and Rafe, standing by the steps, watching.

John, JJ, Pope, Kie, Sarah—all of them in the hallway, caught mid-conversation, watching.

You know what they see.

Your face.

Your hands.

The barely-there sheen of tears in your eyes, threatening to spill before you even realize they’re there.

You move.

Quickly.

Before anyone can say anything, before anyone can step closer, before anyone can ask.

You push forward, barely thinking, barely breathing, moving down the steps so fast the station around you is a blur.

Your fingers are already reaching.

Pocket. Box. Lighter. Cigarette.

You shove it between your lips, flick the lighter open, but your hands are still shaking, and it takes you a couple tries before the flame catches, a flutter of smoke floating around you, heavy and thoughtless like the beat of your heart.

You inhale like it’ll save you.

Like it’ll fix whatever is clawing at your throat, sitting heavy in your chest, making it impossible to breathe.

But of course, it doesn’t.

Peterkin was cruel, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t right. 

All your life you’ve been hoping someone will save you, ease the burden off your shoulders, pull you out of the depths you keep being thrown back into. But not only does that person never come, the ones that do always seem to kick you back down when you’re standing.

You should have learned the lesson from your mother —Three years of age, and people already looked away from the bruises, ignored the crying, pretended not to hear the screams.

Peterkin got to you too late, when she was already leaving.

When she had no more blood to take from you.

But you didn’t learn the lesson, and it came back to bite you with your father.

Then your brother.

Then the other kids at school.

Then the ones you thought that were your friends.

And at last you were all alone, you and Barry, who bailed at every opportunity, who broke your heart again and again, and who, till this day, you could never part from.

No matter how much you thought you learned, history always repeated itself.

It was already coming back to you.

Because you hear the familiar steps before he calls your name, before he's reaching for you.

JJ moves too fast.

Drops down next to you like he’s forgotten everything. Like he’s forgotten what he did to you just days ago. Like he's forgotten that he nearly killed you. Like he's forgotten he told you he never wanted to see you again.

His hands hover—over your knee, your arm, your wrist. Hesitating. Wanting to touch. Wanting you to let him.

Like nothing’s changed.

Like he didn’t kick you out.

Like he didn’t turn his back on you.

But he catches himself.

Clears his throat.

His face is wracked with guilt, you see it from the corner of your eye as you look ahead. That same boyish, reckless thing he does when he’s trying to pretend nothing’s wrong.

When he’s trying to get back on your good side.

When he’s trying to make you forget.

– Baby, – His palm presses against your thigh, warm, grounding. Like he’s offering something. Like he’s trying to fix things with just a touch. His knuckles are bruised. His palm is calloused.

Your cigarette trembles between your fingers.

You should tell him to fuck off.

But that’s exactly what he wants. He wants you to give him something, something he can twist and turn until he's the victim, until he can get you back. So you don't say anything. You just stare at the pavement, silent.

JJ hates silence.

– You’re good, right? Peterkin didn't— I mean, you look good. Like, really good.

He’s overcompensating.

His hand squeezes your thigh, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. He’s just desperate to keep touching you, because it makes him feel like this isn’t nothing, that you’re doing it for him.

– You shouldn’t worry about her. Peterkin, I mean. She likes to get into people's heads. It's like, her favorite sport or something.

You exhale, the smoke billowing away from his face, still hanging between you.

– You know, I was thinking, – He says, voice light, too light, like he’s hoping you’ll play along. – Maybe we should just go home after this, right? Rest. I'm tired, really tired— I, I couldn’t sleep right, so— I could drive you. John B’s going with Sarah anyway, Kie's probably gonna drive Pope. – He's looking at you, his breathing heavy, his knee bouncing. He's getting anxious. – You should rest too, baby. – His hand drifts over your back, you have to fight the urge to recoil. – You looked so pale when you came in, so dizzy. I thought you were gonna faint. I'll take care of you, you know that, right? – His breath fans over your shoulder, eyes wandering over your face. – Do you feel any better? You— You look better.

It unnerves you.

Discomforts you.

You don’t know what to do. You should get up, leave him talking to himself, but that would give him an excuse to chase you, and you know you can't outrun him.

– They fired you, right?  – You blink. Slow. JJ’s still watching you, still too fucking close, still with his hand on your thigh, and something flickers in his face. Relief. It’s quick. Barely there. But you see it. And you know what it is. He thinks you’re done with the Camerons. He thinks that you have nowhere else to go, so he can get you to come home. – Don’t— Don't worry about that, okay? I know it seems like a lot now, but you'll get another job, just like you did before.

You don’t answer.

You don’t move.

You just breathe, the cigarette burning between your fingers, your stomach twisting tight.

Footsteps echo behind the two of you.

Sharp. Angry.

Then a voice.

– She wasn’t fired, were you Y/n? – He laughs, you can hear the rest of them coming behind him, Pope's eyes meet yours through the glass, and he lowers them immediately. Embarrassed. – No, her boyfriend made sure he had his favorite servant close at all times.

JJ tenses. He looks between you and John, hesitant. 

You look up at your brother, his hands shaking at his sides, restless. He doesn’t stop moving for a moment, looking all over, at you, at the ground, at the pavement behind you. JJ’s hand is gone. Like he already knows he has to put distance between you.

You stare at John, your cigarette burning down between your fingers, the taste of nicotine heavy on your tongue. 

You don’t say anything.

Not at first.

You just stare at him, waiting for him to dig his own grave. Because you know he will. John isn’t the type to sit in silence. He needs you to react, and when you don’t, he gets restless.

– You’re really staying, huh? – His voice is sharp, his lip curled like the words taste foul on his tongue. – Gonna keep playing house with Rafe now? You like it that much? That much that you'd leave me in the dust?

You inhale slowly. Exhale even slower.

John’s eyes flick to the cigarette in your hand, like he might slap it out of your fingers. He doesn’t.

– You’re a fucking joke, you know that, Y/n? – He scoffs, voice dripping with something that sounds like betrayal. – I mean, what, is it fun for you? Cooking for him? Cleaning for him? Fucking him?

JJ shifts beside you. Uncomfortable. And for a moment, it seems like he might step in.

But he doesn’t.

Because he knows.

He knows your brother. He knows that he's not letting go until he tires himself out. So he just stands there, quiet, shifting, trying not to look at you.

– Rafe’s fucking laughing at you. – His voice is mean, cutting. – That’s all this is to him, okay? You think he gives a fuck about you? You think he looks at you and sees anything but a game? – He takes a step closer. His hands curl into fists at his sides, his voice turning softer, pleading now. – You know I’m right.

