#it just sits there doing nothing but saying 'that's not my job'

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 06. Your first day at work!

Inspired by acid-xx, rizzanon, nikovraskol

PREV PART trigger warnings: medical + emotional + physical neglect, misgendering (reader isn't out to the bad family yet), filler chapter main m.list      series m.list

You hate feeling angry, you hate feeling so tired. But you would always feel like this, well as long as you are in this house at least. You hate feeling like your own pain was nothing but just a pinch of salt compared to your families suffering. But that’s why you got a job, and that’s why you are pulling yourself out of bed. That’s why you are holding yourself together besides the anger raging inside your body.

That anger is the reason you are taking care of yourself, that anger will keep you going for years to come. Even when it disappears. You’ll live on your own and your mind would be your own. Your resentment and anger will no longer keep you in your bed, hiding under your covers.

You are just going to do what you wish for, and today that’s making a breakfast for yourself and get to work.

So that’s what you are doing, ignoring how Tim stumbles in to make some coffee, only for him to sit at the table and scroll on his phone. “You look fancy,” he says, and you sigh. You didn’t want to talk, but of course the day that you dress up for your job Tim decides to have a conversation with you. “are you going anywhere?”

So that’s what you are doing, ignoring how Tim stumbles in to make some coffee, only for him to sit at the table and scroll on his phone. “You look fancy,” he says, and you sigh. You didn’t want to talk, but of course the day that you dress up for your job Tim decides to have a conversation with you. “are you going anywhere?”

“I’m subbing in for a friend at his work,” you lie, brushing some of your hair behind your ear. You just hope that this was the last of his comments.

“Nice of you to do,” Tim mumbles, he knows you’re lying but then again, does he have any right to call you out? “how late will you be home?”

“I don’t know,” you snap, smacking the pan you’re holding down on the counter. “Why do you care?”

Tim doesn’t flinch him, he doesn’t even look up from his phone as he spoke; “There are rumours that the Joker is out and about.”

“When isn’t he?” You mumble, shoving your food in your mouth. “I’m not scared of someone knock-off clown.”

Tim sighs; “Just be careful.”

You roll your eyes, at least you got breakfast and you took your medication. “I’ll be safer out there then here.”

You could see Tim wince, at least someone feels guilt in this household.

The restaurant was coming along nicely, the sign looks pretty and the building looks a lot cleaner then the first time you were here. You just have to find the employee entrance… “Over here!” you suddenly hear, your head snaps back and there was a young man. His eyes kinder and his posture’s relaxer then Bruce when he plays up the playboy Brucie persona, it makes you nervous. He’s too relaxed for someone working for Penguin... “Yes you, Mx. (last name)! I am your trainer~!”

You hum as you get closer. “You know my name,” you start as you hold out your hand. “but I don’t know yours.”

“Well,” he grins. “you can call me whatever you want, ignorance is bliss isn’t it, darling?”

NEXT PART Honestly, I had a health thing during the holidays, I am mentally checked out with my mom and I just wanted to write something light hearted and short. So here, hope you enjoyed it<3.

Taglist: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories

[kkusuka]

i'm back on my medic bullshit.

being hired to be the medic for an elite task force came with it's own insanity- which you prepared for.

you prepared for the amount of blood, Sergeant MacTavish and his tendency to get shot in the arm, then not heading your warning about overusing said arm, then blowing his stiches causing even more blood.

you prepared to be fought against, Captain Price and his need to be constantly working and on top of things, which he can't exactly do with a nasty concussion from being in a helicopter crash, but he only listens to you after getting flash banged by his own office lights.

you prepared to be listened to, Sergeant Garrick is like an angel in a sea of demons, it's not often, but when he does get injured he hangs off of every word you say to him. he comes in early for his check-ups, heads your warnings and even got you a little mug when you clear him for field activities.

you even prepared to get nothing, Lieutenant Riley doesn't get hurt, then when he does he just sits and listens to you rattle on about how to take care of his ankle, then he leaves with a nod of his head.

what you did not prepare for was walking in on poor Sergeant MacTavish- after a nasty fall out of a moving truck, then rolling into a ditch and diving right into a river- sat up, head thrown back, hand wrapped around his throbbing cock. he isn't nearly as shocked as you were, there was always a risk of someone walking in on you in the military and he had been practically shouting your name.

and Johnny was not the 141 member known for sweet-talking but he somehow convinces you that getting him off will not only make him feel better now, but it will also exponentially speed up his recovery! and so you end up on your knees, licking his cock up and down as his hand guides the back of your head.

and, to your dismay, he did make a speedy recovery, but gave your blowjob skills all of the credit. and he made sure everyone possible knew about your magical skills. (you were worried about getting fired for malpractice, the 141 was plotting who was gonna be next.)

now they didn't all suddenly throw themselves in the path of danger, no amount of horniness would make them risk their jobs, but no one can help not getting hurt every once in a while.

Sergeant Garrick getting his face thrown into a concrete wall and just needing you to sit on it to make him feel better. hands holding your hips to his face, tongue circling your clit as you try to hold onto the metal headboard of the infirmary room. and one time just isn't enough, most medicine takes a few doses before it can actually start working, so he needs you on your back, and bent over the bed, and sitting on the examination table; not to mention those weekly check-ins to make sure he's actually healing.

then Captain Price gets caught in a nasty helicopter crash, his leg is hurt, not broken, but he can't do anything but paperwork for a month. and that's ok! because he has you to sit on his cock for hours, you don't want him to be lonely while his team gets to be together, and laswell is for too busy to keep him company. and it really will help him to have your tight pussy squeezing his cock while he completes his work. and since it's all confidential, he can’t have you reading over all of it, so his only choice is fucking you until the only thing you can think about are his fingers playing with your clit and his cock fucking into you.

Lieutenant Riley doesn't get hurt, so he has to get a little creative. (he wants to just pick you up and fuck you wherever he can but Johnny said that would ruin the bit, he doesn't care about the fucking bit when he's the only one who hasn't fucked their medic.) so he's suddenly in your office about everything; his fingers are aching from having to teach rookies the proper way to hold a gun, he hit his head on a doorframe and needs some pain meds, dog bite, until he just gets fed up. those fuckers were handed perfect opportunities and it's clear that he isn't getting the same grace, so he'll just have to create it on his own.

obviously that includes just going to your office, locking the door, and fucking you against it. it's unceremonious and rather inopportune but his face is in the junction of your shoulders, biting into the flesh of your neck, and his hands are keeping you pinned to the door as his hips piston into yours. he sits with you for at least an hour after, cleaning the cum on your thighs, then leaves you with four dog tags and a command to wear them at all times.

and any question about who's medic you were are promptly shut down now that a  6'4 ghost, or the loudest scot on the planet, or the smell of cigars that don't come out even with bleach, or Sergeant Garrick follow you around.

[fatehbaz]

weekly navel-gazing update: this week is most consequential event in long time. keyword search: "scared" "is it ok to be scared" "beaten and tortured by the ogre"

[monicfever]

ben poindexter as your boyfriend. 𝜗𝜚 hc’s

cw ᝰ .ᐟ obsessive tendencies ,, dark themes ,, gn reader unless i slipped up somewhere ,, headcanons ,, i mean he’s a murderer so

BEN POINDEXTER AS YOUR BOYFRIEND... is obsessed with you. not the “likes your selfies” kind — more like memorized your schedule, cataloged your facial expressions, and would absolutely kill for you without a blink. no hesitation. no regret.

he has a tracker on your phone. not because he doesn’t trust you — he just doesn’t trust anyone else. he tells you it’s for your safety, and when you raise an eyebrow at him, he just shrugs and kisses your forehead. “i’d rather know where you are than bury you, baby.”

he gets jealous. so easily. and he hates it. hates how tight his jaw gets when you laugh at someone else's joke. how his fists curl when someone makes you smile. but he’s so good at holding it together — until you’re alone. then he’s pacing. spiraling. pulling you into his lap just to feel your heartbeat under his hand. “you’re mine, right?” he’ll ask, low and tight.

ben does everything for you. carries your bags. makes your coffee. walks you to class. waits outside your job. doesn’t matter if he’s had the worst day imaginable — he’ll still show up to tuck your hair behind your ear and ask if you’ve eaten.

he gets scary when he thinks you’re pulling away. it’s subtle at first — quiet stares, clenched jaw, questions masked as concern. but the second he’s sure something’s wrong he snaps. cold. sharp. wounded in that dangerous way. looks at you with that unhinged grief behind his eyes. like it’s betrayal. like it’s death.

he’s weirdly soft in private. you’re the only person who gets to see the version of him that’s quiet and needy and kind of broken. he sleeps with his head on your chest, fingers clinging to your shirt like you’ll vanish if he lets go. sometimes he just stares at you, like he’s memorizing you in case you disappear.

always brings you little things he finds throughout the day. not flowers or jewelry — no, ben’s gifts are weirder. more him. a vintage matchbook he liked the design of. a cool rock he found on the sidewalk. a bullet casing from his last mission. “made me think of you,” he says, dead serious.

his love language is acts of service — intense ones. fixes everything in your apartment before you even notice it’s broken. goes grocery shopping and memorizes your favorite brand of literally everything. remembers how you like your tea down to the exact amount of honey.

can’t sleep unless he’s touching you. even just a pinky finger brushing yours. if you roll away in the night, he subconsciously follows, pulling you back like a heat-seeking missile. “where you goin’, sweetheart?” he mumbles, half-asleep.

keeps a photo of you in his wallet. it’s old, kind of faded, maybe creased in the corner — but he looks at it constantly. you catch him doing it once, and he just shrugs. “keeps me sane.”

loves forehead kisses. won’t ask for them. won’t say a word. just leans down a little and looks at you with that tilted-head stare until you get it. and when you comply? his whole face goes soft like it’s the only thing anchoring him to earth.

has a surprisingly dark sense of humor. says the most horrifying things in the most affectionate tone. you’ll say “i’m cold” and he’s like, “want me to burn the world down for you?” you laugh. he doesn’t.

likes watching you do normal stuff. brushing your teeth. folding laundry. humming while you cook. he sits quietly, just watching — so still it’s unnerving. to him it’s peace. it’s you alive.

plays with your fingers absentmindedly. twists your rings around. traces the veins in your wrist. holds your hand even when you're just sitting on the couch doing nothing. asks what every little scar is from. “this one?” he’d question. “fell off my bike.” a pause. “want me to go back in time and kill the pavement?”

notices everything. you don’t even realize how closely he’s watching until he casually mentions things like, “you switched shampoo, didn’t you?” or “you tapped your foot three times before locking the door today. usually it’s four.” and it’s not judgment — he just keeps mental notes on everything that makes you you. so if something changes, he knows. and if something’s wrong, he really knows.

he’s extremely routine-oriented — and he builds you into his structure. once you’re part of his life, you’re in it.

your coffee order gets timed to the minute. your text messages get categorized in his head (green = happy, yellow = something’s off, red = drop everything).

he gets agitated if plans change too suddenly, but if you’re the reason? he softens instantly. you ground him. you’re the only thing that doesn’t throw him off.

he gets attached fast. his BPD makes it so once he feels something for you, it’s intense. there’s no casual dating. no half-measures. he goes from “i think i like them” to “i will absolutely die if they leave” in under a week. he’s so good at hiding just how deep it runs.

he replicates your habits without meaning to. if you fidget with your sleeves, he starts doing it. if you use a certain word a lot, it shows up in his vocabulary. he mirrors you because it comforts him.

he hyper-fixates on your favourites. if you say you like a snack once, he’ll buy ten. you compliment a song? it’s on every playlist he makes. you wear a certain lip balm? he’ll go out of his way to buy backups. he wants to memorize what makes you happy so he can recreate it. perfectly. every time.

he spirals when he thinks he upset you. even slightly. a weird tone in your voice? a shorter text reply than usual? his brain jumps to you hate me. you’re going to leave. i ruined it. he’ll pace. his routine will fall apart. instead of lashing out on you he gets quiet. self-destructive. unless you pull him back in with something soft — a touch. a word. a look. then he clings like a shadow.

he makes you things with his hands. little wood carvings, origami, folded napkin animals — he fidgets constantly, and you’re the outlet.

his hands don’t stop moving, so they move for you. you’ll come home and find a tiny heart made of safety pins on your nightstand. he won’t mention it, but he’ll watch to see if you notice.

he always asks for reassurance, but never directly. he’ll say things like, “you still like having me around, right?” or “you’d tell me if i was being too much?” and it breaks your heart a little, because he’s so desperate not to be a burden. you always answer the same way: “you’re my favourite person.”

can’t fall asleep without saying goodnight the same exact way. it doesn’t matter how late it is, how exhausted he is, how bad the day was — he has to say it. same tone, same words, same kiss on your temple. if he doesn’t it eats at him. he’ll lie awake, heart racing, staring at the ceiling like something terrible’s going to happen because he broke the pattern.

refuses to let anyone else drive you anywhere. he doesn’t care if it’s your friend, your boss, your own damn parent — if he can’t be the one driving, he’s deeply uncomfortable. he’ll sit by the door with his keys, ready to go.

has ‘rules’ for loving you. like brushing your hair off your face with his left hand only. or always kissing you three times before you leave. he doesn't need to do it — he has to. if he breaks the pattern, his brain tells him something bad will happen to you.

saves every single voicemail and text you send. even the dumb ones. especially the dumb ones. he replays your old voicemails when he’s spiraling.

he screenshotted the first time you said “i miss you” and keeps it in a locked photo album. you’re proof that something good happened to him once.

gets overstimulated easily, but hides it around you. if the lights are too bright, the room’s too loud, someone’s tapping a pen too much — he’s unraveling inside.

but if you’re talking to him? smiling? holding his hand? he’ll grit his teeth through it, just to stay in your orbit a little longer.

has a favorite version of you, but it’s not what you’d think. it’s not when you’re dressed up, or being cute, or saying nice things. it’s when you’re sleepy. messy. barely awake and murmuring nonsense with your face squished into his chest.