The weight in your chest tightens.

Your cigarette is all but burned down now, the smoke trailing from your fingers.

And still you don’t look at him.

You don’t move.

John exhales sharply through his nose, running a hand over his face, over his hair, back around his neck. He's shaking, all over the place, and when he speaks again, his voice is tight, like he’s forcing himself to stay calm.

Like he’s forcing himself not to shake you.

– You’re really just gonna sit there and ignore me?

Silence.

Your cigarette is out. Just a dead filter between your fingers. But you don’t flick it away.

You don’t move.

John scoffs. – Fine. Stay with him. Stay with them. See where it fucking gets you.

JJ shifts beside you again, but John’s already turning away. Already moving. Already shaking his head like he’s the one who should be disappointed.

He stops.

Turns back.

Because he can’t help himself.

– You like being someone’s fucking babysitter that much? That's much you need the attention? – He throws over his shoulder, voice laced with scorn. With venom. – I don’t know why I thought you were better than that. But I guess it makes sense. Your mom liked them rich too, didn't she? 

You blink.

You breathe.

You stand.

Slow. Deliberate.

John doesn’t move.

JJ does.

He tenses beside you, his hands twitching at his sides, his lips parting like he’s about to say something.

But you don’t give him the chance.

You step forward.

Closer to John.

Close enough that you can see the way his jaw clenches, the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the way he braces, blinking rapidly, his breathing unsteady.

Like he knows what’s coming, like he thinks you'll beat him up.

You won't give him the satisfaction.

– You should be on your fucking knees thanking God you won't be sitting in jail cell for the rest of your life.

John blinks.

Stares.

You tilt your head slightly, watching him.

– You think I’m the fucking embarrassment? – Your voice is quiet, almost thoughtful. – You think me working a job, paying my own bills, making my own fucking way is the problem? Meanwhile, you tried to kill a guy just now?

John’s jaw tightens.

– He fucking deserved it, okay? – You scoff, and he stutters. – He did, okay?! You weren't there, you didn't hear him!

You laugh.

Short. Sharp. Bitter.

– Try saying that in court. See how it holds up.

His fingers twitch. His shoulders rise, his breathing gets heavier, and for one brief second, you think he might lunge at you like he did Rafe.

But he doesn’t.

Because he knows.

He knows you won’t stop him this time.

So he just stands there.

Fuming. Silent.

– I’ll get my things out of the house. – You hum, low, calm. You see him stutter, his eyes widen, his feet shift, back and forth, like he doesn’t know what to do. – I’ll get out of your sight then. Don't worry about seeing me again.

You see him flinch before you turn, as if it was the last thing he expected to hear from your lips.

The door behind him is open, his friends standing at the door, looking at you the same way. Painfully, wretchedly, like they can’t bear to look and can’t bear to look away.

He says your name, and it lands like an afterthought. Like he’s only now realizing he should have called it sooner.

You feel your own heart beat against your ribs, against your skin, against the weight of everything you don’t let yourself acknowledge. 

John is still standing, his jaw tight, his eyes darting all over your face like he’s not sure whether to be pissed or just confused. You can see the questions on his lips, the disbelief, the hurt, the indignation—like he’s just now realizing that, for once, you’re not on his side.

– Where— Where are you going?

You don’t answer.

You don’t look at him. Because you know what he wants. He wants you to play the role you always do. He wants you to tell him you believe him, that you’ve got his back. He wants you to put everything else to the side, everything he did to you, everything he told you, every way in which he hurt you, and comfort him, be on his side, because John has never had to prove a damn thing. Because he’s never thought he had to.

JJ doesn’t let it go, though. He steps closer. Too close.

– Baby, – He whispers, close enough that only you can hear. – Don't— Don’t do this, okay? It's your house, your things. You— Why are you going?

He's already reaching.

His hand brushes your arm first, but it’s not like before. It’s not light, it’s not teasing, it’s not hungry or warm or comforting. It’s something else.

Something desperate.

Like he’s holding onto you the same way he used to, the way he used to fit into you, like he’s looking for some proof that you’re still his, that your arms still belong to him, that you’d still pull him in.

He looks like he’s on the verge of something. His fingers graze your wrist. Like he wants to hold it, like he’s about to, but he hesitates. The night before is still fresh in his mind, it’s still real in his mind, and even through his usual recklessness, through his guilt, through the desperation bleeding through his voice—he knows. He knows there are some lines he can’t cross with you anymore.

So he doesn’t.

But you feel it, anyway. – Why— Why are you leaving?

– What kind of a fucking question is that? 

– Please, don't—

– You told me to leave. You told me to get out of my own house, you told me that I was a traitor and a whore, that I didn't belong there, that you didn't need me. I'm just following orders.

John looks between JJ and you, their expressions grievous, solemn. – That's not— JJ begins, his eyes teary. – I didn't mean that. I was angry, I know that—

– John let you do it. – You look at him. – Didn’t you, John? You're fine with JJ almost killing me on that bike, you're fine with me sleeping on the street, you're fine with someone calling me a whore, you're fine with having someone else humiliate me. Right?

– I don’t— He starts, but he doesn’t finish. His voice trails off, lost in a stutter.

– I'm sure you don’t. Nothing is ever your fault, John. You want me out of your life? Fine. But you can't have it both ways. Be an adult for once in your life and fucking own it.

John remains quiet, his hands still shaking, his eyes filled with tears.

He calls your name again, but you don’t want to hear him. You don’t want him near. You turn on your heel before he can grab you, and you don’t stop walking until you’re at the bus stop again.

Peterkin was right.

You are your mother’s daughter.

Leaving like that, throwing people’s words back at their faces like a teenager, that’s exactly the thing she did best, or at least so people tell you.

The thought pierces through the haze in your head, sharp enough that it stops you in your tracks, makes you falter mid-step, the air heavy in your lungs. You sit down, sink onto the curb and pretend to just be waiting, pretend this is just a day like any other.

But you can’t.

Because you can hear Peterkin again. Her voice like the smooth click of a safety coming off, her words landing on you with perfect, practiced weight.

"He called her exactly that. He was really fond of her. Bailed her out a thousand times."

It shouldn’t mean anything. It shouldn’t have stayed with you like this. It shouldn’t have latched onto your ribs like a living thing, twisting, growing, taking up space. But it does. And you can’t help but feel like an impostor.

People always say that to you, especially when they want to hurt you. That you’re your mother’s daughter, that the two of you are one and the same. And you can’t help but wonder if you’re some second rate version of her, barely filling these shoes you don’t even know you’re standing in, the specter of her presence in everyone else’s life.