“you’re not real,” you mumbled once. “i made you up.” he still thinks about that. hopes it’s not true. but if it is? he’s glad you dreamed him.

collects your words like scripture. if you ever say something sweet to him, he will not forget. he repeats it to himself, over and over, like a mantra.“you’re safe with me.” ,, “you’re not too much.” ,, “i like you exactly the way you are.” he mouths the words in the mirror. sometimes he believes them.

panics if he forgets anything about you. can’t remember your shoe size? his heart races. doesn’t know if you take your coffee with sugar that day? hands start shaking.

his whole sense of safety is tied to knowing you. so if anything slips, it feels like the whole foundation is cracking.

he loves you in patterns. in rituals. in coffee orders and folded blankets and kisses placed in the exact same spot on your shoulder every night.

gets annoyed when you shower without him. he doesn’t even want to do anything — he just sits on the toilet lid with his chin in his hand while you’re in there like, “you left me out here alone for twenty-three minutes.” you open the door to steam and a pouty six-foot weapon of a man sulking.

gets weirdly quiet when you’re on your phone too long. not mad. just a little neglected. you look up and he’s just sitting there like a sad cat, hoping you’ll notice. you say “benny, you okay?” and he melts like, “...m’here. just waitin’.”

clings after arguments like his life depends on it. doesn’t matter if it was something small or serious. once things settle, he’s already reaching for you, forehead pressed to your collarbone. “not mad anymore.” he murmurs. translation: don’t leave me.

keeps weapons stashed in every room ‘just in case.’ under the bed. behind the fridge. in your car’s glove box.

memorized your ex’s face and car within the first week. he won’t say what he did with that information. but he didn’t like how they looked at you at the grocery store that one time. he made sure it wouldn’t happen again.

he hates parties.not because he’s antisocial, because he can’t relax when you’re in a room full of strangers.

he’s watching everyone — every glance, every shift, every hand that moves too close. he stands behind you the whole time, hand at your lower back, barely talking to anyone.

texts you “where are you?” even when he knows where you are. he saw you leave. he knows you’re at work or running errands or at the gym. but he still needs to hear you say it. needs the proof. the reassurance. you say “i’m fine, benny,” and he responds with “miss you.” (you’ve been gone 20 minutes.)

calls you his “person.” not partner. not babe. just “my person.” says it in a tone that sounds more like my reason for breathing.

won’t let you walk on the street side of the sidewalk. you’ve tried switching sides — he’ll switch with you immediately. doesn’t matter where you’re going. doesn’t matter if the road is empty. “nope,” he’ll mutter, hand on your hip. “you don’t get hit. not on my watch.”

he has a folder on his computer labeled “them.” inside: blurry security cam screenshots of you walking alone at night (yes, he tapped into feeds), saved texts from people who’ve upset you, and a detailed list of names he keeps tabs on. you don’t know it exists.

takes everything as a threat. you flinch at a loud noise? he’s already scanning the room. someone bumps into you too hard in a crowd? he steps between you like a human wall. you say “i don’t feel safe,” and he’s already reaching for his coat.

he doesn’t yell unless someone talks down to you. he’ll take endless shit from people when it’s about him. but the second someone disrespects you? his voice goes sharp. dark. you see it flip in his eyes like a switch — “you wanna repeat that to me?” and suddenly the room’s ice cold.

he’ll sit in complete silence beside you while planning murder in his head. someone made you cry? he holds your hand gently, rubs circles into your palm, kisses your wrist — and behind his eyes, he’s already figured out the five best ways to ruin their life.

he keeps track of your patterns better than you do. you get headaches before rain? he brings you meds before you mention it. your trauma responses show in tiny shifts? he spots them immediately and gets you out of the room.

he might be unstable, but when it comes to protecting you — he’s the most focused man alive.

stares at your contact name before calling you, like he’s bracing himself to hear your voice. thumb hovering over the screen, eyes soft and far away. sometimes he doesn’t even call. just stares. like maybe that’s enough to survive another hour.

doesn’t know how to be casual. you say “i like your shirt” and he’ll buy five more. you compliment his cologne once? he never uses another one again. every word you say means something to him.

loves when you wear his clothes a little too much. he acts all chill but inside he’s screaming. watching you walk around in his hoodie with the sleeves over your hands? ruined. he has to sit down.

he has no idea what a normal reaction is. you get a weird DM? he’s already tracking the IP address. you trip and scrape your knee? he’s acting like you got shot. “you’re bleeding.” he mutters, completely still. “baby, it’s a scratch—”

gets scary quiet when you’re in danger. like full military-mode, voice low and flat. grabs your hand. pulls you behind him. “stay down. don’t move. don’t look.” and you listen — because in that moment, he’s not your sweet clingy ben. he’s the weapon the government built.

has trauma responses built around you. you’re late? his hands start shaking. you stop responding? he spirals. he doesn’t just worry— he catastrophizes. his brain jumps to body bags. blood. everything he’s lost before.

so when you walk through the door, totally fine, he just grabs you. holds you so tight it hurts. “don’t do that to me again,” he whispers. “please.”

doesn’t forgive people who hurt you. ever. you may move on. he won’t. he keeps the memory. files it away like a grudge on ice. and if he ever gets the chance to settle the score? he’ll do it without blinking.

knows all your “tired” cues. you yawn a certain way when you’re really worn out vs. just sleepy. you go silent when your brain’s overwhelmed. so he’ll quietly turn the lights down, warm up your hoodie, and run a bath without you even asking.

obsessively keeps the place safe. deadbolts, alarms, cameras, backup flashlights, reinforced doors. not because he’s paranoid. because you live there. and nothing — nothing — is allowed to hurt you where he sleeps.

he does not know how to regulate jealousy. like. at all. you compliment someone? he’s quiet for hours. you laugh too hard at someone’s joke? he stares them down until they suddenly remember they have somewhere else to be.

he gets clingy after. full body contact. face buried in your shoulder. won’t let go. “you like me better, right?” you tease him and say “maybe…” his whole face drops. “dont.”

and if he sees them in public, he’s pulling you closer with a hand on your waist like mine. mine. mine.

he repeats the same three phrases every time you’re hurt. like it’s a spell: “you’re safe.” “you didn’t do anything wrong.” “i love you so much it hurts.”

he checks in constantly. not just “are you okay?”but “did you eat today? do you need quiet or company? can i hold your hand right now, or just sit near you?”

started 4.23.2025. finished 4.23.2025.

( masterlist. )

©️ monicfever 2025

[misstycloud]

Yandere younger secretary x older married GN reader

He sat at his desk, computer up and awake but the document before him was blank. It’s been hours and he still hadn’t put a single word on it- besides your name which he’d quickly erased before writing again and repeated the process of deleting it. The room was silent apart from the clock ticking on the wall. Time passed slower than a snails pace.

He took the freedom of glancing in your direction. You sat at your own desk, a few meters away from his, actually doing your job.

He knew it was wrong of him to lust after you. You were married for heavens sake and at least two decades older! Still, he couldn’t deny the ever growing feelings he harboured for you. Your age suited you well and you were good at your job, otherwise you wouldn’t have gained such a high position within the company.

”Can you come over for a minute?”

”Yes, of course!” He stumbled over his own feet in a hurry to get to you. You chuckled warmly at his silly display. Who knew your secretary would be so clumsy?

”Do I have any more meetings this friday?” You asked.

He looked over the schedule. ”Ehm..no, nothing more than the four ones that day.”

”That’s great!”

He almost jumped back at your overwhelming positivity. You were always radiant but even more so this time around.

”Do you have any plans?” Your secretary raised a brow in question. Normally, he wouldn’t have dared to pry in his superior’s life but you were different, you never got angry with him for any mistake he made. No, you were warm and comfortable- he felt really bad for those stuck with horrible and indifferent bosses.

Your whole face glowed, ”Yes, it’s my partners birthday. We’re going to celebrate with a nice dinner. The kids wanted fast food but we said it’s not their day and they didn’t get to decide, luckily we managed to bribe them with the promise of good cake afterwards. They’ll just have to sit through an ’adult food’- dinner this time.”

His content smile faltered. A bitter taste entered his mouth and he licked his lips in response. Right. Your family. On good days he almost forgot they existed and on bad days he couldn’t stop glaring on the large family portrait permanently placed on your desk- angled so he could see the entire thing. He couldn't tell how many times he's contemplated throwing the picture frame into the trashcan or out the window so he wouldn't have to suffer through the displeasure of having to look at it.

Why did he have to be born in the wrong decade? If his age was closer to yours, perhaps he would be the one smiling beside you in that photo. Then he would be your one and only. He wasn't fond of kids but if they were yours and his then he would be more accepting of their presence in your lives.

For now, he would have to settle for being your secretary. The only comfort he had was(due to your long hours) that he spent more time close to you than your own family did, something he knew your partner didn't like. One late evening when he came back from the bathroom did he overhear a conversation between you and them- over the phone, of course. While he couldn't really make out what they were saying he did however hear what you said and it wasn't hard to fill in the gaps.

They wanted you home with them and the kids which wasn't an outrageous request. You told them that you couldn't just cut back on so many hours without losing the comfortable lifestyle you all engaged in. Besides, it had taken a lot of time and effort to reach your position and you didn't want to throw it away. If they wanted, you could apply for vacation leave during the summer and you'd go somewhere warm and tropical. Unfortunately that didn't seem to be enough for them and your secretary had to listen to you getting scolded by the angry noises coming from your phone. He didn't know exactly what was said but he knew it wasn't good based on the torn expression on your face when he 'finally came back'.

That night you confided in him and divulged enough but not all the details of your troubles. He simply nodded in understanding and showed great empathy. He was very happy you felt comfortable sharing private things with him, it meant you trusted him. Your secretary gave you (misleading) advice which you took into thorough consideration and thanked him for.

He smiled to himself at the thought. If he played his cards right, you might start to feel more at home with him at the office than your own house- the one your shared with your (disgusting) family. Your spouse had already began complaining about him always being so close to you, making him shiver in delight. You had brushed it off as a ridiculous claim. He was simply young and ambitious, besides, what could he possible want from someone of your age? It was a bit cute how much faith you put in him. Soon he'll have you over at his house where you spouse will catch you- doing nothing indecent of course but it won't matter what you say, nothing would save you from that situation.

Then he'll be your one and only secretary forever.

[writing-girlie]

Just for tonight

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader

Blurb: When Jack finds you sitting around after shift he doesn’t ask you to explain, just offers a drink and a moment of quiet. No expectations, no pressure.

WC: 1k

Warnings: [Soft] smut, unprotected sex, I think thats all?

Notes: I don't know where this came from. I can't stop writing for this man.

You had reached the end of another shift. This had been your life for a few years now and you loved it but it was a lot. You’re hunched over on the bench, elbows to knees, staring down at your fidgeting hands. Jack stops walking when he sees you.

“Your shift ended nearly half an hour ago.”

You exhale a slow breath, “Yeah. I know.”

“Rough day.” Jack leans against the wall across from you, arms crossed. You let out a soft, dry laugh.

He stays quiet. You finally glance up. There’s no sharpness in your voice, just tired honesty.

"I just needed to sit for a moment. Breathe before I go home like this. I didn’t want to bring it with me.”

“Most of them are. I just want something that feels good. Something real, even if it’s just for a night.” You shake your head, embarrassed by the words as soon as they leave your mouth. “It’s stupid. I know. This isn’t exactly the job for comfort.”

Jack looks at you for a long time, like he understands exactly what you mean.

“No,” he says finally. “It’s not stupid.”

You blink up at him.

“Come to my place, just for a bit. We’ll have a drink. Sit down. You can breathe.”

You nod.

The drive to his place is quiet but not uncomfortable. When he opens the door you follow him to the living room. His apartment is calming, lived in but organised.

“I’ll get you a drink” he says, his voice quieter now.

You nod, sinking into the couch. You let your head fall back and close your eyes. Jack’s footsteps softly echo to the kitchen and back again. When you open your eyes, he’s holding out a glass of whisky.

“Thanks.” He sits down, not too close, not too far. You both take a sip.

“I didn’t mean to come off desperate earlier.”

“You didn’t.” He’s quick to reassure you.

You exhale, eyes still forward. “I just- I go home, force down a bite of something, I barely sleep, and when I do stop moving, I feel like I’m going to break.”

“You don’t have to keep doing it alone.” He softly says.

“You say that like it’s simple.”

“It’s not,” he agrees, glancing your way now. “But neither is walking around with all that weight and nowhere to put it.”

You hold his gaze for a second too long. Then you both look away at the same time. You place your drink on the side table to stop yourself from taking constant sips just because you don't know what to say.

When your eyes meet again, it’s different. You both lean in at the same time, your lips meeting in the middle. It’s not what either of you expected when you agreed to come over. You feel his hand come up, settle against the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek, and when you pull back just slightly, your forehead rests against his. You don’t say anything. Neither does he, but he knows what to do next.

He gets up, places his drink down, and reaches for your hand. When you take it, he leads you down the hallway to his bedroom. You just stand for a moment, fingers laced in his. He reaches for the hem of your shirt slowly; he moves with care, giving you every chance to pull back, but you don’t. You lift your arms, letting him pull the shirt over your head.

You do the same for him. Your eyes trace over his well-built frame, the freckles that are speckled over his shoulders, and the soft rise and fall of his chest. Piece by piece you undress each other; nothing is rushed. You both know that this is about feeling something real and grounding.

Jack guides you back a few steps. When you lie back on the bed, Jack follows, bracing himself over you. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, then over your collarbone. With the soft kisses, he reaches down and lines his hard length with your pussy. He pushes inside inch by inch, filling you completely, your arms wrap around his back, and your nails softly trace over his skin.

You both stay still, just embracing how you feel until you whisper his name. He starts to move, setting a gentle rhythm. You can feel every part of him, and for the first time in weeks, you don’t feel like you’ll break. You lift your head to kiss him again, and your hand then naturally finds rest in his hair. His pace never falters or speeds up. It feels like he’s trying to remind you that you’re still worthy of softness.

The space is filled with the sound of shared breaths and a quiet creak of the bed. His eyes meet yours again, and something about it makes your heart beat faster. You move one of your hands from his back to besides your head to hold his hand. He holds your hand, gently squeezing it.

Your legs wrap around his waist, holding him closer as you feel yourself get closer to the end of this moment. Your voice is barely a whisper.

“Don’t stop.”

Jack's hand tightens around yours briefly, silently telling you that he won't stop. He rests his forehead against yours, your breath mingling. He lets go of your hand and slips it beneath your back, holding you closer.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice husky, and that’s when you feel yourself slipping, unravelling into the safety of his arms.

Your breath hitches as you reach the peak, and soft moans follow. It hits you gently, like rolling waves, and it leaves you trembling, your body pulsing around him. You nod at him, and mumble a please. You feel Jack's body tense as he fills you up. He buries his face into the crook of your neck.

After a moment he lifts his head and presses a kiss to your lips. He rolls onto his side, pulling you with him. You snuggle into his embrace, your head resting on his chest, his arms wrapped around you. You listen to his heartbeat with the sound of the city as background noise.

In that silence it’s just him and you, and the quiet realisation that maybe this isn’t just a one-night escape.

[starl1ght444]

jason todd x reader

── .✦ angst

[ jason bought you, your favorite flowers for the first time ]

long story — [8.2k words count]

second person writing

*. ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

phase one ; blooming [dating]

you loved carnations.

jason learned that on your third date. It was a small, throwaway moment—something you said while sipping a lukewarm latte in a dingy coffee shop tucked away from gotham’s chaos. you’d been talking about nothing in particular, just bantering like usual, your legs tucked under you in the booth as the sky darkened outside.

“they’re not fancy,” you said, absently stirring cream into your coffee, “but they’re strong. they last longer than most flowers, you know? and they come in so many colors.”

jason raised an eyebrow. “you really into flowers?”

You shrugged. “they’re just… comforting. It’s like a reminder that something can be soft and still survive.”

he didn’t answer. just stared at you for a moment like you were something he hadn’t figured out yet—like he wasn’t sure if you were real.

you weren’t like the people in his world. you didn’t carry trauma like a weapon. you didn’t flinch at loud sounds or look over your shoulder in paranoia. you had a softness to you that he hadn’t expected in gotham. and he didn’t know what to do with it.

when he walked you home that night, you paused at a flower stall outside your building. rain was drizzling, the kind that clung to your lashes and curled your hair, and you stopped to look at a small bouquet of pale pink carnations.