Your brother.

Your father.

The Sheriff.

And now Ward.

The thought haunts you, you think about it all the way back to the Chateau, this idea that you’ve been inadvertently living a life that once was hers, with the people that belonged to her. Because everybody did belong to her, everybody except for you.

Now you can’t catch your reflection on the window without feeling like it doesn’t belong to you either. Because she’s there, looking at you, judging you, laughing at you, even though she was never there. Will never be there. Never wanted to be there. Regardless of how desperately you’d wished for it, in the quiet of the night, when even her worse batterings seemed like a kiss in comparison to your father’s cruelty, or the cruelty of the kids in the school yard.

You get “home” with the feeling that you never belonged there in the first place.

JJ’s words ring true, at last.

The air is thick inside the Chateau. Heavy. It smells like salt and old wood, like damp laundry left out too long, like something burnt that no one bothered to clean up, because of course, John didn’t. 

Your hands are steady now.

You think that’s almost worse.

There was a time when coming home used to bring relief. But this place hasn't been yours for a long time now, has it?

Not really.

The bedroom is exactly as you left it. Clothes draped over the back of the chair, your shoes kicked under the bed, a pile of books stacked on the nightstand, an old jacket of your dad’s thrown over the desk. The posters on the walls are the same ones you’ve had since middle school, their edges curling from the humidity. Your closet barely even creaks when you pull it open.

And inside—

It’s so empty.

The realization slams into you like a physical thing.

You never had much to begin with, but it looks even worse all gathered like this: a couple of shirts folded into your duffel, a few pairs of shorts, two pair of shoes. A handful of books. Your dad’s old clothes, faded and a little too big, but they used to smell like him, so you held onto them. You don’t even think about leaving them behind. You shove them in the bag with the rest, jaw set tight.

It doesn’t take long to pack. It doesn’t take long at all. And somehow, that’s the worst part.

John doesn’t burst in after you, JJ doesn’t either. Nobody does. Maybe they don’t even realize you’re already gone. Maybe they think you’re still standing at the bus stop. 

Maybe they think you’ll come back.

You know they’re wrong, and maybe, for the first time, they do too.

You look at the duffel bag, barely filled. There’s nothing else to take, because nothing else is yours.

Everything that’s left behind is theirs. Everything you fought so hard to keep is suddenly so meaningless. The clothes, the trinkets, the bed you once thought of as yours, the walls that have never really belonged to you.

The box —The thought occurs to you like a storm.

It’s tucked away under your bed, out of sight but never quite out of mind. You drop to your knees and reach for it, fingers shaking again, breath uneven. When you pull it out, dust clings to the edges of it, the cardboard soft, the lid slightly bent from how many times you’ve opened it before, looking for something, anything, that could make you understand her.

Your mother is gone, you remind yourself. But that doesn’t mean she ever left you. 

This is how you’ve buried her, what a shame. No candles or kisses, nobody to say any words.

Your throat tightens. So does your chest.

The lid opens with barely a sound.

Faded polaroids —Her, in all of them. Her lovers, in most. The few friends she had, left with the rest. Crumpled receipts, from beauty stores and fancy labels. A necklace you’d found under your bed one day, the chain long broken, the locket empty, no picture inside. A handful of letters other people wrote for her. The gold bracelet she left on your nightstand before she left.

You don’t know why you’re crying until you feel it, the burn at the back of your throat, the sting in your eyes.

Maybe it’s the past twenty-four hours. Maybe it’s exhaustion.

Maybe it’s something else.

Maybe Peterkin was right.

Maybe you are your mother’s daughter, despite the fact she hasn't been your mother in years.

You stare down at the bracelet, the way the gold gleams in the dull light of the bedroom, like the embers of a fireplace that had long gone cold. It’s scratched, delicate and cool, not as pretty as it was one day, the same as her, and you press your lips together as you slip it onto your wrist.

Your phone buzzes again, and you wipe your tears on instinct before you pick it up, burying that box at the end of the bag, closing it, like a casket. The last true thing of a life that was never yours.

How ironic it is, that it too, belonged to your mother.

– Hey bee.

– You okay, sweetheart? It's five, right? Should I go pick you up? – His voice is warm, distant. You feel like you're watching a hearth from within a blizzard. It's a comfort, but one that's so far away you can barely imagine it. – We can go to the store right now, if you want.

– My work usually ends at eight.

– Eight PM?! – He gasps.

You could just see his expression right in front of you, the frown on his face, the way his lips hang open. You could almost smile. – Work is hell, Bee.

– Sweetheart, I know kids in sweatshops that have better hours.

You laugh, incredulous. – I left earlier today. I'm at my pl— You stop, biting your tongue. – At my brother’s. Picking up my things.

Barry's quiet for a moment, you hear the growl of a motorcycle far away from his line. His phone scrapes against his skin, as if he's tightening his grip on it. – Is he there?

– No, Bee. I don’t know where he is.

– Stay in your room. I'll be right there.

– Are you home?

There's a pause. – What?

– Are you home? 

– No.

– Go straight home then, Bee. I'm already on my way. I'll see you later.

You hang up, barely listening to the last few hushed words lost within the grumble of his voice, and you're left to watch the site of the burial: Your empty room. Your now bare bed. The posters still on the walls, watching you emptily.

It's like a haunted house.

You don’t bother to look again before you leave. You don’t need yet another living, breathing, still existing thing to haunt you. But you leave the door open, so that they'll see you're gone.

Because you are your mother's daughter.

You don’t clean anything up, but you take a couple boxes of cigarettes from the counter and shove them in your purse.

Because you’re your brother’s sister.

You close the screen door and leave the wooden one open, leaving the one pair of shoes you never use sitting there on the shoe rack, where it's been for years, because you know you won’t come back for it.

Because you’re your father’s daughter, too.

But you step out onto the grass and there's someone waiting for you. The red and yellow paint on the bike —Rafe’s bike, the one that had been with Barry, the one JJ dragged you on— the first thing you notice.

His left hand, still on the splinter, trembles. And his eyes, those radioactive blue eyes, are filled with tears that spill long before he rushes to you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, before you can even say his name.

– Rafe?

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

Hello!! Can I request dating hcs of Rex x hypersexual!reader? With him helping them heal from their trauma and fear (and longing) of intimacy and being touched? Thank you, i love the way you write fics 🫶🫶

Thanks baby😘

This is based on my own experience with hypersexuality and the topics you described

Rex Sloan X Hypersexual!Gn!Reader

I think Rex is also hypersexual, or at least has some tendencies, so he'd understand a lot. I also think he would learn more about himself while trying to help you

He knows how sometimes your mind is buzzing with bad thoughts and stress, and the only thing that seems to calm it is by thinking about sex, especially when you're trying to sleep and just can't 

He knows sometimes sex feels like the solution to all problems

And that hipersexuality is a problem because it’s prejudicial to your life, in the sense that maybe you're trying to focus on something else, like studying, working, or a hobby, but your mind just. Won't. Stop. 

Sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex

But he's still learning to think before talking, and he just came to terms with the fact that he's actually very empathic 

So he might ask how you feel and what you're thinking from time to time, and what do you think that made you be hypersexual 

He doesn't want you to commit the same mistakes he did, so he makes sure your sexual dynamic with each other is very healthy, obnoxiously healthy, to the point that it's even funny how he’ll just stop in the middle of it to ask “do you want it or do you enthusiastically want it?” with the most serious expression, one it's even weird to see on him, because he's just so goofy

Because if the bar is high enough, you never will accept anything less, just like people with healthy families usually don't accept other people treating them like shit 

He's scared shitless that he’ll accidentally or indirectly hurt you, either because he didn't make sure how you felt, or because you were too good at pretending

He's ruined so many good things before, he doesn't want to do it anymore 

You might have intrusive thoughts, like really, intrusive thoughts. Not the ones most people are used to like “what if I threw my phone out of the window?”, but the real ones. If you have it you know what I’m talking about. 

I’m not sure he has them, because if you have them, you probably hide them, but he surprises you when he takes it seriously, not just thinking you're a freak, or a creep, or a weirdo. He understands right away they're not something you want, you don't condone those actions, you think they're the worst thing the could happen, and yet, your mind is so broken that it throws those thoughts at you, trying to make you hate yourself, and it might even work, and Rex makes sure you know it's not your fault, it's just a mental illness, there's nothing wrong with you, it's common, just talk to him baby, talking will make you feel better

He also becomes clingy, even performing PDA if you're into that. Just because your mind is thinking about all the different sexual scenarios you could do, doesn't mean you want sex, half the time you just want to be held, kissed and feel important. Just receive some attention and love. And he’ll enjoy doing that

Especially in the beginning of your relationship, he understands you might be confused on how to proceed, overthinking, and you might even try to distance yourself from him

Jokes on you, he's not gonna let that happen

I mean, see how his relationship with Rae started on the 3rd season, bro really worked for her

If he didn't like you as much, he would give up, honestly. Rex from the 1st and 2nd season would just offer himself to be your booty call

If you're touch starved, he understands that maybe you feel insecure about that, that the simple act of holding hands and rubbing your thumb on someone’s skin just isn’t second nature to you, isn't your first instinct, when you do it, you're actively thinking about it, afraid to move and disturb the peace, or make him stop touching you

Like one of those videos of abused animals who freak out at the simple mention of someone getting close to them, and when someone does, they need several minutes to get used to it 

He won't judge you for maybe being somewhat socially awkward on that aspect, he actually likes that you aren't used to just throwing yourself at anyone who gives you crumbs of attention, and ruining yourself in the process, almost like he did. It's not worth it, it's humiliating, it changes you so much that you can't recognize yourself in the end

It takes some time, but you get used to having him clinging to you at all and random moments of the day

He wants your first time together to be especial, and when you truly want it, so he doesn't even takes the first step, you have to do it 

I see you just sleeping in the same bed, fully clothed, every night, for several weeks (even months, if that's your thing), before actually having sex

Doesn't mean he won't make out with you, when you're comfortable with that. And he tries not to be the old him that would just grab your ass right away, instead, Rex learns that he likes to just… Explore 

He squeezes your waist, he touches your hair, your scalp, he breathes your scent. He rounds his arms around you and just has nice, quiet conversations. He lays his head on your chest, stomach and lap, closes his eyes, and his mind is suddenly empty, while you take initiative and run your fingers through his ginger locks. He holds your hand when he takes you out

He spoils you, he was never the type of guy to do that, he liked being spoiled instead

Now, he just thinks he needed to meet the right person

He cooks, it's not good, but he's trying to impress and make you happy

He learns your hobbies, and spends quality time with you. You have to know he's not with you just for sex, just for your body, your mind is just as sexy to him babygurl~ (in a gn way)

He shows you his home magazines and you talk about your future home together, despite how surreal it feels, how impossible it seems, how scary, not only to you, but also him. But he wants this. He finally has something good. A purpose in life

And even if you express some negative thought, he’s surprisingly good at comforting and reassuring, on his own unserious and abrasive way

Suddenly, your mind is a lot more peaceful

General masterlist

Like, comment and reblog 🥰

[joeyalohadream]

Several Sentence Sunday (Thursday?)

I've been fading in and out of Tumblr the last few weeks so I've been tagged in a few things by a few people and I'm laaaaate to the game. So here's two little phone call snippets from the next chapter of Let your heart be light that is almost finished.

(Thank you for tagging me @weimarweekly and @swifty-fox ❤️)

----

Gale’s phone vibrates in his pocket as he’s securing his tools in the barn.

[9:44am] John❤️: You busy?

He types out a quick message, letting John know he’d just finished cutting down a Douglas Fir for his first and only customer so far this morning. A few seconds after he hits send, his phone buzzes again and doesn’t stop.

The smile that tugs his lip up grows when he see’s that John’s calling him.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Gale.”

“Hi, John.”

“Just wanted you to know I’m thinking about you.” His bright voice comes though the speaker and Gale can hear the soft smile in it. “Haven’t really stopped thinking about you since I left. Or since I met you, I guess.” Gale huffs a laugh even as his heart thumps out of rhythm and his face grows warm. “Are you blushing?”

“Yes, John,” Gale laughs again. “You know I am.”

“Send me a picture.”

“No.”

“Buck, pleeeease?”

“No.”

----

(John's a total mama's boy in this story, btw.)

“Yeah, I do.”

“And what have I always said to you and your sisters?”

“When you know, you know.” He breathes out, feeling lighter. It’s a mantra that’s been in his head for as long as he can remember. And he’s been saying it to himself since the first time he held Gale in his arms.

“So yes,” his mom breaks him from his thoughts. “I want you to be careful because you’re my baby and I don’t want to see you get hurt. But also, just follow your heart. It’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen and it won’t steer you wrong, honey.”

“Thanks, ma.”

“Can you at least tell me one thing?”

“Sure.”

“Is he handsome?”

“Ma,” John groans. “Come on.”

“So he’s not?” She teases, mock sympathy in her voice that makes John laugh.