“they’re my favorite,” you said, smiling. “someday I’m gonna fill my whole apartment with them.”

jason rolled his eyes. “flowers are a waste of money. they die in a week.”

you blinked. just a second. just enough for him to notice. “well,” you said, voice light, “some things are worth it, even if they don’t last.” he didn’t understand what you meant. not then. not yet.

you started seeing each other more often—slow at first. you were cautious with your heart, and jason was dangerous with his. but he started staying the night. started showing up at your place with bruises and bullet grazes and that haunted look in his eyes. you never asked where he’d been. you only asked if he was hungry. If he was okay. If he wanted to talk.

he never did. not about the big stuff. but you’d find him in your kitchen at 2 a.m., heating up leftover pasta, or sitting on your couch with your cat in his lap like he belonged there. and he did.

he didn’t say “I love you,” not for months. but he watched over you like he did. he’d show up outside your job with a scowl and coffee if you had a rough day. he knew the fastest route from your place to every hospital in the city. he installed cameras at your front door and never told you. — you noticed. you just didn’t say anything.

carnations bloomed on your windowsill. a new one every week. you bought them yourself—white-blush and lavender. you kept waiting, hoping maybe jason would walk in one day with a bunch in his hands. not because you needed them, but because you wanted to know he’d remembered.

he didn’t.

one night, curled up with him under a ratty old blanket, you brought it up gently. “I used to get flowers when I was little,” you said. “my dad would bring me carnations on my birthday. I think that’s why I still love them so much.”

jason looked at you from where he lay on your chest, his brow furrowed. “didn’t know your dad was around.”

“he’s not.. not anymore.” silence settled between you.

“I used to think… if someone brought me carnations, it meant they really saw me,” you admitted. “not the ‘I’m fine’ version. the real me.”

jason didn’t say anything. — you didn’t push.

the first time you told him you loved him, he froze.

It had been a good day. one of the rare ones—no crime scenes, no emergency calls, no red hood business dragging him into gotham’s underbelly. you’d spent the afternoon in the park, lying in the grass, his head on your stomach as you read a book aloud.

that night, wrapped in each other’s arms, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his back, you whispered, “I love you.” — jason’s whole body tensed.

you felt it. every muscle. then he pulled back. looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face. “you don’t have to say it back,” you murmured.

he didn’t. but he kissed you like he meant it. held you all night like he was terrified you’d disappear. you told yourself it was enough.

phase two ; budding [fiancé]

It wasn’t a proposal. not really.

It was three in the morning, and jason was sitting on the edge of the bathtub while you brushed your teeth, eyes half-lidded with sleep, his hair a mess from the pillow. you wore one of his old shirts, threadbare from a hundred washes. he wore the quiet panic of someone who had never believed they’d live long enough to consider a future.

“hey,” he said, voice low. you glanced at him in the mirror, mouth full of toothpaste. “If I asked you to marry me, what would you say?”

you froze mid-brush. he didn’t flinch or try to recover it with a joke. he just watched you—blue eyes soft and serious, hands clasped between his knees. you spit into the sink and turned to face him.

“Is this the part where you propose with a ring made out of dental floss?” a breath of laughter left his nose, and the tension eased from his shoulders.

“I’m serious,” he said. you stepped closer, cupped his jaw with a wet hand. “then ask me like you mean it.”

jason paused. his eyes searched yours, and when he spoke again, it was barely a whisper. “(y/n) (m/n) (l/n), will you marry me.”

and you—heart pounding, love swelling in your chest like it would break your ribs—smiled. “yes,” you said. “of course I will.”

he pulled you into his arms, buried his face in your stomach, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself breathe like it was safe.

the ring came later.

It wasn’t new—wasn’t even something he’d gone out to buy. one night, you found him sitting in the closet, the small wooden box in his hand. It had belonged to catherine todd—passed down, like love that tries to survive the storm.

“she kept it hidden,” jason said quietly, running a thumb over the aged velvet. “I think she always meant to give it to me… if I ever found someone.”

you sank down beside him on the floor, resting your head on his shoulder. “she’d be glad you did.”

he gave it to you that night, no speeches or ceremony. just slid it onto your finger while you sat together on the floor of the hallway, bathed in moonlight from the window. as jason kissed the ring on your finger.

It fit perfectly.

planning the wedding wasn’t easy. you didn’t want much. jason didn’t want attention. but it was yours—intimate, quiet, full of stolen glances and laughter that didn’t belong in a city like gotham.

dick cried during the vows — roy forgot the rings.

alfred gave you a smile that nearly brought you to tears.

jason kept his hand in yours like it was the only thing tethering him to the world. you didn’t walk down the aisle with roses or lilies or orchids.

you held a bouquet of white carnations, tied with a silver ribbon. jason saw them, saw the way your fingers curled around the stems, and something flickered in his expression. he didn’t say anything. but you caught the way he looked at them—like they were a language he hadn’t learned yet.

life settled into something that almost resembled normal. at least, your version of it.

your mornings were soft. you’d wake first, kiss the scar on jason’s temple, whisper something into his sleep-dazed hair. he never told you what it meant to wake up to that. but he held you tighter every day.

sometimes he cooked breakfast—burned eggs and all. sometimes you did. the coffee was always too strong, but neither of you minded. the routine mattered more than the taste. — your nights were more complicated. jason still went out. still fought gotham’s darkness with red and black. but he came home now. always came home.

and he talked more.

he told you about things he’d buried—things no one else knew. his mother. the pit. the dreams he still had where the coffin never opened. the pain of coming back to a world that had moved on without him.

you never asked for those stories. you only listened, threading your fingers through his, anchoring him with silence and steady breaths. — one night, after a particularly rough patrol, he came home soaked in rain and blood. you helped him out of the kevlar, your hands gentle, your voice quiet.

he sat at the kitchen table while you cleaned a deep gash along his ribs. “I thought I was gonna die tonight,” he muttered.

you paused, heart in your throat. jason looked up at you. “and the weirdest part? I wasn’t scared for me. I was scared you’d be alone.” you pressed gauze to the wound, leaned in, and kissed his forehead. “you’re not dying, jason.”

“someday I will,” he said, a sad smile tugging at his mouth. “and you’ll have to go on without me.”

“then you better keep surviving,” you said, voice firm. “because I’m not planning on loving anyone else.”

he pulled you into his lap, held you there like he was trying to fuse your heartbeat with his.

you kept carnations in the apartment. a vase in the kitchen. one on the nightstand. always fresh. always soft. jason never brought them home. but he started noticing them—more than before.

he’d run his fingers along the petals absently while sipping his coffee. tuck a fallen one behind your ear with a fond little smile. you caught him once, standing in front of a grocery store flower display, just staring at them. — but he walked past.

you didn’t mention it.

you never asked for them anymore. not because you didn’t want them. but because you wanted him to want to bring them. — some small part of you still hoped.

one afternoon, you were lying together on the couch, your legs draped across his lap. he was reading something—an old paperback with cracked pages—and you were watching the sunlight paint gold across the hardwood floor.

“do you think we’ll ever leave gotham?” you asked suddenly.

jason looked up. “you want to?”

“I don’t know. sometimes.” you shrugged. “sometimes I imagine a house with a garden. somewhere quiet. I’d grow carnations.”

he smiled, brushing your ankle with his thumb. “you and your damn flowers.”

you chuckled. “they’d be all over the place. kitchen, bedroom, porch. even in the bathroom.”

jason leaned down, kissed the inside of your knee. “If you want a garden, I’ll build you one.”

you reached for his hand. “I don’t need a garden. just you.”

but still, in the back of your mind, you pictured it—soft soil and early mornings, dew on petals, and jason beside you, older, whole. — you didn’t know it would stay a dream.

phase three ; blooming [marriage]

married life with jason was unexpectedly sweet.

you never imagined the red hood would be the type to make tea in the mornings or memorize your grocery list, but he did. he kept your mugs on the lowest shelf so you didn’t have to stretch. he learned how to braid your hair, poorly but determinedly, just so you’d smile.

your new apartment was bigger, higher up—safer. there was a little balcony with just enough space for a few flower boxes, and you filled them with carnations in every shade. jason helped you plant them, dirt under his fingernails and a look on his face like maybe, just maybe, he was starting to understand why you loved them so much.

“you said they’re strong, right?” he asked one evening, watering them carefully.

you looked up from your book. “yeah.”

he watched a pale yellow bloom tremble in the breeze. “they remind me of you.”

you didn’t cry. but your throat ached as you crossed the room and wrapped your arms around him, resting your cheek against his shoulder. you were happy. really, genuinely happy.

jason had been changing—slowly but surely, like stone shaped by water.

he didn’t punch walls anymore. he let himself laugh more, sleep more. he still fought, still bled for gotham, but he came home more often than not. he started going to therapy, though he never told anyone but you. he even made peace with bruce—if only in small pieces, quiet dinners, and fewer arguments.

“I think I’m finally starting to feel human again,” he told you once, curled in bed with you at dawn. “you made me human.”

you kissed his chest, hand over his heart. “you were always human, jason. you just forgot for a while.”

you talked about kids more openly now.

“we could adopt,” you said once, the thought half-formed in your mind as you watched him fix the hinge on a closet door. “someday. maybe.”

jason looked up, surprised—but not alarmed. “yeah. maybe. I’d want them to be safe first. you to be safe.”

“we’re close,” you said. “gotham won’t be forever.”

he stood, brushed the dust off his hands. “no. just a little longer. then we’ll go.”

you imagined a place with less noise. a porch. a yard. real mornings without sirens. carnations blooming around the edges of a little house.

jason kissed you that night like he could already see it too.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

the last morning was warm.

you watered the flowers on the balcony while jason made eggs and toast, humming some rock song under his breath. the windows were open. the world felt light for once.

you had plans to meet barbara for lunch, to run errands, maybe grab groceries. jason had patrol later that evening but promised to be back before midnight. you kissed him at the door like it was any other day. — he kissed you twice.

“text me when you get there,” he said. — “I always do.”

you smiled, leaned back against the doorframe, watching him disappear down the hallway with a peace in your chest you hadn’t felt in years. you didn’t know it was the last time.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

you weren’t supposed to be anywhere near Ivy’s old sector.

the lab had been quiet for months—dormant, some said, shut down after the last run-in with her plant toxins. but something pinged on the surveillance net—unusual bio-activity—and you, being who you were, decided to check it out.

It was just a recon mission. you were careful. you always were.

you never saw the vines until it was too late.

jason got the call from babs, her voice tight and scared.

“something’s happened,” she said. “(y/n)… we lost her signal near Ivy’s old territory.” he didn’t hear the rest.

he was on his bike in seconds, tearing through Gotham like the city itself had betrayed him. he didn’t stop at lights. didn’t slow for anything.

he found the lab half-collapsed, tendrils of greenery coiling through the wreckage like veins.

he screamed your name.

he dug through debris with bare hands, shoving aside branches that moved like they were alive. the air was thick with the scent of earth and blood.

then he saw you. — your body was tangled in vines, arms limp, head turned slightly to the side. you looked peaceful.

but you were too still.

and around you—blooming like a cruel, beautiful grave—were carnations. each one having a meaning.

white — purity, innocence, remembrance

pink ��� gratitude, admiration, undying love

purple — unpredictably, capriciousness, free spirit

all curling around the vines like some terrible mockery of love.

jason dropped to his knees. — “no,” he whispered. “no, no, no—please..please.. (y/n).. no no.. please…”

he tore at the vines with shaking hands, not caring that they cut into his skin. he gathered you into his arms, blood staining your shirt where the toxins had entered.

you weren’t breathing.

“come on,” he choked out, pressing his forehead to yours. “you’re strong. you’re stronger than this. you said—you said they were strong.”

he rocked with you in his arms, howling into the air like something feral. screaming like his heart had been physically ripped out of him. sobbing into your shirt, the same one he had watched you put on this morning asking if you looked good. and of course you did, jason was always mesmerizing by you. and right now he was spiraling into a new unknown feeling.

bruce was the first to arrive. then dick. then tim.

they found jason cradling you, his jacket wrapped around your body even though you were already cold.

he didn’t look up when bruce knelt beside him. “she’s cold.. i put my jacket...and she’s still cold.. i couldn’t save her,” jason whispered. “I wasn’t there. I promised I’d be there.”

“I know,” bruce said softly, eyes glassy. his daughter-in-law peacefully covered in blood and carnations. he never truly got to tell you how much he appreciated the way you helped jason grow into the man he had become— you taught jason everything he couldn’t. jason slowly became emotionally mature, your marriage teaching him how to love and be  patient everyday.

dick stood nearby, hands over his mouth, unable to speak— the way he watched his younger brother holding his lifeless wife in his arms. tim just stared, stunned— not being able to believe the scene in front of him, as the wind tugged at the scattered petals around you.

“look at them,” jason murmured, brushing a blood-streaked carnation with his thumb. “she loved these. I never… I never brought her any. n..not once.”

jason looked up at bruce with hollow eyes. “I was going to. this week. I swear. I saw some at the store. I almost bought them.” — looking back down at you, squeezing you hard. trying to look for any sign of life left in you.

bruce placed a hand on his shoulder. “she knew.”

jason shook his head. “I should’ve told her more. I should’ve done everything more.”

Dick finally stepped forward, kneeling across from his brother. “you did love her, jay. you loved her more than anyone. she knew. she felt it.”

jason’s face crumpled. “she died alone, dick. In pain. In fear.”

“no,” bruce said gently. “she died trying to help people. that’s who she was. that’s why you loved her.”

jason buried his face in your hair, silent now, his grief no longer words—just broken, shaking breath. staying like that, planting himself on the ground sobbing into you. tracing your body trying to remember every detail about you, like you always did for him. “i love you (y/n).. i love you.. please.. god we were going to leave.. we should’ve... i can’t.. (y/n) please baby, wake up… what am i supposed to do.. sweetheart please.. pleaseplease.. you’re so strong.. my beautiful wife.. we were gonna adopt.. you would’ve been a p..phenomenal mother..my sunshine.. please babygirl.. i can’t do this without you.. im so sorry.. im sorry..god please” jason holding your hand, rubbing his moms ring — the ring he vowed to love and protect you forever.

they had to pull him away eventually. jason fighting each one of them, not ready to let go of his wife. “please.. stop.. please.. a few more minutes.. please.. i can’t..please..i need her” he sounded defeated. bruce helping him up while he still clung to you. carrying both of you out of the building. struggling, not because of holding you two — but struggling not to sob along with his sons.

phase four ; wilting [death]

the funeral was three days after they pulled your body from the vines.

gotham had turned grey that week. the sky hung heavy, like even the clouds mourned you. the streets were quieter. the city somehow knew it had lost something bright.

they dressed you in soft fabric. nothing flashy. just something gentle and familiar. jason picked the dress. he remembered how it looked on you the first time you danced in the living room, barefoot and laughing.

you had flowers around you. carnations. barbara brought them. white, pink, red—your favorites. jason couldn’t stop staring at them.

he hadn’t cried since that night. now, at the funeral, he was quiet, but this time it was different. empty.

a shell wearing his face — everyone was there.

dick stood beside him, barely breathing. tim sat stiffly, not blinking. bruce kept a hand on jason’s back, grounding him, like he was afraid he’d float away.

barbara gave a speech. so did roy. even alfred, voice trembling, spoke a few words about love and grace and the way your laughter changed the manor the few times you visited.

jason didn’t hear any of it — he just looked at you.

laid out in the casket like sleep had taken you mid-sentence. lips soft. lashes resting against your cheeks. skin too pale, but peaceful. like you were waiting for him to say something.

the carnations framed your face like a crown.

and jason— he hated them.

not because they were ugly. not because they were yours. but because they were there, blooming, when you weren’t breathing. —because you always asked for them, and he never brought them.

and now they were here. too late.

someone touched his shoulder after the service. maybe dick. maybe bruce. maybe god himself—jason didn’t look.

“she loved you,” the voice said. “she never doubted you.”

but jason didn’t believe it.

not when he’d failed you in the most final way possible.

the grave was at the edge of the cemetery, under a weeping willow. the headstone was simple. your name. your birth and death dates. and a small engraving at the bottom:

“still the light in the dark.” he visited the next day. and the day after that. and the next. — he came without flowers. he didn’t know how to carry them.

weeks passed.

the apartment stayed quiet. your shoes still by the door. your toothbrush still in the cup. your pillow still untouched. the only thing touched were parts of your clothing. lingering perfume you’d sprayed on your shirts — jason needed the items to help him sleep. craving any ounce of you he could find. clinging onto the fabric imagining it was you. your body laying on top of his, cupping his face and kissing him endlessly. whispering about the good life they had. it broke jason. everything reminded him of you. it was killing him in a way he couldn’t grieve properly.

he didn’t move anything.

he didn’t patrol much anymore. bruce didn’t force it. dick stopped asking. jason barely responded to texts. calls went unanswered. roy left voicemails. barbara stopped by once and found him curled on the living room floor, clutching one of your sweaters, rocking slowly.

“it still smells like her,” he whispered. barbara didn’t say anything. just sat beside him and cried quietly.

he didn’t dream of you. not really.

just flashes. the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled. the sound of your laugh in the kitchen. the scent of carnations on your skin. the feel of your hand in his—soft and warm and alive. soft words leaving your lips — “i love you jay, i love you, i love you” you said like a prayer to him. your sweet voice haunting him in a way he hoped he’d never forget. wanted these cruel dreams, just to listen to you until his brain slowly fades it away.

then he’d wake up. and the cold would remind him. you weren’t coming back.

one night, he sat in front of the flower shop you used to visit. they had carnations in the window. he stared at them for an hour. then he walked inside. — the woman behind the counter gave him a curious look. “need help?”

he cleared his throat. “just… just the carnations.”

“any color?”

he looked down. his hands were shaking.

“all of them.”

he brought them to your grave the next morning. the sun hadn’t risen yet. the cemetery was still wrapped in mist, cold and soft. the carnations trembled in his grip. red, white, pink, purple, yellow, orange, lavender— tied with a pale ribbon. the kind you would’ve picked.

he knelt beside your headstone, laid the flowers gently across the grass. “you deserved these,” he whispered. his voice cracked. “i should’ve brought them sooner.”

he brushed his fingers across your name, eyes stinging.

“i thought they were pointless. i thought flowers died too easily.” his breath hitched. “but they were never about that, were they? they were about love. about life. about choosing something beautiful even when everything else was dark.”

he laughed, bitter and broken. “you knew that. you were that.”

the wind shifted, gentle and cold, like a simple answer.

“i miss you,” he said. “god, i miss you so much it fucking hurts.” he pressed his forehead against the stone. “i don’t know who i am without you.”

days blurred. he kept bringing flowers.

sometimes he talked to you. sometimes he just sat. sometimes he cried. he never stayed dry-eyed for long.

he stopped going to the apartment eventually. moved back into one of the safehouses. colder. emptier. more fitting.

he stopped shaving. stopped eating well. he looked thinner, paler, his eyes sunken like the weight of grief was dragging his soul down with it. — no one could reach him.

not dick, not bruce, not even alfred.

roy visited once. found jason standing in the rain at your grave, drenched and shaking. “you need to come inside,” roy said.

“she’s alone,” jason whispered. tears and rain mixing together, not knowing which was which.

“she’s not,” roy said. “you carry her everywhere.”

jason shook his head. “it’s not enough.”

roy didn’t know what to say. because maybe jason was right. and roy didn’t leave his side. they both sat in the rain. his best friend holding him and rubbing his shoulder in a ‘i’ve got you’ way. sitting in silence while jason continued to cry.

jason would be walking down the street, trying his best to clear his mind when he would see a little girl walking with her dad holding hands while the girl had a carnation, a small reminder. the ghost of you she saw in that little girl. — crushing him. these flowers were now everywhere he went. he couldn’t get away from them. it was a sign just like roy said — that you were everywhere.

jason never moved on. he didn’t date. didn’t laugh like he used to. he existed. he survived. that was it.

every year on your anniversary, he brought nine carnations. three white, three red, three pink. one for every phase of your life together—dating, engaged, married.

every year, he whispered the same thing. “you were the best thing that ever happened to me, i love you eternally sweetheart. i miss you.. every.. every fucking day.. it’s so difficult.. you were my favorite person…god i hate this city.. i gutturally hate ivy for taking you away from me…i miss you..so much.. please know that… i love you (y/n) todd”

and one night, sitting by your grave, his back against the cold stone, he looked at the flowers and finally said it aloud: “i think… i think i was a carnation too.”

his voice was hoarse. the wind tugged at his coat. “strong. stubborn. quiet. always trying to survive. but…” he blinked slowly. “i needed care. i needed you. you were the one who watered me. gave me sunlight. made sure i didn’t wither.”

he closed his eyes. “you kept me alive.. and now—” he didn’t finish. he didn’t need to. because the silence answered for him.

the carnations on your grave never wilted for long. he always replaced them — always brought fresh ones — always sat with you. — in every lifetime, you had been his light. his warmth. his reason.

he was just a flower with cracked petals. and you— you were the hands that kept him blooming. and without you, he wilted. and never truly grew again. stuck in the endless cycle of grief. still having dreams of you, bright and beautiful. a cruel reminder of what he can’t have anymore. “i use to be scared that if i went you’d be alone.. now.. i..”

jason was alone. he shut everyone out. he knew it wouldn’t be what you wanted. jason was afraid of actually accepting your death, grieving properly and moving on. you were the most impactful person in his life, and couldn’t imagine moving on from you. he was only alive for you, knowing you had dreams and passion about life, it was taken from so you abruptly that jason wanted to find comfort in your activities. his routine meshing with your old one. “i built a flower bed.. right outside that coffee shop where we had our first couple date.. i know you’d love it. a couple kids painted it for me.. it’s stunning, just like you baby…” jason said kissing the headstone, placing a bouquet of carnations down.

*. ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

i love jason 🫂 i should write something sweet next time, or would ya’ll like more angst? — have a good day / night xx !!!

i hope this was an okay read!! i could’ve gone more in depth at some parts, but i kept training off :p !!!! mwaahh byyee <3

[nameless-ghoul-writer]

Some recent points me and my friends have made!

We don’t think JT has been fired, and if he did leave it was by his own will.

1) the record label has no probably legal cause to fire him, and they would be major sued. Innocent till proven guilty is the law.

2) plenty of ghouls such as sunshine, aether, and meliora ghouls have been let off suddenly and papa said nothing during the show over it. However papa knowledges his absence.

3) papa said he is sick, he wouldn’t bring attention to it if he was fully gone. Proving it should be only temporary.

4) we don’t think he’s actually sick, we agree that he might’ve needed a serious mental health intervention due to extreme death threats.

5) Plus if jutty was really gone, why would they have bothered to set up his shame stage for him last night if they knew he wasn't going to be there ever again? More than likely it was a last minute decision to sit out the show, whether he's actually sick or he needs some mental health time

6) Tobias/papa seemed genuinely sad to say he’s gone for now. He wouldn’t make a deal out of it if it was what jutty wanted or if he was fired bc it would cause unnecessary attention from the show to it. He purposely did this as to let the fans know not to worry.

7) And why would they suddenly fire him three shows in when they've had since october when the accusations were posted. Also, record labels don’t read emails from the fans. Not to mention that’s not the labels job to do concerns over tour, it’s the touring company. The touring company is currently owned by Tobias and Mountain is a VP I think?

8) Why would the nameless ghouls still follow him on all platforms if he really was guilty as fired

9) From what we for sure know, both Tobias, sodo, and lots of the fans still love him. That bit is confirmed! The other ghoul just don’t post so it’s hard to tell is all. Sodo has stated before, as someone with twitter accusations, that he doesn’t listen to the “14 year old bull crap drama,” and that nobody else should either. Tobias has made it clear he doesn’t like the internet, particularly these kinds of fans too on the internet. He’s said it before, that these accusations are stupid and made for drama. As Tobias has had them himself too!

10) I don’t think jutty would quit drag talk, maybe ghost for safety issues, but I think he would take a break for sure! He should if it means his mental health gets better, he’s already struggled allot.

[rekino2114]

Blue lock girls yelling "This one's for you!" At their male reader, their reaction when they score and their reaction if they miss

Blue lock girls scoring/missing a goal for you

A/n:OH MY GOD THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING! You're one of my favorite writers on here and inspirations for writing so I'm so happy you requested, please feel free to keep doing it, I genuinely love your stuff so much and I hope you enjoy this

Fem!yoichi isagi

If she scores:

She's happy both because she got to score but especially because she did it for you

She immensely looks for you, no matter if you're on the field or on the stands she just smiles, maybe says a few words but doesn't linger for too long, she's only focused on scoring again after all

"How was the goal y/n? O-oh please it was nothing special, I just wanted to score a goal for you to show everyone how much I love you"

If she misses:

Her "on the field personalilty" activates, and she gets instantly angry. She was in the most perfect position and even said that it was for you so she should have scored no matter what

She somehow finds a way to blame kaiser even if he had nothing to do with it and then the goalkeeper for catching it like that's not his literal job

You have to comfort her and hear her rant later but she's determined to score the next one for you

Fem!meguru bachira

If she scores:

Immediately starts beaming and goes to sit on your shoulders even if you had nothing to do with the goal

You two start compliment the goal and flirting with each other so much that you almost forget you need to restart the game

"Y/n! Y/n! Did you see that? It was super special just for you"

"Yeah it was amazing, you're so good bachira"

"Thank youuuu, my monster is so happy hearing that"

If she misses:

Her mouth stays wide open as she watches her shot miss only to start pouting immediately after

You try to go in and comfort her but see that she's not sad at all, in fact missing just gave her even more motivation to score for you

"Don't worry babe, I'm sure you'll get it next time"

"Yep, I promise I'll score at least 2 more goals now, it's their fault I didn't get to do something sweet for my bf"

Fem!rin itoshi

If she scores:

She doesn't really have a reaction but you can see she's happy on the inside she scored so many times before but this one is special since she did it for you

You then go and hug her and she blushes but lets you do that which is more than she'd do for anyone else

"Rin that goal was so good! And you said it was for me, thank you"

"It's not like I only did it for you"

"I know but you still said it was, it made me feel special"

".......that's because you are"

"Hm? What?"

"Nothing"

If she misses:

She narrows her eyes and everyone can instantly tell she's mad even if she doesn't look that different, her aura just changed

You're kinda scared to approach her since you know she's angry but you eventually hug her and she (mostly) calms down

If she misses again she might just go destroyer mode

Fem!shidou ryusei

If she scores:

She sticks her tongue out and falls to the ground.....she feels the same as when you and her.....do it

You try to get close to her but the moment you do she pins you down and starts making out with you not caring that everyone else is watching

"S-shidou? Really now? We're on live tv"

"What's wrong with showing such a handsome guy how much I love him? Especially after that goal, fuck that felt so good"

"...........I don't know why I'm not used to this by now"

If she misses:

She's always disappointed when she misses but in this occasion especially cause she specifically said it was for you

She feels like she.....didn't get the full experience and stopped right before the moment so she has to do it again

"Tch for real? And I was so close to the climax too, well looks like we'll have to try it again, come on hot stuff, get into position"

".........can you please stop?"

Fem!seishiro nagi

If she scores:

She also doesn't react that much, every goal she makes is in a way thanks to you since you give her the motivation to play, but for some reason this time she felt like she had to say it

You two just high five and you compliment her then she goes back to her position smiling a bit because she loved seeing how happy you are

"That goal was so wonderful nagi, thanks for saying it was for me too"

"Oh its nothing, you're the reason why I'm playing in the first place"

"Seriously, you're such an amazing player"

".........thank you"

If she misses:

She's actually surprised, usually she doesn't feel that bad when she misses because she just knows she can score again but for some reason this time she's actually disappointed because she really wanted to score for you

She learned that winning feels amazing but now she found out that disappointing you feels terrible, the fire inside her burns brighter as she only wants one thing: to score for you

"Don't worry nagi, you'll get it next time"

"......hey y/n, I want to score a hat trick"

"Hm?"

"And when I do, it will be for you"

".....hehe, you're really determined"

".......I guess, it's for you"

Fem!shoei barou

If she scores:

She is proud of herself for scoring, obviously, but she doesn't think of it as anything special, as in her mind, every goal she does is dedicated to you

Whenever you hug her she hugs back and doesn't even blush while every one of her teammates is surprised at how sweet she is to you in comparison to them

"That goal you did was super cool, but I guess every goal you do is"

"Ah, thanks, but it's nothing special, I just scored that's what a striker does"

"I know but thanks for saying it was for me, I loved it"

"Hm? What do I mean? I always do that....I guess not verbally though"

If she misses:

She grits her teeth and gets actually mad, she should have scored that no matter what and she's so angry she didn't

She did this for her king, you, to show you her love and it didn't happen, she hates this and she's not letting it end like this

Even if she doesn't look that pissed to you, she spends the rest of the game trying to score again by herself (and only with your help)

Fem!Michael kaiser

If she scores:

She smiles smugly and after celebrating goes to kiss you making sure all the cameras can see you, she just loves you so much she can't help but show you off

Makes sure everyone is talking about how cool that goal was and constantly brags about it to everyone (isagi especially)

"Wasn't that wonderful schatz? And it was all for you, I love you"

If she misses:

(Insert here joke about kaiser missing the goal)

She's pissed off, to say the least. She put everything into that kick, all of her love for you and they had the audacity to block that? She's raging so hard now

She insults everyone she sees except for you (isagi and Ness especially) and you're the only one who can actually calm her down

She just spends the entire match trying everything she can to score, this is a personal humiliation to both you and her and she can't let that slide

"H-hey michelle-"

"What? Oh its you schatz, nothing I'm just...upset"

"It's fine, I know how you get, don't worry I'll help you score next time, I know you'll do it"

".....yes....I'm certain I will"

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hi would it be possible if you could do a dad bucky and daughter reader fic where she was born in the 40s but kidnapped by hydra whilst he was at war. then when bucky is free he finds her in an abandoned hydra base but she blames him for her being taken by hydra and it’s just really angsty cuz she wants nothing to do with him but he just wants to be her dad again. idk if this should be a happy ending or not though anyways ty if you do this

Be A Dad Again » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Teen Daughter!Reader with Steve Rogers/Captain America and the Avengers

Summary: You blame Bucky for being taken by HYDRA and all he wants to do is be your dad again.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, language, HYDRA, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of child endangerment (not Bucky), crying, nicknames

Age of reader: 14 years old

A/N: Italic text is flashbacks and nightmares. Also, I imagined this took place during Captain America: Civil War. Pretend that Bucky and Steve didn’t fight Tony in this. Bucky is an Avenger in this too.

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

Steve was explaining what him and Bucky are about to do as they stood at the entryway of the quinjet. Bucky knew what they’re about to do, but he wasn’t listening. His mind wandered elsewhere. He frowns softly at a memory that came to his mind.