“He’s beautiful, mama. Never seen anyone more beautiful. On the inside too.” He knows his smiles gone dopey, but no ones here to call him on it, so he lets it rest on his face while he pictures Gale’s.

“Well then he sounds like a good match for my beautiful boy.”

“Alright, alright.” He chuckles, but his ears burn.

“Will I get to meet him?”

“’Course,” he says. It’s something that feels inevitable. “Maybe not next week though. I don’t want to overwhelm him.”

“He isn’t falling as fast?”

“He is.” John assures, feeling it in his bones that it’s the truth. “He uh-” John drags a hand over his mouth and contemplates his next words. Not wanting to betray Gale’s confidence but wanting to start to ease into something that he knows will happen sooner rather than later. “He lost his mom when he was a teenager and his dad isn’t in the picture. I don’t know if he’s ready for your brand of motherly attention just yet. Not without time to warn him.”

She makes a sympathetic noise and John can picture her sad smile. The one that always made him feel seen and cared for. The thought of it being directed at Gale makes him feel warm inside.

[heliosunny]

Hi, can I request a yandere ranpo x reader obsessed with puzzles and (ranpo) the reader doesn't stop until the puzzle is finished? But the reader can sometimes be very stupid and absent-minded, for example, that a crossword puzzle or a sudoku is difficult for him and that cooking is difficult for them

Yandere!Ranpo x Reader

Ranpo stared at the board, blinking once. Then twice. His usual smug smirk faltered, the lollipop in his mouth tilting precariously.

"I lost?"

Across from him, you leaned back in your chair, fingers interlaced behind your head. "You did" you confirmed, tilting your head with a satisfied grin. "Fair and square."

The room, once filled with the quiet murmurs of spectators who had gathered to witness the so-called ‘Greatest Detective’ effortlessly crush yet another opponent, had now been reduced to stunned disbelief. It wasn’t just a puzzle contest—it was him against you. And he had lost.

Ranpo’s gaze flicked between the board and your expression, scanning for any sign of trickery, deception, an explanation for this anomaly. But all he saw was the calm confidence of someone who had outplayed him.

The moment you stood up, stretching as if this was just another casual game for you, Ranpo made a decision.

He had to know.

And so, he followed you.

At first, it was subtle—watching from a distance as you went about your day, noting every little habit. The way you absentmindedly traced patterns with your fingers while reading, how your eyes scanned rooms as if cataloging every detail.

By the third day, he was practically glued to your side.

"You're fascinating, y'know that?" he hummed, walking backwards in front of you, hands tucked behind his head. "I've solved cases in minutes, unraveled conspiracies, read people like open books—but you? Hah, you’re like a puzzle I haven’t finished yet."

You raised a brow, adjusting the bag slung over your shoulder

Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he beamed. "Hey! Come hang out at the Agency with me! We have tons of puzzles there."

You narrowed your eyes. "You just want to figure me out."

"You are a mystery worth solving, after all."

And Ranpo hated unsolved mysteries.

Walking into the Armed Detective Agency felt like stepping into a room full of people who had just seen a ghost.

"…Ranpo, who’s that?" Atsushi asked hesitantly, blinking between you and Ranpo, who had a triumphant grin plastered across his face.

"My new favorite person" Ranpo announced proudly, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "They’re really good at puzzles."

"You brought them here… just because they’re good at puzzles?" Kunikida adjusted his glasses, already rubbing his temple as if anticipating a migraine.

"Hey! I bring valuable people to the agency all the time" Ranpo pouted. "Besides, they beat me in a contest. Me. That’s gotta mean something, right?"

Dazai let out a low whistle, resting his chin in his palm. "You lost? Now that’s a rare sight."

You rolled your eyes at the attention but smirked at Ranpo. "Told you it wasn’t a fluke."

"You still have to prove it wasn’t luck" Ranpo teased back.

Before the banter could continue, the atmosphere shifted with the sharp ring of the agency phone. Kunikida answered, his expression growing serious.

"A murder case" he said after a moment, glancing around. "And it’s… strange. The police can’t make sense of the crime scene."

Ranpo’s eyes gleamed with excitement.

You could feel the moment he made the decision before he even said it.

"Y/N's coming with me" Ranpo announced, pointing at you.

"Wait, what?"

"You're already here. And you love puzzles. It’ll be fun!"

"That’s not—!"

Too late. He was already dragging you toward the exit, his grip surprisingly firm.

"Ranpo!" Kunikida shouted.

"Don’t worry, we’ll solve it in no time~!" Ranpo sang, waving over his shoulder.

And just like that, you were thrown into a murder investigation.

The crime scene was bizarre.

A locked-room murder, but instead of the usual grim chaos, the place was meticulously arranged. The body lay in the center of the room, surrounded by neatly placed puzzle pieces. Scraps of paper with half-finished riddles were scattered across the table. The walls were adorned with cryptic messages, some in different languages, some in numbers.

Ranpo let out a low whistle, crouching near one of the riddles. "Whoever did this really went all out. Trying to turn a crime scene into a game?" He glanced at you, a slow smirk forming. "Sounds like your kind of thing."

This wasn’t just some puzzle game—it was a murder. But you couldn’t deny it: the challenge intrigued you.

"This is gonna be fun."

And for the first time since stepping into this case, you couldn’t help but agree.

The room felt suffocating.

Even with the windows open, a chill clung to the air, heavy with something wrong. The crime scene had long since been cleared of the body, but the echoes of violence remained. Blood had soaked into the wooden floorboards, forming patterns.

You and Ranpo sat in the center of the room, surrounded by dozens of puzzle pieces.

Each piece was a fragment of a Polaroid, stained at the edges, some speckled with blood. A single letter was scrawled on the back of each in spidery handwriting. The police had given up, calling it ‘incomprehensible.’ You and Ranpo? You lived for this.

Your hands trembled slightly as you connected another corner. A distorted image was beginning to take shape.

A face.

Or at least, what used to be a face.

The photograph showed the victim’s head—stitched together, their mouth twisted into an unnatural grin, eyes removed and replaced with buttons.

"This is sick."

Ranpo, sitting cross-legged beside you, popped a lollipop into his mouth, eyes fixed on the puzzle with unsettling fascination. "It's art," he mused. "A very, very deranged kind, but art nonetheless."

"That’s not funny."

"But it’s true," he said simply. Then he tapped at the letters forming a rough circle around the grotesque image. "Now, what do you make of these?"

You hesitated, scanning the pieces. Your mind worked instinctively, arranging and rearranging in your head.

"It’s an anagram"

Ranpo leaned in as you rearranged the letters in your head, mouth moving silently before you whispered the answer.