Bucky was holding you while sitting on the couch. He’s been trying to get you say daddy or dada all day.

“You can say it, doll. I know you can.” Bucky encourages softly. “Say dada or daddy.” He says softly.

You maybe a babbling noise that’s not remotely close to saying a word. Your mom walked in the living room in the midst of your babbling.

“What are my favorite people doing?” Your mom asks as she sat down next to Bucky on the couch.

“I’m trying to get Y/N to say daddy.” He says.

“I see the problem. It’s pronounced mommy.” She playfully jokes.

“I see what you’re trying to do, sweetheart and it’s not going to work.” He says, looking at your mom.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, honey.” She grins.

Your mom kissed Bucky. Their kiss was short lived when they heard a little voice come from you.

“Da- Dada.” You say.

Your mom and Bucky stared at you in surprise when you said your first word.

“Did you say dada?” Bucky asks you softly.

“Dada.” You say again.

“She said her first word! Good job, doll!” He says happily.

“Bucky?” Steve says, bringing him back to reality.

Bucky blinks and looks at his best friend.

“Are you ok?” Steve asks.

“Yea. I just remembered something.” Bucky says.

“What did you remember?” Steve asks.

“I have a daughter.” Bucky says, looking at Steve with teary eyes.

“You do.” Steve confirms softly.

Bucky lets out a shaky breath and wipes the tears away that rolled down his cheeks. Steve put a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Let’s get this over with.” Bucky says.

Steve nodded. Him and Bucky got off the quinjet and approached the open door to the abandoned HYDRA base. They cautiously stepped inside the base and looked around to make sure no one was going to jump out and attacked them.

“Besides the equipment, it looks empty in here.” Steve says.

“I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right.” Bucky says.

You froze in your hiding place when you heard the voices of your dad and your uncle. You haven’t heard their voice since the 1940s. You poked your head out of your hiding place to see them walking around the cryogenic chamber room. Your breath hitched when you seen them for the first time in years. They must’ve heard your shaky breathing, because they stopped in their tracks.

“Did you hear that?” Steve asks, looking at Bucky.

“Yea.” Bucky replies.

They already heard your breathing, you might as well make yourself known to them. They were facing the opposite direction as you when you came out of your hiding place.

“Glad to see you two are still alive.” You say.

Bucky’s and Steve’s eyes went wide when they heard your voice. They thought they were hearing things. They turned around to see you standing a few feet away from them. They couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

“Y/N?” Bucky says softly.

“Hello, dad. Hello, uncle Steve.” You say.

“How- What-” Bucky didn’t know what question to ask first.

“If you’re going to ask how I’m still alive, you should know the answer to that. Both of you know the answer.” You say looking from your dad to Steve and back to your dad.

Anger began to course through Bucky’s veins at the thought of HYDRA injecting you with the Super Soldier serum. He’s scared to know what else they did to his baby.

Bucky put his gun down on the ground and approached you to hug you. That set something off inside of you. You grabbed your gun out of your thigh holster and aimed it at your dad. He put his hands up in surrender.

“Y/N, please. Let’s talk about this.” Bucky pleads softly.

“There’s nothing to talk about, dad.” You say.

“At least put the gun down.” He says.

“Give me one reason to put it down.” You say.

“I’m your father.” He says.

“You really think that’s a good enough reason to keep me from shooting you?” You scoffed.

Bucky walked closer to you. You cocked the gun, thinking he’d stop approaching you, but he didn’t. Bucky put his metal hand on the barrel of the gun as you pulled the trigger. He took it out of your hands and emptied all of the bullets from it. You tried to run away from him, but he grabbed you before you could get away by wrapping his arms around you.

“Let go of me!” You shouted, trying to squirm out of his grasp on you.

“No. You’re coming home with me.” Bucky says.

“No I’m not! This is my home.” You say.

“This place is not your home, Y/N. Your home is with your dad.” Steve says.

You gave up on trying to get out of your dad’s grasp and went with them. Bucky held onto your upper arm so you didn’t try to get away as he led you to the quinjet.

———

You made yourself at home at the Avengers compound, but it doesn’t feel like home to you. You’re so used to living in the abandoned HYDRA base that you forgot what home feels like.

You haven’t said a word to your dad since that day, which was a few days ago. Bucky has been trying to get you to talk to him.

“Y/N still isn’t talking to you?” Steve asks.

“Nope. I don’t know why. I just wish that she would tell me what’s wrong.” Bucky says.

It hurts Bucky to see you like this. All he wants to know what’s going on with you so he can help you. He just wants to be your dad again.

“Try talking to her and getting her to open up.” Sam suggests.

“How am I supposed to do that? Anytime I try to talk to her, she leaves the room.” Bucky says.

“Tell JARVIS to lock every door and window in the compound.” Sam says.

That’s not a bad idea. If it’ll get you to open up and talk to your dad, that might work.

Bucky told JARVIS to lock every entrance and exit in the compound, along with the windows. He knows that you know how to climb in and out of windows. He then went to your bedroom to talk to you.

“Y/N?” Bucky knocks on your bedroom door. “I know you’re in there. Open the door.” He says.

You groaned loudly before getting off your bed to open the door.

“What the hell do you want?” You asked with an attitude.

“First of all, drop the attitude.” He says.

“I don’t need to do anything.” You say.

You went to close your bedroom door, but your dad stopped it with his metal hand.

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.” He says.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” You say.

You managed to push past him to go somewhere else in the compound. Bucky grabbed your arm.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You shouted, hitting him to get him to let go of you.

Bucky let go of you. He followed you as you continued to walk through the compound.

“Don’t you have anything else better to do than following me around.” You say.

“I want to talk to you.” Bucky says.

“I already told you that I don’t want to talk.” You say.

You went to the main entrance of the compound to go outside, only to find out that door is locked.

“What the hell?” You mumbled to yourself. “JARVIS, unlock the door.” You say.

“I can’t do that, Miss. Barnes. Sergeant Barnes told me not to unlock them.” JARVIS says.

You sighed and narrowed your eyes at your dad.

“Fine. Let’s talk.” You say.

“I want to know why you’re so angry. You used to be my sweet little baby.” Bucky says softly.

“You want to know why I’m so angry? I’ll tell you. You’re the reason why HYDRA kidnapped me!” You say, raising your voice at him.

“Why are you blaming me for something I didn’t even do?” He asks.

“Cause you left me and mom to go off to the Army!” You say.

“I did not leave you and your mom! I joined the Army to protect you and your mom!” He says.

You scoffed and shook your head.

“You did a shit job at protecting your own child.” You say.

“I did protect you! That’s all I did since the day you were born!” Bucky says.

“You didn’t do a good job of it.” You say.

You walked away. Bucky followed you, stopping you by grabbing your arm.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He asks.

“Do you want to know what my life was like after you went off to war?” You asked. “HYDRA kidnapped me from my own home. They injected me with Super Soldier serum and trained me how to fight. I never got to be a kid because of them!” You tell him.

Bucky’s heart shattered into a million pieces and his eyes teared up when he heard you say that.

“Doll, if I would’ve known that. I would’ve done everything to save you.” Bucky says.

“No.” You shook your head. “You don’t get to say that. It’s your fault that I went through all that shit! That’s years of my life I’ll never get back because of you.” You say, raised your voice.

Bucky knows you’re angry and upset. You’re just looking for someone to blame and that person is him. You’re also just unloading all of your anger onto your dad.

“HYDRA poked and prodded me with needles for years! It hurt so fucking bad! I hated it! You have no idea what that felt like!” You say, your eyes tearing up.

“Yes I do.” Bucky says sympathetically.

“No you don’t!” You say, almost gritting your teeth.

“Yes I do.” He said. “How do you think I got this metal arm? They hurt me just as much as they hurt you.” He says.

“Oh really? Did they wipe your memories to erase everything from your mind? They made me not remember who my parents, my uncle, and my family were!” You say, your voice cracking.

“They did that to me too, but I never forgot about the most important people in my life. My wife, my daughter, and my best friend.” He says.

You wanted to say more, but you couldn’t. You leaned against the wall and slid down it and sat down on the floor, letting out a loud cry instead. Bucky could hear the pain in your cries. He sat down next to you, wrapping his arms around you to comfort you. You tried to push him away, but he only held you tighter. Seeing you like this upset him. He started crying too.

“If I could go back in time and change things, I would.” Bucky says.

“You don’t mean that.” You cried against his chest.

“Yes I do.” He says.

You shook your head no. As you continued to cry in your dad’s arms, a memory flashed in your mind.

You curiously stared at your dad as he stood you up on your feet and walked a couple feet away from you and sat down on the floor. Your mom was sitting next to him. They were holding their arms out to you. You grinned happily and waved at your parents.

“You can do it, sweetie.” Your mom encourages.

You made a babbling noise, wondering what your parents want you to do. You then looked down at your feet and took a step. Your parents were cheering you on. You looked up and smiled at them as you continued to walk over to them.

“Oh my god! James, she’s walking!” Your mom exclaims, tapping his arm repeatedly.

You got over to your parents and lost your balance, falling onto your butt. You stared up at your parents and giggled. Bucky picked you up and hugged you, along with your mom.

“You walked, doll! We’re so proud of you!” Bucky exclaims softly.

As you came back to reality, your anger and resentment towards your dad began to slowly fade away.

“I want nothing more than to be your dad again.” Bucky says softly.

“Do you really mean that?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Of course I mean that, babydoll.” He confirms.

You began to realize what you’re blaming your dad for what HYDRA did to you was never his fault. If allowing Bucky to be your dad again means repairing yours and his father daughter relationship, you want that too.

“I want you to be my dad again.” You finally say.

Bucky felt a warmth in his heart when you said that. It’s the same warmth from when your mom told him that she was pregnant with you.

“I love you so much, doll.” Bucky whispered kissing the top of your head.

“I love you more, dad.” You whispered back.

Bucky hearing you call him dad without all of the hate and resentment gave him hope that you two can repair yours relationship and picked up where you two left off before he left to go to war years ago.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[velmalav]

The Giver - Frank Langdon pt. III

masterlist

day one // night one

day two - f.l.

synopsis: being the selfless person you are, you agree to travel to a 3-day conference with your biggest competition - dr. langdon. part 3 of I don't know how many yet :-)

warnings: cursing, oops there's only one bed, enemies to lovers, angst

The first thing I notice the next morning is the intense ache in my back. I moan into my pillow only for it to slide onto the floor. Eyes flash open to see a disaster. Our makeshift pillow barrier is everywhere, on the floor, on top of each of us, underneath one of Langdon’s arms. He’s completely out. At least he looks comfortable.

For a moment, I watch him, and – to my dismay – notice he is much more attractive when he’s not conscious. Typically, he sports just a single strand of hair in his face (one of the only tolerable things about him), but now his forehead is completely covered in dark hair. If I could just reach over and brush it out of the way-

Stop. This is what he wants, and you’re not going to let him have this one.

I rub circles in my eyes with my palms, cracking my shoulders as I sit up. Langdon has a knee placed into my back, other leg straight as a board. Of course, of course it was him who caused my backache. Another example of why these intrusive thoughts need to die.  I abandon the ship and tiptoe into the bathroom, excited to at least have first dibs. I get ready for the second day conference swiftly and without sound. The first day is typically just introductions and with our flight being delayed, we thankfully had no choice but to skip it. I wonder how Gloria will feel about that.

I check my messages and notice several from my other coworkers. Robby checking to make sure we made it and to be vigilant about the schedule, Collins sending a quick prayer for me, and Mel asking me to send any notes I take during sessions. I’m responding to the last one when Langdon shifts in bed. His eyes flutter open, confusion about the bed situation settling in.

“What time is it?” he grumbles, rolling onto his stomach to shove his face into a pillow.

“Fifteen until our first session,” I say nonchalantly, sliding my phone in the back pocket of my dress pants.

Langdon’s eyes fly open, a blur of dark hair and tanned skin suddenly moving around the room. In the midst of his panic, he finds time to shoot daggers at me, “Were you even going to fucking wake me?”

“I tried,” I shrug, trying to convince myself that being a bitch is the only way to avoid all the adjectives I’m thinking to describe him. This is foreign, all of it. My usual first thought seeing him flustered would be pride, like a warrior watching a dragon stumble before its untimely death, but now all I can focus on is his hair and his hands and the way his shirt is laying on him to reveal just a small sliver of his stomach.

I have to give it to him, he’s pretty good at slinging together curse words in a way I’ve never heard. I take a gentle seat on the edge of the bed while I watch him stumble into dress clothes. He spends significantly less time in the bathroom than he did last night and within five minutes is tugging on his dress shoes.

“Why do I get the feeling you didn’t try at all?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for the answer, just rushes through the door without looking back. I sigh, grab the key card off the TV stand, and saunter out after him.

.

Upon arrival at the conference building, it’s clear Langdon wants nothing to do with me. He’s still bitter about how late we are, and I find myself feeling guilty about it. His career is technically riding on this, the least I could do is not sabotage that any further. He’s not incompetent at his job, and like I said earlier, he’s – as much as I hate to continue to admit this – one of the reasons I’ve excelled in the way I have.

I flip through the variety of sessions laid out for the day, realizing some of them are congruent with each other. Langdon is hanging around the lobby, watching others check in. He seems anxious, and I can’t tell if it’s the adrenaline or something else.

“There’s a lecture in ten on pharmacology in Room 112 and another on Speed Mentoring at the same time in 207,” I read out, attempting to soften his edges by making this easier on him.

Langdon does a quick raise of his eyebrows, frowns, and without looking at me, walks off to the staircase. He mutters. “Meet you back at the hotel,” right before he’s out of earshot.

As I watch him go, the guilt in my stomach triples. I sigh, using my free hand to rub my eyebrow. I fucked up big time, and I deserve it. For someone who is always putting other people before myself, I finally remember what it feels like to be selfish.

.

Langdon

At 5:20 on the dot, Langdon’s murmuring quick excuses through the crowd of medical professionals, not even stopping to take a breath until he’s outside of the conference building. He can’t help but to catastrophize everything right now. Every glance his way is a dirty look, every poster and pamphlet about ‘patient care’ is a warning. And he just can’t believe he gets to spend the next few months doing this over and over, being faced with consequences any of his other coworkers could’ve faced had they been as unlucky.

Everyone has their days, and everyone absolutely has a moment where they break in front of patients. They say it’s never supposed to happen, but it happens all the time. And most times, there’s never a warning, it just happens. Like in the cartoons where a piano crushes an unsuspecting passerby.

The day he nearly got fired, there were no signs. One minute he was calm, drowning out the patient’s family as they shouted, knowing it would only rattle his concentration. And the next he pivoted to directly face them and said – more like spat - every single word rushing through his mind. It was like a tsunami, like a livewire snapped inside him. Looking back, he can’t even remember what the last straw was, it just was.

What he did remember was Robby grasping the back of his scrub top and hauling him out of the room, barking orders at Mohan to take over. And in most tense situations, he wasn’t one to back down, but the words he said to that family – it was inexcusable. There was no salvaging the situation at that moment so he ran off, as if running from it would make it stop. Make it cease to exist.

And he found himself doing that now. Because the guilt of his words, of the consequences that followed, were eating him alive. He felt like he’d been punished enough by the sheer embarrassment, so these patient care seminars only revived those feelings and stifled his ability to give a shit about what the speakers were teaching him.