"Find the next piece."

Ranpo grinned. "Oh-ho~ This just got way more interesting."

By the time the case was wrapped up, you were exhausted.

Days of unraveling cryptic messages, following trails that led to dead ends, and confronting the kind of darkness most people spent their lives avoiding had taken its toll.

You barely managed to stumble into your apartment before collapsing onto your bed, not even bothering to change. Sleep pulled at you instantly, mind clouded with half-formed riddles and the echo of Ranpo’s voice teasing in your ears.

The Armed Detective Agency was unusually quiet the next morning.

"Has anyone seen Ranpo?" Kunikida asked, flipping through his notebook with an exasperated sigh.

Atsushi frowned. "He wasn’t here when I came in…"

Dazai, leaning back in his chair, grinned lazily. "Maybe he found something more interesting to do."

Fukuzawa, usually calm, let out a small sigh. "Knowing him, he’s up to something."

And they were right. Because while the ADA was wondering where their detective had gone, Ranpo was already at your front door.

With a bag of snacks in one hand and a smirk in place, he knocked.

"Oi~ Open up! I know you’re in there."

You groaned, shoving a pillow over your face.

He knocked again. "C’mon, don’t make me deduce my way inside."

You threw the pillow aside with a sigh.

Ranpo just grinned wider as you cracked the door open, eyes still groggy with sleep.

"Morning, bestie~!"

You stared. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He held up a bag of your favorite snacks. "Bribing my way into your apartment. I figured since we bonded over that lovely murder, we should hang out more!"

You groaned, rubbing your temples.

And yet… as much as you hated to admit it, the idea of pushing him away didn’t even cross your mind.

Ranpo had made himself far too comfortable in your apartment. Feet propped up on your coffee table, his bag of snacks nearly empty, he was lazily tossing random questions your way—questions that, in your half-asleep state, you barely registered.

"What do you think is the best way to disappear without a trace?"

"Mmh."

"Do you think Dazai would look better in a detective hat or a clown wig?"

"Sure."

"Okay, but if you had to choose between getting locked in a room with a serial killer or letting me eat the last of your snacks, which would you pick?"

"Whatever."

Ranpo pouted. "Rude."

You barely reacted, eyes fluttering shut as you curled deeper into the couch. He clicked his tongue, scanning your bookshelf before suddenly perking up.

"Oh? What’s this?"

You cracked one eye open just in time to see him holding up a small, intricately designed puzzle box.

Your drowsiness evaporated instantly.

"Wait, where did you get that?"

Ranpo grinned, spinning it in his hands. "It was just sitting there, waiting for me~ You like these, huh?"

You barely heard him, already snatching it from his grasp. Your fingers traced the carvings along the edges, the weight of it familiar.

This was a real puzzle. A mechanical challenge, gears hidden beneath the surface, secrets locked inside.

You were hooked immediately.

Ranpo watched, scowling as you became utterly absorbed, twisting and turning the pieces, eyes gleaming with focus.

"Oi."

No response.

He poked your cheek. "Hellooo?"

Still nothing.

"You’re ignoring me," he muttered, arms crossing. "I brought that for you and now you won’t even look at me?"

You mumbled something incomprehensible, fingers still working at the puzzle’s hidden mechanisms.

Ranpo sulked. He had specifically come here to spend time with you. You. Not some dumb wooden contraption!

He was starting to hate that box.

And yet, as evening crept in, you still hadn’t solved it.

Ranpo’s mood lightened when you finally sighed and set it aside, stretching with a groan.

"Okay," you mumbled. "I need a break. I’ll cook something."

Ranpo blinked. "You can cook?"

"...I can try."

What followed could only be described as culinary carnage.

Ranpo watched in horrified fascination as you fumbled with the ingredients, nearly set something on fire (twice), and somehow managed to make instant noodles taste like regret.

"You’re a genius at puzzles but this is beyond you?" he snickered, dodging the halfhearted attempt you made to smack his arm.

"Shut up, I don’t do this often!"

"Clearly."

Just as he was about to tease you further, his phone buzzed.

Ranpo sighed dramatically before answering.

"Ah, what is it this time?"

"Ranpo, we have a problem."

A gleam of excitement flickered in his eyes.

"Perfect timing. I was getting bored."

Before you could even process what was happening, Ranpo had already grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward the door.

"Wait—what about food?!"

He waved off your concerns. "Who cares? Side quest time~!"

"I care!"

But it was too late.

With an empty stomach and a very bad feeling, you found yourself dragged into yet another mystery.

You had been expecting something serious.

A murder. A kidnapping. Some complex conspiracy that only Ranpo could unravel.

What you hadn’t expected… was a missing cat.

"You dragged me out for this?" you panted, hands on your knees.

The old woman who had called for help wrung her hands nervously. "I-I'm sorry for the trouble, but my dear Momo has never run off before! She’s a precious girl, so well-behaved, I just—"

Ranpo cut her off with a lazy wave. "Yeah, yeah, no worries, ma’am. We’ll find your little furball."

You shot him a glare. "We?"

He grinned. "Obviously. You’re part of the team now!"

You groaned.

The search turned out to be far more exhausting than expected.

Momo was no ordinary house cat—she was an absolute menace.

She had led you both through alleyways, rooftops, and somehow, at one point, an underground bar (don’t ask). You had climbed over fences, gotten chased by an angry shopkeeper after Ranpo ‘borrowed’ some fish, and nearly faceplanted into a pile of garbage when Momo darted out of reach.

By the time you finally caught the tiny devil and returned her home, you were done.

"Never again" you wheezed, leaning against a lamppost, trying not to collapse.

Ranpo, perfectly fine, patted your head like you were some exhausted puppy. "Good job, partner~"

"I hate you."

"No, you don’t."

"…Give me five minutes, and I might."

He only laughed.

The night air was cool as you sat at a small food stall, finally finally getting something to eat.

You slumped over the counter, barely able to hold your chopsticks.

Ranpo, as lively as ever, happily slurped his noodles. "Y’know, for someone so good at puzzles, your stamina sucks."

You sent him a half-hearted glare. "Not all of us are built for running an obstacle course for a cat."

"Excuses, excuses."

Despite his teasing, he nudged an extra skewer toward you.

You took it with a grumble, too hungry to argue.

That was when you felt it.

A prickle at the back of your neck.

Subtle, but unmistakable.

Someone was watching you.

Your fingers tightened slightly around your chopsticks.

You scanned the street casually—nothing seemed out of place. Just pedestrians, workers, and the occasional couple enjoying the evening air.

You barely turned your head, but Ranpo noticed.

He took a casual sip of his drink before murmuring, "Don't react. Just act natural."

"So I am being watched" you muttered under your breath.

"Oh, absolutely," he whispered. "And whoever they are… they’re not just a random stalker."

Your grip on the skewer tightened.

"Guess this means the real game is starting~"

The next morning, the eerie sensation of being watched was gone.

Just the usual bustle of the city, people moving about their lives as if nothing had happened.

But something still felt off.

Maybe it was the fact that Ranpo was being even more insufferable than usual.

"You're walking too far ahead" he complained, suddenly grabbing your wrist and pulling you back beside him.

"Since when do you care about walking distance?"

He huffed, swinging your arm slightly as he held onto it. "Since you started getting distracted by other things when I'm right here."

You scoffed, shaking him off. "You're acting clingy."

Ranpo gasped dramatically. "Me?"

"Yes. You."

He pouted "Well, maybe someone should appreciate how much I care."

The agency had already noticed his shift in behavior.

Ranpo was always eccentric, but today?

If anyone so much as greeted you, he would cut in.

Atsushi had tried to ask about the case from yesterday? Ranpo answered for you before you could get a word in.

Dazai had made a casual joke about inviting you out for lunch?

Ranpo laughed, but the way he stepped in front of you was anything but playful.

Even Yosano, who usually didn’t care for Ranpo’s antics, raised an eyebrow when he quite literally dragged you away from Kunikida’s work desk before the man could assign you anything.

"Ranpo, I can talk to other people, you know."

"Nope."

"…Nope?"

"You’re mine today."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me~"

You stared at him, waiting for some kind of follow-up. Maybe a joke, maybe a smug ‘just kidding.’

But no.

He just continued on, casually snacking on some sweets, as if what he said was perfectly normal.

----

The morning felt... strangely peaceful.

No Ranpo clinging to your side. No smug remarks. No insistent dragging to whatever nonsense he decided was your business too.

For the first time in days, you could actually breathe.

Maybe he got busy.

Maybe he finally got bored of shadowing your every move.

You weren’t sure if that idea was relieving or unnerving.

Either way, you decided to take advantage of the rare moment of freedom—grabbing coffee alone, wandering through the city without someone constantly pulling at your sleeve, and even stopping by a bookstore to browse puzzles at your own pace.

But that peaceful feeling shattered the second you got home.

The door was slightly ajar.

You knew you had locked it before leaving.

Slowly, cautiously, you pushed it open.

Your apartment was exactly how you left it. No overturned furniture, no broken windows, nothing missing.

You stepped inside, heart pounding as you scanned every inch of your space.

Drawers had been opened.

Books had been shifted.

Your desk, usually neat, had its contents disturbed—papers moved just slightly out of place.

Whoever had been here wasn’t after valuables. They weren’t looking for money.

The police arrived quickly, investigating the break-in with their usual procedure—dusting for fingerprints, asking if you noticed anything strange.

"Nothing was stolen?" One of the officers asked, flipping through his notes.

You shook your head. "Not that I can tell."

"That’s... unusual," he admitted. "Break-ins like this typically have a motive."

"So, what? This was just to send a message?"

The officer exchanged glances with his partner.

"We can’t say for sure, but… be careful. If anything else happens, let us know immediately."

As they left, the unease in your chest didn’t fade.

You tried not to dwell on the break-in.

Nothing was stolen. Nothing was damaged.

The police had done their part, and aside from the unsettling feeling that someone had been there, there was nothing else you could do.

So, life went on.

Eventually, you decided a fresh start would be best.

A new apartment. A quieter part of town.

For a while, things were… peaceful.

You didn’t avoid Ranpo, exactly. But he had stopped appearing in your daily life like an ever-present shadow.

Maybe he finally lost interest.

Maybe he had other mysteries to chase after.

It was better this way.

Until the night everything changed.

A frantic knock shattered the silence.

You glanced at the clock—past midnight.

No one visited you this late.

Approaching the door cautiously, you hesitated before unlocking it.

The second you cracked it open, Ranpo shoved his way inside, slamming it shut behind him.

"Lock it!" he ordered, breathless.

You startled but obeyed, twisting the bolt shut.

"Ranpo, what the hell—?"

His usual smug, lazy demeanor was gone. His clothes were slightly disheveled, his hair messier than usual, and his chest rose and fell rapidly as if he had been running. His eyes darted around your apartment before finally landing on you.

"You need to leave. Now."

"What? Why?"

Ranpo grabbed your wrist, "We need to go."

You had never seen him like this.

"Ranpo." You yanked your wrist free, stepping back. "Tell me what's going on."

He exhaled sharply, frustrated. "There's no time!"

"Then make time!"

For a split second, his eyes locked onto yours, then just as quickly, he was moving again—grabbing a chair, pushing it up against the door.

"Someone is after us," he muttered, running a hand through his already-messy hair. "I don’t know how they found you so fast, but—"

knock

Both of you froze.

Three soft raps against the wood.

Ranpo inhaled sharply through his nose, and for the first time since he’d arrived, you saw it.

Fear.

You didn’t want to look at the door.

Didn’t want to move.

But your body betrayed you.

Step by step, you approached it, barely able to hear over the pounding in your ears.

Then—

A piece of paper slid under the door.

A single, neatly folded note.

The knock had stopped.

You hesitated, then crouched down, hand trembling slightly as you picked it up.

Unfolding it carefully, you read the single line scrawled across the page:

"You solved my last puzzle. Now solve this one."

Ranpo was beside you in an instant, snatching the paper from your hands.

His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes scanning the message with a look you had never seen before.

"I should’ve known they'd come for you next."

"Who?"

He crumpled the note in his fist.

"Someone who doesn't play fair."

Another knock.

This time, harder.

Ranpo grabbed your wrist again, yanking you toward the back door.

"No more questions. We're leaving. Now."

And this time, you didn’t argue.

Ranpo practically dragged you out the back door, the cold night air bit at your skin as you stumbled onto the empty street, your mind racing.

Whoever had left that note—whoever had been knocking—was still inside your apartment.

“Where are we going?” you demanded, struggling to keep up.

“Somewhere safe,” he muttered, barely sparing you a glance.

The city blurred past as he led you down alleyways, side streets, weaving through the darkness like he had planned this route a thousand times before.

“Ranpo, slow down—”

“Can’t.”

“Damn it!” You yanked your arm free, chest heaving. “What the hell is going on? What was that note? Who’s after us?”

He turned on you fast. His eyes gleamed in the dim streetlights, something unreadable swirling in them.

“Why do you keep asking questions you don’t want the answers to?”