But he could breathe now. Take a quick shower and crawl into bed. Forget everything about this day. Especially Y/N and the stunt she pulled this morning.

But alas, the world is against him. Because the goddamn hotel double booked Y/N’s room, they were forced to share his room and were only given one fucking keycard. Which she had. So Langdon found himself staring at his hotel door, realization dawning on him that the night was, in fact, not over.

Thankfully he knew where she was, because despite his very obvious efforts to avoid her, she texted to let him know she was going to the mixer after the conference. A place that to him felt like the ninth level of hell in the state he was currently in. But she wasn’t responding to his pleas to bring the key, and he wasn’t about to wait in the hall all night. He needed something to do, something to avoid the pounding thoughts in his head.

Langdon solemnly enters the hotel bar across the street, where the mixer was in full swing. He expected something classier, much like the conference itself, only to walk headfirst into a full-on party. Loud music, open bar, dancing bodies. Even a fucking disco ball was fastened to the ceiling.

In any other headspace, Langdon would’ve dived full force into a scene like this. Any excuse to lose himself for a while. But he was tired, frustrated, ready to bash that goddamn disco ball into shards, and feeling as sorry for himself as he ever has.

It takes plenty of sifting through the crowd to find her. She’s standing at a table near the dance floor, glass in hand, leaning into some guy while he talks in her ear. They seem like they’re getting along, and she looks like her usual self. The self he never gets to see because she hides that version from him. Wearing a genuine smile, eyes wistful, full of unbridled happiness. Though he’s still pissed at her, he catches himself thinking about how pretty she looks. Deep inside, he wishes she would look at him with those wistful eyes, wish that smile was aimed at him. And not laced with the usual disdain she throws his way at work.

Langdon gets so stuck on studying them he forgets the entire reason he even came. He slides into a quiet part of the bar where he can still see her. His fingers tap against his lips, eyebrows furrowed.

Y/N and the man chat for a few more minutes and then he leans into her. Langdon can’t help but imagine what he must be saying. Flirting? Making fun of him? Inviting her to his hotel room? In the midst of his bitter inner dialogue, he almost misses the man take Y/N’s hand and lead her to the dance floor. Blending into the hoards of people, Langdon can just barely make out her arms snaking around the man’s shoulders. It’s enough for him. The last straw.

Fuck the keycard.

He takes one last look at them before they disappear into bodies, and he feels a twinge of something he can’t place in his chest. It’s knife-like, violent.

And then he does the one thing he’s best at when things get hard, he leaves.

night two

[aboutchriss]

NEW YEARS EVE

Pairing: BangChan X fem! Reader

Genre: ex to ???, smut i think

warnings: make out session, mention of: oral sex (f receiving), p in v, no protection (WEAR THEM!!!), creampie. let me know if I missed something.

Author note: You can clearly tell that this has been in my draft for a long time, I'm sorry!! I'm trying to get rid of all the drafts because I'm planning on writing a whole series 👀, I'll write and correct all the draft that i have and then I'll start writing the big project, meanwhile i'm dealing with some physical health problems (nothing to worry about), uni (i have nine exams to do), and my uni internship...so be patient...I love you...see ya🤠

💌 Remember! English it's not my first language, please be gentle with me! let me know if there's any mistake(s) 💌

"Let's raise a toast to the new year. In a couple of hours, a new year will begin. I hope you'll have the best new year ever, full of adventures, new friends, love, and a lot of sex—Chan glances at you. Let's eat and drink and...PARTY LIKE THERE'S NO TOMORROW!"

"Cheers!"

Your whole group of friends says together glasses of prosecco are all around the table, except for Mimi (just because she's pregnant).  you sit next to her, looking at her belly 

"Can I?" you ask before touching her belly, caressing it gently.

"What are you wishing for?" She asks, it's an inside joke, both of you believe that if you rub the belly it will bring good luck (it does!! Last time that you did it you passed the interview for your job).

"I need this to be over as soon as possible" you say touching her belly 

"Liar"  she says placing her hand on yours

"Why?"

"I saw how you looked at him" she says 

"what? He looked at me first!" you say justifying yourself

"what's going on between you two?" she asks looking at you 

"gurl..." you say 

"GURL? you think I'm dumb?" she asks 

"nono...it's just that...umh" you look down 

"oh girl what did you do?" she looks at you 

"ikissedhimlastmonthandnowicantstopthinkingaboutit"

"YOU WHAT?" she yells, the whole room looking at both of you

"Mimi..." 

"y/n say it out loud...I dare you" she says 

"I kissed him last month...or he kissed me...I don't know...and now I can't stop thinking about it...we met for a drink...because we're still friends even if we broke up...but umh...we got drunk and we ended up at his house... everything started in the Uber basically-"

"OKAY, slow down...I need something sweet to drink and some grapes"

You gather everything that the pregnant lady asked for, sit next to her, and start to tell her about what happened

“So it all started when I texted him, it’s not the first time that we've gone out after our break up, we're still friends so it's not that weird"

you show her the messages 

"Okay, go on"

she says stuffing her mouth with grapes  you sigh 

-

I got ready, even if I was late I wanted to be cute, NOT for him, but because I wanted to feel good after a long day of work, so I curled my hair and put a cute sundress on -even if it was a night date- and well...I shaved...my legs were HAIRY OKAY? and I put on a cute set of underwear because even though I was with my ex I thought that maybe I could, you know, fuck a stranger a relief some stress.

"strike number one, you don't fuck strangers, you need some kind of bond with the person that you want to fuck or you just can't..do it" she says chewing on grapes 

"I don't slap you just because you're pregnant"

"Whatever...keep going" she says moving her hands toward you 

as always I was late, but of course, he didn't complain i got into the car, he said that I was beautiful and he had that look in his eyes

"what look?" she asks

"the look that a man has when he wants to eat you alive or kill you"

"oh 

oh"

anyway, once we got to the bar he sits beside me and we start talking and shit, you know the usual, nothing more, nothing less.

After a couple of drinks a man, a hot one, approached me, he was talking about his work or something like that, I don't know I was drinking my second gin tonic, so at that point, I was tipsy...Chan was talking to a girl but when he saw that the hot dude hitting on me, he scared him away, after he stayed with me the whole night.

At three a.m or something he called an Uber, both of us were drunk as shit, and for some reason he only gave his address to the driver, during the ride he was still staring at me, with that look, the look that he had at the beginning of the night so I said 

"the fuck you're looking at?"

and he said 

"you"

nothing more, nothing less just 'you', at this point, he was getting closer, and his thigh was touching mine so I innocently placed a hand on it...and he said 

"you're playing with fire, meatball"

"HE CALLED YOU MEATBALL?" Mimi yells 

"shhhhhh, yes he did call me meatball"

"Isn't it the pet name that he used to call you when you were together?" you nod

"keep going this is getting interesting" she says sipping on her juice 

"do you think that it's safe for the child hearing about her aunt fucking her ex?" you say censoring the swear word for the sake of the baby in the belly

"the 'ex' is her uncle, so yeah don't worry, I wanna hear the spicy details, keep going bestie"

"where was I?"

oh, yeah he said

"you're playing with fire meatball"

and I was too stunned to speak for the alcohol or maybe because I missed that pet name, anyway we stared at each other for I don't know how long, and eventually we made it to his place. his arm was on the small of my back, guiding me because I was stumbling, he guided me into the elevator and pressed the 10th-floor -which it's his floor- I was leaning against the wall of the elevator and he was in front of me and AGAIN he was staring at me, this time he was staring at my lips, and- and I was blocked between him and the wall and i...kissed him

"YOU KISSED HIM?" your best friend yells

"let me finish, it's only the beginning" you say 

"Oh, what did you do?"

I was saying I kissed him and he fucking kissed me back and it was one of those kisses that makes you feel like you're in between hell and heaven, I felt alive again after months...he picked me up, and I locked my legs around his hips and I felt it

"GURL"

he walked out of the elevator while I was still between his arms and he never stopped kissing me, which by the way was heating minute after minute, he put the code on his door, got into his apartment, and pushed me against the door, it was a whole new experience because when we were together he never kissed me like that, he did but this time felt different. I started undoing...the button on his shirt and he gave me the 'this is wrong what are you doing?' look. We moved onto his couch, he was between my thighs, he took off his shirt and-

you cover your face feeling the heat on your cheeks with your hands 

"y/n don't tell me that..." she says, you nod and she has the nerve to slap your arm 

"bitch what the hell?" you say massaging your arm

"you fucked him" she said 

you shrug "I think that we both needed it"

"and I need the details, you were to the point where he was taking off his shirt"

at this point, he was bare chest, and I was almost foaming from my mouth, he got bigger, and touching him was like...being home after a long time, his hands were working on the zip of my sundress, and at one point between a kiss and some shy laughs he took the dress off of me, and his jaw dropped because - I didn't mention earlier but- the set of underwear that I was wearing was his favorite

"you did it on purpose didn't you?" she asks eating the last grape of her little bowl

"I mean, it was just a pure coincidence -you get up grabbing another bowl of grapes- I promise I wasn't planning on fucking my ex!"

I asked 

"Is this fine with you?"

He gave me a nod, grabbed me between his arms again, and walked towards his room, leaving our clothes behind, he laid me on his bed and the vanilla scent of his room made my brain short-circuit, or maybe my brain stop working because he was kissing my inner thigh and he knew what he was doing because receiving oral is my favorite thing ever, he started to...doing his job down there -he didn't even bother to take off the thong, he just put it to the side- and...he gave me one of the best orgasms of my life...maybe because of the built-up or I don't know maybe because it was him doing it...after that I kissed him. 

"you kissed him after he ate you out?"  she asks 

"yeah? you don't do this kinda thing with Changbin?" you grab one of the grapes and put it in your mouth 

"We never tried..."

"gurl you're pregnant" you point out

"I mean that we never asked each other if we're into kissing each other after heads...and don't try changing the topic...keep going"

he kissed me and for a moment I thought that was it, because he was laying with his head on my boobs, and my hand was between his curls and it felt so normal that I wanted to slap myself. At some point, I felt guilty because I knew that he was still hard...I was feeling it against my thighs so I said 

"you're gonna get blue balls, let me help you"

I had the nerve to giggle, and we started to fight about his thing, I ended up being on top of him...he was still wearing his jeans, and he was so hard that I bet that it was hurting him so I took off his pants, and i-am...fucked him, slowly, like painfully, I felt out of shape, it felt like our first time...he sat up while he was still on me, took off my bra -that I was still wearing- and started to kiss my breasts, he was so gentle that I don't know, I had the feeling that he was scared to hurt me, he made us turn and he was on top, he sped up and asked.

"Are you still on the pill?" I nodded and he said

"use your words, baby, please I need to hear you say them"

"yes, I'm still...on the pill...you can...you can cum in me"  he lost it, he started to thrust harder and at the end we both came but he came into me

"you're telling me that he-"

"yes"

"and that you-"

"yes"

"He has a breeding kink?" she asks 

"I said yes Mimi"

"wow, I didn't expect this" she says 

"yeah, I fucked up pretty well because after what we did I fell asleep in his arms, and we were naked, the morning after...we took a shower together and made breakfast for the both of us"

"WOW"

"Yeah..." you say

"Mimi..." 

"AAAAH! CHAN WHAT THE FUCK YOU SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME, YOU CAN'T SCARE A PREGNANT WOMAN, OH MY GOD I'M THROWING UP ALL THE GRAPES THAT I ATE"

you start to laugh 

"I'm sorry -he gently rubs her belly- didn't want to scare my little niece"

"what do you want?" she asks

"her -he points at you- I wanna dance with her"

"ah take her, she's boring" she moves her hands 

"Mimi, what the fuck?" she giggles and waves at you as he grabs your hands to guide you to the center of the room where other people are dancing 

"what are you doing?" you ask as he pulls you against him to dance slowly

"I just wanted to...dance with you" he says putting his hand on the small of your back, maybe a little lower

"you wanted to dance with me? or...-you lower your voice- you wanted help with the thing between your legs?"

"well- i- you- i wanted- you..." he says blushing, even his ears getting pink

"you wanted help?" he nods shily 

"care to explain why you're hard?" you whisper to his red ear 

"your fault"

"my fault?"

"you have fucking thigh highs, heels, a skirt, and a shirt meatball, that's a combo killer to me and you know it" you laugh

"combo killer?" you ask 

"I'm dying right here" he put his head on your shoulder, his breath against your neck 

"ask it, Christopher, use your words"

"Can you help me? please" he says against your neck

"you're so desperate that you're begging?" he nods

"a quickie it's fine to you?" you ask 

"fuck yes, but the high thighs and the heels stay on" he says grabbing your hand 

"Is there a place where we can have some private time?" he asks 

"Upstairs, just don't make it obvious" you say

"Okay" he says, he quickly lifts you on his shoulder and walks upstairs

"I said don't make it obvious" you laugh 

"It wasn't that obvious"

"no?" you say 

"then why did Mimi drop her grapes?"

"maybe our niece kicked her guts" he says putting you down, pushing against the closet door 

"our?" you echo

"our niece, yeah. there's no way I'm letting you go after this and after last time" he says, his forehead against yours

"Chris?"

"yeah?"

"less talking" you kiss him

"yes ma'am" he says pushing you inside the closet

"we said a quickie, no more than 20 minutes"

"I think that I'll fuck you into the new year"

"what do you mean?" you ask

"3...2...1...happy new year meatball" he kisses your lips 

"Happy New Year pretty boy" you kiss him back 

[girlactionfigure]

Don’t ever dare tell me that someone came to rescue our grandparents from the gas chambers.

Because no one did.

They didn’t come when they put up those “No Jews allowed” signs.

They didn’t come when families were kicked out of schools, jobs, banks, and homes.

When fathers were dragged off and never seen again for being Jewish.

When mothers sewed yellow stars on their coats—like that made them less human.

They didn’t come when they burned down synagogues.

When they shattered our windows and crushed our lives.

When they beat our kids in the streets and no one stopped it.

They didn’t come when we were shoved into ghettos, and hunger tortured us.

When disease spread like wildfire and everything we had was taken, erased.

They didn’t come when the trains rolled in—train after train packed with the sick, the children, the elderly.

No food. No water. No idea where we were going—just away forever.

And the world knew.

Of course, they did. They had the reports, the witnesses, the headlines, the news.

But they ignored it.

America didn’t want us.

Britain didn’t care.

Canada said, “None is too many.”

And the 'Neutral' countries. They stayed neutral.

While families like mine vanished, they stayed neutral. F their neutrality.

All my grandparents had numbers on their arms.

Tattooed, not by choice (it’s forbidden by Jewish law), but by force, to be counted like stock.

Some were the last ones left of entire families—gone.

Not lost. But taken, robbed, stolen, ripped away.

Ask yourself: If Japan hadn’t attacked Pearl Harbor, would America have stepped foot in Europe?

If Hitler hadn’t betrayed Stalin, would Russia have interfered to rescue the Jews he hated?

Without those events, the world would’ve stayed still.

It might’ve been years, and then…

You wouldn’t known about us outside of museums.

We’d be like the Romans.

Like the Babylonians.

A “once-was.”

Just old photos.

An exhibit.

A memory.

So don’t tell me someone came to save us.

They didn’t save us.

They showed up after the fire was almost burned out and acted like heroes.

They came to see the piles of shoes.

The rooms of hair.