Hours Later.

The safe house was an old building on the outskirts of the city, abandoned and isolated.

Ranpo had led you inside, locking the doors, checking the windows, making sure no one had followed.

And now, you sat in the dimly lit room, your pulse finally slowing, trying to piece it all together.

Everything that had happened.

The break-in.

The missing stalker.

The note.

Your entire life had been upended in a matter of days.

A creeping unease slithered into your thoughts.

“Ranpo. You never answered me.”

“About what?”

“Why were you running?”

The pieces were coming together, whether you wanted them to or not.

“You knew exactly where to go”

Ranpo didn’t reply.

“And that note—” Your fingers clenched into your sleeves.

“Ah,” he murmured, tilting his head. “And here I thought I’d get to play just a little longer.”

“Ranpo,” you said, “What did you do?”

He sighed, stepping forward, completely relaxed, as if this was just another game to him.

“Did you really think some random stalker was after you?” he mused. “That some unknown threat was breaking into your home, following your every move?”

“You never even questioned why I was always one step ahead.” he continued.

“It was you.” Your voice was barely audible. “It was always you.”

“Of course it was.”

“Why?” The question escaped before you could stop it.

“You wouldn’t stay,” he murmured, “You kept slipping away. Distracted by other things. Other people.”

He took another step forward, and this time, you had nowhere to go.

“But I knew how to keep your attention,” he said softly, tilting his head. “You love puzzles, don’t you?”

The words felt like ice in your veins.

“I gave you one.”

Your breath hitched.

“I was your puzzle.”

“And now? You’re finally paying attention to me.”

The game wasn’t over.

It had only just begun.

You felt sick.

Ranpo’s words echoed in your mind, rattling inside your skull like a cruel joke.

"If you want to leave, then alright—"

"But you must solve one last puzzle."

Then he had left.

And now, you were alone.

The room was empty, save for a single wooden desk shoved against the farthest wall.

Your first instinct was to check there.

Nothing. No notes, no hidden drawers, no conveniently placed riddles waiting to be solved.

You scoured the rest of the space, searching for something. A pattern. A clue. Anything.

But there was nothing.

For the first time in your life, a puzzle had no pieces.

Frustration burned beneath your skin.

Ranpo had never left you without a lead before.

Not even when you were competing against him, not even when he wanted to win.

So why now?

Ranpo had turned himself into a puzzle, left himself as the only answer, and now he was making you do the work.

Making you chase him.

One thing was clear: the answer would lead you to the next location.

Your eyes scanned over the place to find some blood-red markings and that’s when you saw it.

Beneath the cryptic symbols, hidden in the mess of strokes, was something else.

A drawing.

A bridge.

But not just any bridge—you recognized this one.

The bridge loomed over you, empty and silent under the dim glow of streetlights.

The wind howled through the metal beams, a lonely, ghostly sound.

A figure stood at the center of the bridge, just barely visible under the flickering light.

"That took you longer than expected"

"Cut the crap. What do you want?"

"Another game, obviously."

With a dramatic flourish, he pulled something from behind him.

A puzzle box. Dark wood, intricate carvings.

It looked simple at first—just a standard mechanical puzzle with moving pieces.

"You solve this, you win" he said, stepping closer, holding it out to you. "And if I do?"

"Then this ends."

"Exactly."

You snatched the puzzle box from his hands, ignoring the way he watched you, amused, expectant.

This would be easy.

Or so you thought.

Because the moment your fingers moved the first piece—

It locked.

You frowned.

Ranpo grinned.

"Aww, did I forget to mention?"

"I rigged it."

"You what—"

"Oops." His expression was nothing but smug satisfaction. "Looks like you can’t win after all."

Your grip on the puzzle box tightened, anger bubbling beneath your skin.

"You—"

Before you could finish, Ranpo took a step back, slipping just out of reach.

"You’re sooooooo close" he teased, voice almost sing-song. "But I guess you’ll just have to stay with me a little longer to figure it out."

This wasn’t about solving a puzzle.

This was about trapping you in his game.

And he was never going to let you win.

Your fingers dug into the puzzle box, nails pressing so hard against the wood that they nearly left marks.

You loved puzzles. They were pure—logic and reason wrapped into a perfect solution. A challenge, but always one with an answer.

But this?

This was an insult.

Ranpo had rigged it. Not as a test, not as a real challenge, but as a way to trap you.

You felt the anger rise in your chest like a firestorm.

"You’re mocking it" you hissed, gripping the box so tightly your knuckles turned white. "This isn’t a puzzle—it’s a joke."

"Don’t be mad," he cooed, tilting his head. "I think it’s fun."

"You ruined it."

"You’re adorable when you’re angry" he mused, taking a lazy step forward.

You instinctively stepped back.

Wrong move.

Ranpo’s eyes lit up.

"Oh?" His smirk widened. "Are you scared of me now?"

You weren’t.

His amusement took on a new edge.

"I thought you liked puzzles" he murmured, voice dropping just slightly. "And yet, here you are, acting like you don’t want to play anymore."

Your jaw clenched. "Because this isn’t one."

He hummed, taking another step forward.

You forced yourself to stay still.

"Isn’t it? Then why are you still holding on to it?"

He was right.

Your grip on the box was tight, unwilling to let it go—even though you knew it was a trick.

"See? You’re still playing my game."

His fingers brushed yours.

"Why fight it?" he murmured, leaning in just a bit more. "You love this. You love me."

Your head felt fuzzy.

Your grip on the puzzle box loosened—just slightly.

Ranpo was always on your mind.

Just like a puzzle—taunting, unsolved, endless.

At first, you thought you could figure him out.

You wanted to.

He was a challenge unlike any other.

He was never just one thing.

One moment, he was playful. The next, eerily perceptive. One moment, he was leading you along like a game piece. The next, pulling you in like he had been waiting for you all along.

And it was exhausting.

You exhaled, shoulders slumping. "I don’t get you, Ranpo."

Your fingers tightened around the rigged puzzle box. "The more I try to understand you, the less I actually do."

For once, he was silent.

Then—

He laughed.

It unsettled you more than anything.

"You finally get it," he mused, tilting his head. "That’s why you can’t leave me alone."

Your brows furrowed. "What?"

"You love puzzles, then what’s better than one you’ll never solve?"

"I know. It’s frustrating. Confusing. But isn’t that what makes it fun?"

You barely realized it when your grip on the puzzle box finally loosened.

"You’re obsessed with me," he said simply. "And that’s okay."

And the moment you did—

Ranpo caught it.

And you.

"You’re tired" he said "Then don’t think anymore."