The bones that didn’t completely burn.

They found people barely alive.

Eyes sunken into their faces, empty of thought and full of pain.

Children who couldn’t cry because they were too busy convincing themselves they were alive.

That’s not a rescue.

That’s showing up after the damage is done and saying, “Look, I did something.”

Of course, we’re grateful for those who fought. For the soldiers who stormed hellholes, who risked everything to tear down the gates and ultimately lead our grandparents to freedom.

But don’t you dare talk about Jews like you have no blood on your hands.

Don’t pretend you weren’t silent while we burned.

Don’t even think about it.

After the war, suddenly everyone cared.

They built museums.

Lit candles.

Made speeches.

Wrote “never again” on signs.

But do you know what that is?

Guilt dressed up as remembrance.

Grief with no consequences.

Regret with no price.

They wept for what was left.

But when it mattered? When my family needed someone?

They did nothing.

And you—sitting here reading this—ask yourself:

If you were alive then, would you have done something?

Would you have opened your door? Taken a family in?

Spoken out while everyone else stayed quiet?

Be real.

Most didn’t need to be Nazis to be complicit.

They just needed to stay silent.

They just needed to do nothing.

And that’s exactly what they did.

We didn’t survive just to be polite about it.

We didn’t crawl out of the ashes to make everyone feel better.

We’re not a tragedy.

We’re not a statistic.

We’re not some story you hear once a year.

We are not a remembrance month or day.

We’re what’s left.

And we will never forget that when it counted, no one came.

Not then.

Not when it mattered.

We know history repeats itself.

So let me ask: How confident do you think we are that this time the world would step in earlier?

Not too confident, I can tell you that.

@AP_from_NY

[amphitriteswife]

Goo dating headcanons

💸 Dating good can be a real roller coaster. A fun roller coaster that is. There could be problems here and there but in his eyes it’s nothing he can’t solve. Yes it is true that sometimes he prioritizes his job over you sometimes. But that’s because his job is very ‘demanding.’ But it pays well, so he hopes you understand.

💸 Fair dates, cinema dates, shopping spree, restaurants, coffee dates and karaoke dates. (Sometimes with jonggun tagging along even though he himself doesn’t want to and goo forced invited him to go) he can’t always make it, but he does make it up to you in one way or another. Always.

💸 if you go to a far date, expect him to scream and yell in every attraction you go to. Yes he’s afraid of heights. Too bad you didn’t know, you have to put with him now. Luckily he don’t throw up. Oh but he WILL try the claw machine’s and not win shit. He spent a lot of money on it too by the way. Bro might start crying. Or just sit on the ground or sum. You might even feel bad for dawg😔

💸 if you are the one to actually win a plushie and give it to him, bro will scream. He’ll immediately hug it and start thanking you. You bet he’s taking pictures of it and posting it on all his socials. Even sending it to groupchats and Jonggun himself with a caption of ‘look what my girlfriend got me hehe😝😈’ and yes he also sends it to you. He’s putting the plush on his bed or in a special shrine he made with a gifts from you.

💸 personally, i think Goo also seems to be a best friend and boyfriend. He would want to be in love and love you if you get what i mean. Ofcourse his best friend is jonggun, but that’s different from how he loves you. A main thing that is important to him is understanding, you don’t need to accept. Just understanding for him is enough.

💸 If you date Goo, it’s high likely that you too are a fan of anime. He doesn’t really mind which type you are. Manga, manhwa, anime, donghua even BL or GL. He doesn’t really care which one you enjoy. He just likes the swords in em you know. He would probably talk for you about his favorites and you about yours. It could be that the two of you read/ watch together of that you made trades on watching each other’s faves. For him it feels like he can share a hobby with you which he appreciates.

💸 I can see you meeting Goo at a bookstore. Both of you at the Manga section eyeing the same manga. You having if in your hands first and Goo demanding that you give it to him with a serious gaze, however his face would twist in mild surprise when you do actually hand it to him. He would say he is joking but you would insist that he can take it, he would find your indifference and calm nature intriguing. He would stare at you for a while you pick at another manga and decide to buy that one instead. You didn’t bother arguing with him because you didn’t think you’ll see him again. Unfortunately, he kept showing up even when he saw you avoid him. Which eventually made him say. ‘Miss. Go on a date with me.’

💸 Goo likes to call you ‘sugar’ or ‘sweetheart.’ Because he thinks you’re lively, sweet, addictive and always lighten his heart. He feels as if he can say anything to you, no matter what it is. Sometimes he even wants to tell you everything about his job, but he knows he can’t because it’ll put you in danger and he can’t risk that. You mean too much to him to make you see the stuff he does.

💸 Now when it comes to you being Goo’s girlfriend. There are a lot of people you don’t know who are in Goo’s life. And he also doesn’t think it would be relevant for you to know all of them. He would probably introduce you to Jonggun who wonders why you haven’t left Goo yet. And maybe James who is rather aloof and is on pretty neutral terms with you. Its save to say that James likes you better than Goo. Jonggun on the other hand doesn’t necessarily engage with you, but does little things like asking you to look after Goo or keeping him on a leash.

💸 Goo would go to concerts with you. Even if he doesn’t listen to the same music as you. He’ll make sure he handles everything from tickets to seats to time stamps. He’s pretty laid back about it too, he has it handles but isn’t stern about it. He’ll buy you merch if that’s what you want, even going as far as to go buy it himself during the concert so that you can still enjoy seeing your artist(s). If it’s in another country he’ll ditch his work probably and still go with you anyway. If the concert has lightsticks you can be rest assured: he already bought those.

I’m sorry it’s short. I ran out ideas😭

[kat-rafe]

Island Bound

Rafe!reader

“Mr. Cameron and mr. Cameron, welcome back.” I greet Ward and Rafe as they sit down for their mid-golf meal at the Country Club. “What can I get going for you today?” I continue my hospitality greeting. 

“Georgia Mae, what a pleasure. How’s your dad?” Ward asks me right off the bat. He and my dad did business together when Ward wanted to expand to Charleston. My dad helped him connect with the right company recruiting workers when Ward realized he was some workers short on the project. 

“Just Georgia, Mr. Cameron.” I say with a big smile lowering my notepad a tad signalling I’m ready for some smalltalk, “Dad is fine, him and Mom are visiting Samuel in New York at the moment.” I finished my sentence. 

This interaction might seem interesting, but despite me working at the Country Club I am technically a Kook. My parents make a lot of money doing God knows what, because all I ever see them do is lounge around the house. But not me. I want to get rich on my own, I’m blessed with a rich background that’ll pay for my college but if I want to land a job after college on my own, I have to have work experience. So I work here at the club where my parents and my brother Samuel are members when they’re home, and the Cameron family who lives across from us also frequent. 

“Lovely Georgia, just lovely.” Ward speaks up before looking at Rafe who looks like he'd rather be anywhere but here. “Well we’re ready to order, aren't we Rafe?” He then asks his son who closes his menu and hands it to me. 

“Could I just have the steak and fries with a caesar salad on the side?” Rafe orders and I scribble it down fast. “And for drinks?” I politely ask him intrigued with his rushed tone and the nonchalance he suddenly has. Rafe and I were never close, me being a year younger than him but he always looked out for me. Then he went to college and came back after he got kicked out for a major misconduct of school rules according to my brother. Since then, he’s been tense and him and Ward aren't without each other during day time.

“Lemonade with ice, please.” He adds to the order, I scribble down and look expectantly to Ward. Ward orders the special without even wanting to hear it and a lemonade as well. 

I jot down Ward’s order and tuck the notepad into my apron, offering one of those sweet, practiced smiles I’ve mastered over the last two summers.

“I’ll get that right in for y’all,” I say, already turning on my heel when Ward’s voice stops me.

“Georgia,” he calls, and I turn back, my smile still in place.

“Yes, Mr. Cameron?”

He leans back in his chair, his tone shifting from casual to something softer, more deliberate. “I was just sayin’ to Rafe the other day — you’re the kind of young woman who makes this place worth stayin’ in.”

I blink, caught off guard.

“You’ve got drive. Manners. Family who matters.” His eyes hold mine for a second before flicking to his son. “And you don’t just sit around living off someone else’s name. That’s rare around here.”

I feel the compliment settle uncomfortably in my chest. I know Ward’s brand of praise — it comes dressed up sweet, but it always hides something underneath.

“Well… thank you. I try to stay busy,” I say carefully with an even more careful smile.

Ward chuckles like I just told the best joke. “Busy is good. Keeps your head clear.” He pauses for a beat, then adds, “You know, Georgia, you and Rafe used to be thick as thieves. What happened to that?”

Rafe shifts beside him, jaw tight. I glance at him, unsure if I’m supposed to answer.

“People change,” Rafe mutters, eyes focused on the table.

Ward ignores the tension and waves a hand, like brushing dust off an expensive coat. “Nonsense. Y’all were just young. But now?” He smiles wider, charm turned all the way up. “You're both older, wiser. And honestly… a pairing like that?” He shakes his head. “It’d be good for you both.”

I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.

“I’m just sayin’,” Ward continues, voice low and smooth, “if I were Rafe, I wouldn’t waste a second.” He looks at his son again, and something sharp flickers in his gaze. “Not this time.”

There’s a silence. Then, finally, Rafe glances up at me. His voice is quiet, but clear.

“You free Friday night?”

My head goes blank, something I can’t explain. I nod, just barely.

“Good,” Ward says, already satisfied, already moving on. “Y’all enjoy yourselves. First round’s on me.”

I nod one last time, offering a polite “I’ll get this right in,” before turning on my heel and heading toward the kitchen, my white sneakers nearly silent on the polished hardwood of the Club’s terrace.

The second I’m out of earshot, the air around the Camerons’ table shifts.

Rafe leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest, jaw clenched. “Seriously?” he mutters, voice low but hard.

Ward sips his water, unfazed. “What?” he says, feigning innocence, like he hadn’t just cornered his son into asking out the girl across the street.

“You used her,” Rafe says under his breath. “Right in front of her. Like I’m supposed to jump because you say so.”

Ward smiles, slow and polished, like a man who’s never had to raise his voice to get what he wants. “I didn’t make you do anything, son. I just opened a door. You walked through it.”

Rafe shakes his head, fingers drumming restlessly on the table. “You told me dating her would ‘clean the slate.’ That’s what you said. Like she’s a—like she’s a damn PR move.”

“She’s not,” Ward says simply. “She’s smart. She’s respected. She’s good. Which is more than I can say for the people you’ve surrounded yourself with lately.”

Rafe doesn’t respond.

Ward leans in just a little, dropping the charm. “This is your chance, Rafe. People like Georgia don’t come around twice. You either get your act together and show the Island you're still worth betting on... or you keep sulking in my shadow.”

There’s a long pause.

Ward’s face softens—strategically. “ Take her out. Be the kind of man she deserves. And maybe — just maybe — people’ll start forgetting about everything else.”

He settles back in his seat just as Georgia rounds the corner with their drinks on a tray, oblivious to the storm she’s walking back into.

Rafe watches her approach, conflicted written all over his face.

And for the first time, maybe… just maybe, he isn’t sure if this is a setup — or a second chance.

The glasses on the tray clink softly as I make my way back toward their table, threading through the tables and umbrella-covered patio furniture like I’ve done a hundred times before. But I can feel it—that low buzz in my chest. Ward’s words stuck to me like the heat outside. You and Rafe used to be thick as thieves. I hadn’t thought about that in years.

It wasn’t entirely true, of course. We were neighbor-close, Sunday-dinner-close, “his mom brought me back from school when mine forgot” close. But never really close. Not in the way that sticks.

Still, hearing it come from Ward made it sound like fate. Like something I owed the neighborhood. Or him.

I approach the table, and I catch just a flicker of something strange in Rafe’s expression before it disappears behind that blank, too-calm look he’s perfected lately.

But I’m too busy balancing the tray and keeping my smile steady to dwell on it.

“Here we go,” I chirp, setting down Ward’s lemonade first with the kind of flourish I know the club staff trainer would be proud of. “The special, cod fresh off the grill. And for you, Rafe—steak, fries, and your Caesar.”

I place his glass down last, careful not to knock over the salt. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to check in. Holler if you need anything before then.”

I turn to leave, but not too fast. Everything has to be paced just right—sweet, efficient, but never flustered. That’s how you keep your job and your pride when everyone around you already knows your last name.

As I walk away, my mind is already somewhere else. I’m thinking about Friday evening, wondering if Rafe meant it — or if he was just being polite. I’m wondering if I’d even go, if he asked. And why, for some reason, the idea makes me feel something I haven’t felt in a while.

Excited. Nervous. A little… visible.

I duck into the kitchen and exhale as the door swings shut behind me.

Pull it together, Georgia.

They’re just the Camerons. Just your neighbors.

But I know that’s not the whole truth.

Because when Rafe looked at me back there — it didn’t feel neighborly at all.

[porcelainstarrr]

CHAPTER 13

⌖

6 months later

It’s been months.

Since… well, you know.

And life has been great.

Well, great is a strong word.

Acceptable is better. Manageable. Normal.

Or at least, it passes for normal these days.

Work has been okay. A little dull, a little quiet.

Gigi went through a breakup.

A really bad one.

Everything in Brooklyn reminded her of him, his coffee order, his bar, his street. So she moved. 

To Hell’s Kitchen, 

of all places.

She hates it here. Says the people walk too slow, and the pizza’s too floppy. But we see each other more now, which makes her feel better. And me, too.

I met someone.

His name’s Mason.

Four months ago, Gigi dragged me to some bar. I wasn’t in the mood to flirt or mingle.

But she introduced us anyway.

Mason had this calm about him. Like nothing rattled him. Nice voice. Pretty eyes. That kind of hair you want to touch just to see if it’s as soft as it looks. We talked. About books, weirdly. About French toast and bad tattoos and the psychology of dreams. 

We started dating. Slowly. A coffee here. A walk there.

Then more.

He’s kind. Smart. Dependable.

He listens. He cooks. Hes normal.

And I like him. I really do.

He’s been… a good distraction.

─────── ⌖ ───────

The sun slipped through the blinds in narrow stripes, dusty gold slants cutting across the edge of the dresser, the floor, the rumpled sheets tangled around my legs.

My eyes blinked open to the sound of soft breathing behind me. Warmth at my back. A weightless kind of comfort.

I didn’t smile. But I didn’t frown either.

Just lay there a moment. Still. Letting the quiet of the morning settle into my lungs.

My alarm had already gone off, somewhere between dream and routine, but I hadn’t hit snooze. Just silenced it. Let myself drift a minute longer, head buried half in the pillow, half in the space between.

I finally shifted. Sat up. Brushed a hand through my hair. The blanket slipped down my arm as I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the hardwood cool against my bare feet.

I padded to the bathroom without looking back.

Light flicked on.

The ritual began the way it always did. shower. hair. makeup. I looked at myself for a beat too long. Not vanity. No doubt. Just… staring. Then I turned away. Pulled my hair back. Clipped it half-up. Let the rest fall. Back in the bedroom, the bed creaked as I stepped past it.

“Babe,” I said, nudging the blanket at his shoulder, “you’re gonna be late.” A groan from the other side of the mattress. A lazy arm thrown over his eyes. I paused. Just for a second. Just long enough to notice that I’d said it automatically.

Then I moved on.

The kitchen was still dark except for the strip of light under the cabinets. I flicked the switch. Pulled two mugs from the shelf, lined them up. Started the coffee. Sliced fruit. Toasted bread. I moved efficiently, rhythm in my bones, routine wrapped around me like armor.

He shuffled in a few minutes later, hair messy, eyes half-shut. He kissed me on the cheek as he passed. I offered a small smile without turning my head.

“You want scrambled or over-easy?” I asked.

“Scrambled,” he mumbled while making the coffee.

I cracked the eggs into the pan. No second thoughts. No hesitation. Just cooking. Just moving.

Just another morning.

I didn’t think about the silence. Didn’t question the absence of butterflies. Didn’t sit in the space between comfort and something unnamed. Because everything was fine. My job was stable. My apartment was nice. He was kind. Dependable. Normal.

And I was here. Awake. Fed. Functional.

I stirred the eggs.

Added salt. Pepper. Folded the heat through.

Behind me, he hummed a song under his breath, some pop track from the radio I didn’t really like. I didn’t say anything. Just plated the food and handed it to him.

He smiled. I smiled back.

─────── ⌖ ───────

It was almost 5. My shift was nearly done, and I was dragging my cursor through the same patient report I'd already re-read twice. I wasn’t tired. I wasn’t distracted. I was just... elsewhere. Somewhere suspended between the click of my mouse and the sound of muffled footsteps in the hallway outside my office.

I saved the file, minimized the screen, and stared at my reflection in the dark monitor. My face looked the same. My hair was pulled back. My eyes were clear. But there was something faint in my expression, something distant, maybe. A softness I didn’t wear for anyone here.

I packed up slowly. Grabbed my coat off the hook. Slid my phone into my pocket and walked toward the exit, badge tucked in the bag, shoes quiet against the tile. The air in the hallway felt recycled and a little too cold, like always.

When I stepped outside, the wind was sharp. Evening had settled over Hell’s Kitchen. Lights flickered on one by one across buildings. Headlights rolled down the streets. And as I always did, without meaning to, I glanced up.

The light was off.

It usually was.

Still, every time I passed by the facility, I looked. Just for a second. Just to see. Just to wonder if, maybe, someone might be watching from behind the glass.

He never was.

The sidewalk was busy, but I walked slowly, letting the chill bite into my coat. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out.

Mason: Hey, won’t be staying over tonight. Something came up. I’ll call you later.

I stared at the text for a moment. no explanation, Not that I needed one.

Me: okay.

I locked my phone. Slid it back in.

Honestly, I didn’t care. Not really. Not in a way that mattered. There was no sting. No deep exhale. Just a quiet note of relief, like the silence had arrived before the message did.

I called Gigi.

She picked up after the second ring. "What’s up?"

“Can you stay over tonight?” I asked. “Mason bailed. I don’t feel like being alone.”

There was a pause, then her voice softened. “Yeah. Of course.”

I smiled. A real one. Small. Grateful.

“Alright see ya”

I hung up, pulled my coat tighter, and kept walking.

─────── ⌖ ───────

The apartment smelled like soy sauce and sweet chili. Two sets of chopsticks clinked against plastic containers, and some overly dramatic reality show played on the screen, casting a soft blue light across the room. Gigi was curled up sideways on the couch, wearing an old band tee and mismatched socks, hair scraped back in a bun so messy it was practically abstract art. She shoved a piece of chicken into her mouth and pointed at the screen with the chopsticks.

“Okay, but if this man cries one more time over someone he’s known for 72 hours, I’m applying to be on season six.” I snorted, tucking my feet under the blanket. “You wouldn’t survive five minutes. You’d get eliminated for bullying the other contestants.”

“Yeah, probably,” she said, unapologetic. “But at least I wouldn’t cry on national television because someone ignored me after a group date in Fiji.” I smiled and sipped my drink, letting the fake drama hum in the background while the silence between us turned into something quieter. Softer. After a minute, Gigi looked over at me. Not with teasing. Not with sass. With real eyes. That gentle shift she only did when something was eating at her.

“So,” she said slowly, “how’s Mason?”

I shrugged. “He’s okay.”

Gigi raised a brow. “Just okay?”

I didn’t answer.

She sat up a little straighter, kicked her feet out, and stabbed a dumpling like it owed her money. “Alright, no. Speak. What’s wrong?” I let out a breath, stared down at my food. The words came slower than I expected. “He’s… nice. Like, genuinely nice. Sweet. Normal. He does everything right. Texts back. Picks good restaurants. Folds my laundry when he’s over.”

“That sounds fake,” she deadpanned.

I huffed a tiny laugh, but it didn’t last long.

“It’s not him,” I said quietly. “It’s me. Shouldn’t I feel something by now? Shouldn’t I be excited to see him? Texting him all the time? Butterflies? That stupid can’t-wait-to-touch-you stage everyone talks about?”

Gigi didn’t say anything. She just kept listening.

“I don’t feel any of that. Not even a flicker. And it’s been months. Other girls are, like… in love by now. They get giggly. Obsessive. I feel like I’m dating my accountant.”

“Well, is he good in bed?” Gigi asked.

I gave her a look. “Yeah”

“See, that makes it worse,” she muttered.

I nodded slowly. “It just feels like I’m going through the motions. Like I’m doing all the things I’m supposed to, but none of it lands. I like him. I do. But sometimes I’m sitting across from him at dinner and all I can think is… this should feel different.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of pause only best friends could live in. She picked at her noodles. I sipped my drink again.

Then she said it.

“Have you thought about Dex?”

I stiffened. Just barely.

“Don’t.”

“What?” she asked, feigning innocence. “You think if I say his name three times he’s gonna spawn out of nowhere like Beetlejuice?”

I cracked a laugh despite myself. 

“I’m serious,” she said, she slowly whispers. “Dex, Dex, Dex-”

“Gigi-”

she yells “Dex.”

I threw a napkin at her. She ducked. We both smiled.

Then it passed.

“Any updates?” she asked gently. “Have you heard anything?” I shook my head. “Nothing. I don’t even know if he’s still inside. I can’t check the system. He’s not mine anymore.” Gigi shifted, leaned against the couch back and looked at me. Really looked.

“Do you want to know?”

I paused.

“I don’t know.”

We sat in that. TV muted. Just the soft, distant hum of city traffic and sirens, with the clink of her chopsticks against plastic.

“You know, sometimes,” I said, “when I leave work, I look up at the windows. I don’t know why. I just… I think about him standing behind the glass. Watching. Like maybe I’d catch a glimpse of him or something. But there’s nothing. It’s just windows.”

Gigi nodded slowly. “You miss him.”

“Yeah.”

We didn’t speak for a while after that. She reached over and squeezed my knee. I squeezed back. Then she shifted to lie back down again, arms behind her head, staring up at the ceiling. “You know,” she said softly, I looked at her, expecting something sweet. Something genuine.

“I hate him”

I chuckled 

“ And he scares the shit out of me. I genuinely don’t know how you sat in the same room as him, and fell in love with him. He looked at us once from that window and my heart dropped to my ass.”

Our laughs grew.

talking about him after months made me feel better, but I hate admitting that it makes me miss him more. 

─────── ⌖ ───────

COUPLE WEEKS LATER.

It’s been weeks 

since the night-in with Gigi.

Since the takeout containers and cheap wine. Since we sat on my couch with a trashy reality show blaring and whispered his name like a curse word we didn’t want to wake. Since we laughed a little too hard at things that probably weren’t funny, just so we wouldn’t cry.

Life marched on, as it always does.

Work stayed the same, charts, patients, fluorescent lights that buzz just a little too loudly. We still had our Friday night hangout. We still swapped dry gossip about people we barely knew. Everything felt fine.

But only on the surface.

Lately, 

She’s been… 

off.

Not in the obvious ways. She’s still Gigi. Still sharp and sarcastic, still brutally honest when I need her to be. But there are pauses now. Delays. Flickers of something unreadable in her face when she thinks I’m not looking.

Like last Thursday.

We were walking back from some overpriced juice place she swore was “liquid crack in a bottle,” and halfway through her rant about someone who wore kitten heels to a warehouse party, she stopped talking. Just… stopped.

Her steps slowed for half a second, then sped up. She walked ahead of me, not looking back, not even noticing she’d lost me for a moment.

“Hey,” I said, catching up. “You good?”

She blinked, like she'd just come back to herself. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry, I zoned out. What were you saying?”

I let it go.

Maybe she really was tired. We’re all tired.

But it kept happening.

Tiny things.

She started ending calls earlier than usual. We’d be mid-convo and she’d say something like, “Hey, I’ll call you back,” except she didn’t. Or she’d glance over her shoulder on the sidewalk like she was expecting someone to be there. Once or twice, I caught her looking past me while we talked, beyond me. At the street. At a building. At nothing.

I asked her again one night after dinner, while she picked at the ice in her glass with a straw.

“G?”

She looked up. “Hm?”

“You’ve been kinda weird lately. Everything okay?”

Her mouth twitched like she wanted to lie convincingly, but she didn’t put in the effort. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just distracted. Work’s been ass.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That’s always your excuse.”

She smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes. “It’s always true.” And then she changed the subject. Just like that.

We moved on.

But it stuck with me. That flicker in her eyes.

She’s not cold. Not distant. But she’s somewhere else.

Like her body’s still sitting next to me, but her head’s blocks away, watching for something I can’t see.

And I don’t know what it is.

Not yet.

Something is off.

And she’s not telling me what.

⌖

One random late afternoon.

We were at a café that was half-full, quiet enough to talk, busy enough not to feel watched. The air smelled like espresso and rain on pavement. We sat near the window, at the corner table we always took when we needed a few hours off from pretending everything was fine. She was stirring her tea like she was trying to make it disappear. I was talking, something about work, maybe, or my new patient who wouldn’t stop quoting Hemingway. I wasn’t even finished with the sentence when I noticed her eyes shift.

Not casually.

Sharply. Like something had snapped her attention.

She was looking out the window.

Her face didn’t change, but her posture did, shoulders stiffening, breath caught just enough to notice.

I stopped mid-sentence. “What?”

She blinked, then turned back to me too quickly. “Nothing. Thought I saw someone I used to know.”

“Someone from where?”

“Nowhere. Not important.” She waved her hand, too flippantly. “I was wrong. Just looked like someone.”

I looked too.

I looked around the cafe, no one looked familiar. I looked outside from the cafe’s window right next to me.

There was no one. Just a woman pulling a suitcase behind her. A kid with a plastic bag swinging from his wrist.

Nothing unusual.

But she wasn’t listening to me anymore.

She nodded along as I picked up where I left off, but her eyes didn’t fully meet mine. Her fingers didn’t stop moving, fidgeting with her cup, her sleeve, a sugar packet she’d already torn in half.

And when I mentioned the Hemingway patient again, she gave me a response that didn’t match the question.

She was here.

But not really.

And I didn’t say anything.

Because she’d already told me it was nothing.

Even if her tea had gone cold.

Even if she hadn’t touched her croissant.

Even if I could feel it, that something was shifting again.

Quietly.

Slowly.

Just beneath the surface.

⌖

TODAY. 

The streetlights were already on when we left the bookstore. We’d been there for hours, half-reading things we weren’t going to buy, loitering in the way we always did when we didn’t want to go home yet. Gigi had picked up some paperback with a half-naked knight on the cover and started reading the dialogue aloud in a dramatic British accent. I was laughing so hard I almost knocked over a display of poetry anthologies.

Normal.

It felt normal.

Until it didn’t.

The shift happened on the walk back. Subtle. Quick. The way she fell quiet too suddenly. Her steps grew faster, like she was trying to outrun her own shadow. Her hand was stuffed deep in her coat pocket, the other holding an untouched coffee she’d bought and never sipped. Her jaw had tensed. I could hear it in her silence, the kind that wasn’t comfortable anymore. I caught up with her just before we reached my building. “Hey,” I said, bumping my shoulder against hers. “You okay?”

She glanced at me, forced a small smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

We climbed the stairs. I opened the door to my place, let her in first. She set her coffee down on the table like it offended her. I watched her for a second. Something was eating at her. I could feel it. Like smoke before fire. It made my skin itch. I kicked off my boots and followed her into the kitchen. She stood by the window, arms folded. She wasn’t looking out. Not really. Just… standing.

“Gigi,” I said carefully, “I know something’s off. Just tell me.”

She didn’t turn.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“You’re lying.”

I said it quietly. Not like an accusation. More like a fact. She sighed, finally turning her head, her eyes meeting mine across the small kitchen.

Then she said it.

“I thought I saw someone. That’s all.”

“Who?”

She shrugged. That same casual shrug she always used when she didn’t want to talk about something. “I thought it was someone from back home. Doesn’t matter. I was wrong.” Her tone was flat. Not defensive. Not warm. Just… rehearsed.

And I couldn’t push further. Not without it feeling wrong.

So I let it hang.

The kitchen filled with the quiet tick of the wall clock, the low hum of the radiator. She moved to the sink, ran cold water over her hands for no reason at all, then wiped them on her jeans.

I didn’t press.

Not yet.

Because maybe she really did think she saw someone.

And maybe it really didn’t matter.

Or maybe, it mattered more than anything, and she was doing everything she could to keep it from spilling out. Either way, the quiet wasn’t peaceful anymore. And I didn’t know why.

I didn’t move.

I just stood there, near the table, watching her rinse her hands like she’d touched something that wouldn’t come off. She dried them on her jeans again, still not looking at me. “You thought it was someone from back home,” I repeated quietly. “Who?”

“I told you. It doesn’t matter.”

“Was it…” I trailed off, but only for a beat. “Was it him?”

That made her look up.

Not fast. Not startled.

Just a flick of her eyes in my direction.

Then back down again.

I took a step closer. “Gigi.”

“I said it was nothing.”

“Okay, but you flinched when your phone buzzed. You keep looking over your shoulder. You haven’t finished a single coffee in two weeks, and you never zone out like this unless you’re spiraling or haunted. So which is it?”

Her jaw clenched.

I tried again. Softer this time. “Is he bothering you again?”

That godawful ex of hers. The one who cheated. Lied. Made her feel like she was too much and not enough all at once. The one whose friends used to follow her home. The reason she left Brooklyn in the first place.

I kept going.

“Did you see him? Is he here? Because you know if he’s showing up, if he’s trying to start shit again-”

“No,” she cut in.

I blinked. “No, as in you didn’t see him? Or?”

“No, as in… it wasn’t him.”

She turned fully then, leaning her hip against the counter, arms crossed.

Her voice was steady now.

“I thought I saw someone. I was wrong. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t anyone.”

“Gigi…”

“I promise.” She gave me a smile. That fake kind. The kind that’s meant to be reassuring, but sits all wrong on her face. I didn’t know what to say.

So I nodded. Slowly. “Okay.”

She pushed off the counter and moved toward the living room like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t asked. Like we hadn’t almost stepped into something too big to name.

And I let her go.

But in the back of my mind, something stuck.

When she said it wasn’t him, I’m convinced she’s lying. But for some reason, I could tell, she’s not.

─────── ⌖ ───────

Heyyyyyyy

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I’ll try my best to upload Chapter 14 today, if not, then hopefully tomorrow {I’ve got a final exam tomorrow so please bear with me}

Andddd guys… y’all are tooooo freakkyyy. I hear you, smut is on the way. Be patient. 

Anywaysss, enjoyyyyyy!!!

Yours truly, Raey ♡

─────── ⌖ ───────